My Ace Quotes

The three cards were the Moon, the Empress, and the Ace of Cups. Ambrose leaned over my shoulder to peer at the cards. "Ooh,' he said. "Very interesting." Rhonda glanced up at him. "Hush. You don't know what you're talking about.

You love me?" he asked suddenly and, at his question, my stomach flipped then twisted. "Yes." "Then fuckin' kiss me good morning, Ace," he demanded softly but firmly.

Whose SUV is this?” I asked once we were out of Carnal. “Mine.” He answered. I looked at him. “You drive a Harley.” “Not big on puttin’ bad guys on the back of my bike when I hunt them down, Ace. Fucks with my street cred.

People do not play this game to win, my dear. They play this game not to lose.

His smile got even bigger. "Yeah, Ace, a day of you cryin' in my arms, sleepin' in my arms, kissin' you, feelin' your body, smellin' your hair, your perfume, only so much a man can take. I ran for an hour, hard, didn't even fuckin' warm up, it didn't touch it. Come back, deal with that fuckwad, (that's her ex) and you're standin' there, all legs and hair, wearin' my shirt. Seriously. Only so much a man can take.

She doesn’t look like a Buster,” I declared, “more like a Princess Fancy Pants.” Tate was bent and pulling a skilled out of a cupboard. His head tipped back and his eyes locked on mine. “You call my cat Princess Fancy Pants, Ace, we got problems.

I loved the idea of a girl going into a dark alley, and a monster comes, and then she just aces him. It’s like, you want to see the tiny person suddenly take control. God, my whole career is basically about that!

My friend Erin says we all have demons inside us, voices that whisper we're no good, that if we don't make this promotion or ace that exam we'll reveal to the world exactly what kind of worthless sacks of skin and sinew we really are Maybe that's true. Maybe mine just have louder voices.

In my head, I reminded myself that he was taken, but I couldn't get over the feeling that he had always been mine.

I don’t straighten my hair because I hate it; I straighten it because everyone else hates it for me.

I hate how they have the power to kill my future, kill me. They treat my Black skin like a gun or a grenade or a knife that is dangerous and lethal, when really it’s them. The guys at the top powering everything.

She turned back to the cards and tapped the Ace of Cups. "You're on the verge of a new beginning, a rebirth of great power and emotion. Your life will change, but it will be change that takes you in the direction that, while difficult, will ultimatley illuminate the world." "Whoa," I said. Rhonda then pointed to the Empress. "Power and leadership lie ahead of you, which you will handle with grace and intelligence. The seeds are already in place, though there's an edge of uncertainty-an enigmatic set of influences that hang around you like a mist." Her attention was on the Moon as she said those words. "But my overall impression is that those unknown factors won't deter you from your destiny." Lissa's eyes were wide. "You can teel that just from the cards?" ... After several moments of heavy silence, she said, "You will destroy that which is undead." i waited about thirty seconds for her to continue, but she didn't. "Wait, that's it?" ... Her eyes flickered over the cards, looked at Dimitri, then looked back at the cards. Her expression was blank. "You will lose what you value most, so treasure it while you can." She pointed to the Wheel of Fortune card. "The wheel is turning, always turning.

You call my cat Princess Fancy Pants, Ace, we got problems.

I won't run!!! Sometimes...the blood goes rushing to my head..I feel like if I run..I'll lose something important...and it scares me....Back then.. Luffy was right there behind me.

The first time I met you, you told me you grew up here, I’d call you a liar,” Tate informed me. I tipped my head to the side and asked, “Really?” “Really.” “Why?” “High-class,” he replied. “Sorry?” “You looked high-class,” he semi-repeated. “I’m not,” I stated. “No, Ace, you’re not. You’re a different kind of class.” “Farmer class.” “Pure class.

I try to live in the now and keep my eye on the hummingbird. I see no one I used to know, but then I’m not just crazy about a lot of people. I mean maybe I was holding all the aces, but what was the game?

You’ll have sweet dreams?” he asked quietly and sounding like he cared, a lot. God but I loved this man. I felt my mouth smile and I pressed even closer. “I’m a good girl, I always do what I’m told.” His hand left my hair so both his arms could wrap tight around me. “Love you, Ace,” he murmured and my stomach melted. He said it. Right out. He said it. “Love you too, Captain.

Old man, everyone!! And you.. Luffy. Even though I've been good for nothing my whole life, even though I have the blood of a demon within me... You guys still loved me! Thank you so much!! - Ace's last words to his family and friends.

And I won’t roll over and let someone else take my crown. Not in a million years.

Damn it all to hell and back again, you know very well that was a setup. You bloody well know I couldn't put my hands on her." "Yeah, yeah, sure, sure." Eve shrugged off her coat, tossed it aside. "I know a setup when I see it, and I know your face, ace. I didn't see desire on it, I saw annoyance." "Is that so? Is that bloody well so? Well, if you knew it was just what it was, why did you sucker punch me?" "Mostly?" She turned, cocked a hip. "Because you're a man." Eyes narrowed on her face, he tried to stanch the blood with the back of his hand. "And do you have any sort of idea just how often I might expect your fist in my goddamn face because of my bleeding DNA?

Last time I checked, sweetheart, my name wasn’t Ace,

I don't belong anywhere. I am neither a heart, a diamond, a club, nor a spade. I am neither a King, a Jack, an Eight, nor an Ace. As I am here - I am merely the Joker, and who that is I have had to find out for myself. Every time I toss my head, the jingling bells remind me that I have no family. I have no number - and no trade either. I have gone around observing your activities from the outside. Because of this I have also been able to see things to which you have been blind. Every morning you have gone to work, but you have never been fully awake. It is different for the Joker, because he was put into this world with a flaw: he sees too deeply and too much. Truth is a lonely thing.

They were the most beautiful things I'd ever seen in my entire goddamn life, and they were worth every fuckin' bruise I had.

Grabbing his very fine, very taut ass in my hands, I squeezed. "I need more coffee to deal with your gift, ace." Chapter 8, pg 131

Ace!" Tate shouted, both Wendy and I jumped and twisted our necks to look his way. "You cashed out or what?" Tate asked still in a shout. "I'm cashed out," I shouted back. "You wanna socialize for the next hour or are we gonna go?" He was still shouting and I was acutely aware, due to the fact that the noise level declined significantly, that the entire bar was listening. "Keep your pants on!" I yelled. The noise level disappeared. "Babe, get your ass over here," Tate ordered. "Patience, Captain, I'm talking to Wendy," I shot back. "Ass. Over. Here!" Tate commanded. I looked at Wendy and snapped loudly, "He's so darned bossy!" Two men and a woman sitting at the bar close to us burst out laughing. "You better get your ass over there," Wendy advised, I rolled my eyes and stomped across the bar.

I can't believe you had my baby. She was all curled up in here, and I never saw it." He shook his head. "This is all I'll ever see, Brenna. This is all I get. Let me look.

I can ‘fix' the kinks in my hair, but not the kinks in this whole system that hates me and Devon and everyone that looks like us.

What I really wanted... wasn't fame. All I wanted was to know... whether or not I should've been born. Huff... I can't even shout anymore. Luffy, listen to my next words carefully. Tell everybody what I say to you. Pops!! Fellow pirates!! And... Luffy... I've always been such a hopeless person... huff huff... I was demon spawn... the son of the devil!! Thank you... for loving me!!

Kiss me, Tate,” I demanded softly. “Baby -“ I lifted my head and put my lips to his, encouraging on a whisper, “I wanna catch fire, honey, and only you can bring that out for me.” I watched up close as Tate’s eyes went intense then his head slanted and he muttered, “You got it, Ace.” Then he kissed me.

I’m no longer Chi, but Chiamaka, daughter of a Nigerian mother who loves the hair on my head more than I ever could.

My daughter has a mother. She is not and never will be yours. You stay the fuck away from her. And if I ever see you look at her again the way you were earlier, I'll fucking cut your eyes out with a dull spoon.

Smoker:What brings Whitebeard Pirates' 2nd division commander to this kingdom? Well Portgas D. Ace? Ace: Oh I'm just looking around for my little brother that is...

L'union libre [Freedom of Love]" My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes With the tongue of an unbelievable stone My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof And of steam on the panes My wife with shoulders of champagne And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice My wife with wrists of matches My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts With fingers of mown hay My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut And of Midsummer Night Of privet and of an angelfish nest With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill My wife with legs of flares With the movements of clockwork and despair My wife with calves of eldertree pith My wife with feet of initials With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking My wife with a neck of unpearled barley My wife with a throat of the valley of gold Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent With breasts of night My wife with breasts of a marine molehill My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days With the belly of a gigantic claw My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically With a back of quicksilver With a back of light With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking My wife with hips of a skiff With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers And of shafts of white peacock plumes Of an insensible pendulum My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos My wife with buttocks of swans' backs My wife with buttocks of spring With the sex of an iris My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat My wife with a sex of mirror My wife with eyes full of tears With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle My wife with savanna eyes My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire

He grabbed my calves and yanked them apart, then pushed them up so my knees were bent. He put a knee to the bed and moved forward, releasing one of my calves, his hand wrapped around his cock and I felt his weight begin to hit me. “You come with me inside you, Ace,” he gritted and then he was inside me, filling me, beautiful. At the feel of him, so hard, making me so full, my back left the bed again. “Tate.” He moved, driving deep, fast, hard. Our mouths attached, our tongues clashed. His hand went between us and he touched me and that was it. It hit me like a rocket and I combusted, my world exploding, taking me with it and I loved every nanosecond.

No matter what I do, no matter how much I iron down the hair that springs from my scalp, or work as hard as I can, I’m always going to be other to them. Not good enough for this place I’ve tried to call home all my life.

Tell me how much you love me.” “More than my bike, less than my dick,” he answered with a straight face.

Sometimes I feel like I'm so lost in my own world, I don't notice the things that seem obvious to everyone else.

Brad (Lauren's ex) ignored Hayley (she's Brad's ex girlfriend) and looked at me, he did a top to toe and back again then his gaze moved to Tate. "I'm here to tell you I'm suing you," he announced. Jim-Billy, Nadine, Steg, Wing and my eyes moved to Tate. Tate stared at Brad then he said, "Come again?" "I'm suing you," Brad repeated. "For what?" Tate asked. "Alienation of affection," Brad answered. Without hesitation, Tate threw his head back and burst out laughing. Then he looked at me and remarked, "You're right, babe, this is fun." Ignoring Tate's comment, Brad declared, "You stole my wife." Tate looked back at Brad. "Yeah, bud, I did." Brad pointed at Tate and his voice was raised when he proclaimed, "See? You admit it." He threw his arm out. "I have witnesses." "Not that any judge'll hear your case, seein' as Lauren divorced your ass before I alienated her affection, but you manage it, I'll pay the fine. In the meantime, I'll keep alienating her affection. You should know, and feel free to share it with your lawyers," Tate continued magnanimously, "schedule's comin' out mornin' and night. Usually, in the mornin', she sucks me off or I make her come in the shower. Night, man…shit, that's even better. Definitely worth the fine." Sorry, it's just too long; I have to cut it off. But it continues…like that: "This is the good life?" (Brad) "Part of it," Tate replied instantly, taking his fists from the bar, leaning into his forearms and asking softly, in a tone meant both to challenge and provoke, "She ever ignite, lose so much control she'd attack you? Climb on top and fuck you so hard she can't breathe?" I watched Brad suffer that blow because I hadn't, not even close. We'd had good sex but not that good and Brad was extremely proud of his sexual prowess. He was convinced he was the best. And he knew, with Tate's words, he was wrong. "Jesus, you're disgusting," Brad muttered, calling up revulsion to save face. "She does that to me," Tate continued. "Fuck off," Brad snapped. "All the fuckin' time," Tate pushed. "Fuck off," Brad repeated. "It's fuckin' magnificent," Tate declared. "Thanks, honey," I whispered and grinned at him when his eyes came to me. I was actually expressing gratitude, although embarrassed by his conversation, but I was also kind of joking to get in Brad's face. Tate wasn't. His expression was serious when he said, "You are, Ace. Fuckin' magnificent.

I hate that these systems, all this institutional shit, can get to me. I hate how they have the power to kill my future, kill me. They treat my Black skin like a gun or a grenade or a knife that is dangerous and lethal, when really it’s them. The guys at the top powering everything

How can I ever make you understand Cassie and me? I would have to take you there, walk you down every path of our secret shared geography. The truism says it’s against all odds for a straight man and woman to be real friends, platonic friends; we rolled thirteen, threw down five aces and ran away giggling. She was the summertime cousin out of storybooks, the one you taught to swim at some midge-humming lake and pestered with tadpoles down her swimsuit, with whom you practiced first kisses on a heather hillside and laughed about it years later over a clandestine joint in your granny’s cluttered attic. She painted my fingernails gold and dared me to leave them that way for work…We climbed out her window and down the fire escape and lay on the roof of the extension below, drinking improvised cocktails and singing Tom Waits and watching the stars spin dizzily around us. No.

There will never be another Dark-Hunter who goes free. Your happiness comes at the expense of their freedom because there’s no one else I want to barter with. No one else to pay the fee you set up centuries ago. Knowing that, I hope you sleep well at night. (Artemis) (Artemis leaves.) But what about the Dark-Hunters? (Acheron) The one thing I’ve learned most out of all this is that it’s not over until all the cards are played. She laid down her ace, thinking we can’t beat it. But there are fifty-one other cards in the deck and the game isn’t over yet. We’ll figure something out. Her little fit fight now just shows that she’s played her best hand. That was all she’s capable of doing to hurt you, which is exactly why she did it. Don’t let her ruin your day, baby, and don’t let her take from us what we have. We’ve gotten this far together. What’s another bitter goddess to us? Like my papou always says, over, under, around, or through. There’s always a way and we’ll find it. (Tory)

She stepped back and frowned at me. "Open it." "Me?" I felt sure she was picking on me because I was the only enslaved god she had. "I'm not Hermes! I'm not even Valdez!" "Try." As if that were a simple request! I attempted to get my fingertips under the edge and prise it open. I spread my arms and yelled the standard magic words: MELLON! SHAZAM! SESAME STREET! None of these worked. At last I tried my infallible ace in the hole. I sang 'Love Is an Open Door' from the Frozen soundtrack. Even this failed. "Impossible!" I cried. "This door has no taste in music!

Are you catching feelings for me, Ace?” My heart beats double time. “Do you want me to?” He pulls back, leveling me with a tender look. “Yeah. Maybe I do.

Two of us in this room, Ace, two keycards," he said and my eyes went to him. When they did, he jerked his hand, finger extended to the door. "Know what this is?" "A door?" I asked stupidly. "A peephole," he bit back then moved his hand to flick the security latch closed. "Know what that is?" "Captain -" He advanced and the aggressive way he did it made me retreat. It was dawning on me he was pissed and he wasn't pissed at Brad (that's her ex). He was pissed at me. I stopped when my legs hit the chair to the desk. He stopped when he was in my space. I tilted my head way back to look at him. "You got great hair, babe." "Tate -" "Thick." "Tate -" "Soft." "Tate," I whispered. "Shame it gets hacked off with a knife after some guy rapes you with that knife!" He finished on a roar. My body jolted. "Tate!" "There's bad guys out there, Ace. Bad. Do things to you that'll make you glad you end up dead. You don't open a goddamned door not knowin' who's behind it." "I thought it was you." "Well it wasn't." "Tate -

So are you conscious?” The alien robot—the skin the Miller construct was using—shrugged. It was strange how well the gesture translated. “Don’t know. Seems like I’m acing my Turing test, though.

Fuck Baby, what were you thinking?” he asked me before sliding his mouth down over my nose to my lips. While surrounded by angry bikers, he kissed me for the first time in three years. God, I Loved him.

Times are a’changing, my man. Welcome to the new real world where fat people don’t have to hate themselves anymore. Thank God for women like Melissa McCarthy and Adele so we can all start really believing that now.

I'm proud of myself for doing my best. That's all anyone can ask of me.

Not much longer, my love, and I’ll be there with you. I’ll slay all your dragons. Love, Patrick

I never play all my cards at once. You will realise that as you read through what I tell you and you should always keep that in your mind. I am one step ahead. Always. You may have a good hand but mine will always be better (so what if the ace was hidden up my sleeve? Who said we had to engage according to a set of rules?)

She took care of me and my brothers, I’m sure that was really hard for her.’ ‘That was her job.’ I feel interrogated, like I can’t say the right thing. I speed up, trying to explain myself. ‘Well, but I mean this was different from most parents.’ Shit. I hated how that came out. ‘How so?’ I pause to compose myself. Laura won’t rattle me. I speak in an even, measured tone. ‘She sacrificed everything for me. She constantly went without so she could take care of me. She put me first, ahead of herself.’ ‘Hmm. And do you think that’s healthy?’ What kind of fresh hell is this? What is this impossible-to-ace quiz? I have no idea how I’m supposed to be answering to make Mom look good.

back in my mid-twenties, a friend getting into a relationship could be enough to send me into a spiral of depression and anxiety, simultaneously worried I'd lose the friend and reminded that (as I thought then) I'd be forever alone.

Cruz stroked her arms, following them up to her shoulders. "So obedient. Did you know she'd be like this?" "I knew she'd be perfect." Ace cupped her chin and pressed his thumb to her lips. "How much of my cock can you take without choking, angel?" Another prickle of heat washed over

She smiled with a newfound optimism. "The one thing I've learned most out of all this is that it's not over until all the cards are played. She laid down her ace, thinking we can't beat it. But there are fifty-one other cards in the deck and the game isn't over yet. We'll figure something out. Her little fit right now just shows that she's played her best hand. That was all she's capable of doing to hurt you which is exactly why she did it. Don't let her ruin your day, baby, and don't let her take from us what we have. We've gotten this far together. What's another bitter goddess to us? Like my papou always says, over, under, around or through. There's always a way and we'll find it."- Tory

It's the hottest thing I've ever seen watching you take me. Not sayin' you're a bump on a log, for fuck's sake. You trust me to give it to you. You know I will, and you let me do it. I know you haven't been with many men, but let me tell you, that ain't how it usually is. You're so fuckin' sexy layin' there, sayin' my name, makin' those noises you mkae. Wouldn't trade that for anything.

Good luck on your test.” “I’m gonna ace it for sure!” I said, rolling to Wesley’s side of the bed and pulling the sheet up. “Don’t I know it,” he smiled, and then slapped the doorframe. “Oh yeah. If Gus calls, just tell him I was balls-deep in your ass and that I’m on my way now.

Like I said, when I get pissed I say a lotta shit I don't mean and what I said about you I didn't mean," he repeated, beginning to look as impatient as he sounded. "And like I said, you're old enough to learn you shouldn't do that," I repeated too, probably also looking impatient. "That isn't me," he replied. "Well, then, this obviously is eating you and that's your consequence because I have feelings and you walked all over them and you can't order me to shake it off so you can feel better. It's there, burned in my brain and I can't just forget it because you tell me to. So you have to live with that. You can't and want me gone, say it now because I'm beginning to like Betty and I met Shambles and Sunny and I'm having dinner with them tomorrow night and I'd rather not make ties when I'm going to need to hit the road because my boss is going to get rid of me." "Shambles and Sunny?" he asked. "Shambles and Sunny," I answered but didn't share more. "Now, can we just move on and do our best to work together and all other times avoid each other or do you want me to go?" He moved forward an inch and I again fought the urge to retreat. "Forgiveness is divine," he said softly and I'd never heard him talk soft. He had a very nice voice but when it went soft, it was beautiful. This also sucked. (BTW, in the beginning a lot of things sucked! :D) I mean Lauren uses this word 'sucks'. "I'm not divine," I returned. "I'm also not Ace and I'm not Babe. I'm Lauren. You don't like my name, don't call me anything at all. Now can I clean the danged table?" I had my head tipped back to look him in the eye but I could tell he was expending effort to hold his whole body still. Then he said in that soft voice, "I'm sorry, Ace." "Me too," I replied instantly being clear I didn't accept his apology...

I'm not alone in having spent my adult life only pursuing positions or projects I knew I'd ace. So many women stick to doing only the things at which they excel, rarely going beyond what makes them feel confident and comfortable.

I’m kind of hoping it will end like this. You made me happy. Very happy. But…you deserve everything. Wife, kids, a white picket fence.” “And I’ll have all of it. With you.” “You know that can’t happen with me.” “Then it can’t happen with anyone. There won’t be a next Rosie. And there won’t be another story like ours. This is it, Rose LeBlanc. And this is us. If there is no you, then there is no me.” “You know, I always hated Romeo and Juliet . The play. The movie. The very idea. It was tragic, all right. Tragically stupid. I mean, they were what? Thirteen? Sixteen? What a waste of life, to kill yourself because your family wouldn’t let you get hitched. But Romeo and Juliet were right. I was the next eleven years killing myself slowly while I grieved for you. Then you came back, and I still thought it was just a fascination. But now that I know…” “Now that I know that it can only ever be you, you’re going to get better for me so Earth won’t explode. Can you do that, Sirius? I promise not to leave this room until you get out. Not even for a shower. Not even to get you your chocolate chip cookies. I’ll get someone to drive all the way to New York and bring them for you.” “I love you.” Rosie’s tears curtained her vision. “I love you, Baby LeBlanc,” I said. “So fucking much. You taught me how to love. How well did I do?” “A-plus,” she whispered. “You aced it. Can you promise me something?” “Anything.” “ Live .” “Not without you.” “And have kids. Lots of them. They’re fun.” “Rosie…” “I’m not afraid. I got what I wanted from this life. You .” “Rosie.” “I love you, Earth. You were good to me.” “Rose!” Her eyes closed, the door opened, the sound on her monitor went off, and my heart disintegrated. Piece. By piece. By piece.

She’s my equal in every way. More than I ever thought I could have. If this is my only chance at happiness, I won’t waste it. ... “Get ready, Ace. I’m playing for keeps.

My whole fucking world. My Rylee. My son. My everything.

Thank you for the compliment, though. My name's Ace Thomas.

If Fairyland-Below is Fairyland's shadow, what is the shadow of Fairyland-Below? What's under the underworld?" Ell laughed like thunder rolling somewhere far off. "I'm afraid it's underworlds all the way down, my dearest, darling flying ace.

Instead of asking myself, Is her room clean? Did he ace that test? I’m asking, Did I connect with them in a way that I will remember twenty years from now? Did I listen when she called my name four times? Did our hearts meet for a brief moment? Did he know that even when I couldn’t fix the problem, I was there for him?

Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s made me question my sanity more times than you can imagine,” he says dryly, and I know many of those times were because of me. “And there are times that you have to bite your tongue so hard you’re not sure if it’s going to be in one or two pieces when you open your mouth. It’s exhausting and you’re constantly doubting yourself, wondering if you’re doing the right thing, saying the right thing, being the right thing.

Tristan’s Mom: What are these? Tristan: Your granddaughters. Tristan’s Dad: Don’t worry honey, you don’t look old enough to be a mother let alone a grandmother. Tristan’s Mom: Again with the flattery, thank you dear. Where did they come from? Tristan: Camie gave birth last night. Jeff: I didn’t know she was pregnant. Tristan: She wasn’t. It was a miracle. Tristan’s Mom: Do they have names? Tristan: Phineas and Ferb. Jeff: From the cartoon? Tristan’s Dad: That figures, he named the dog Scooby. Tristan’s Mom: They sound like boy names. Tristan: Mom! Shhh, you’ll give them a complex. Jeff: If that Ferb one climbs my legs again I’m drop kicking it. Tristan: That’s child abuse and I’ll press charges. Besides, they just miss their mom. Jeff: I’m calling CPS (cat protective services)… Tristan: What for? Jeff: Because you’re making your kids live in a broken home unnecessarily. Tristan: I’m not talking to you anymore. Jeff: Fine, as long as you to talk to her. Tristan: Back off. Jeff: Nope, not gonna do it. Tristan: I’m warning you man. Jeff: You miss her too. Tristan: Yeah, so? Jeff: So do something about it. Tristan: Happy? Last night was miserable and I think it’s too late. Jeff: You still have a 12 year old ace in the hole. Tristan: Saving it as a last resort. Tristan’s Dad: Honey, do you have a clue as to what they’re talking about? Tristan’s Mom: No and I don’t want one. Jeff: I’m just helping my nieces get their parents back together. Dude, it’s time. Make the call. Tristan: Alright, I did it. But I get the feeling I’m about to do business with the mob. I hope I don’t wake up with the head of my horse in bed with me tonight. Jeff: Well, a good father will do anything he can to protect his family, even if that means he runs the risk of sleeping with the fishes. Tristan: Okay girls, your aunt helped Daddy come up with a plan and if it works you should get to see Mommy today. Cross your paws, or claws, or whatever…just cross something for luck.

I'm going to ace this.''I whispered,pushing my nervousness away.''I studied trigonometry all last night.I know all this.'' Tally frowned and then her eyes widened. ''Franny...the test is on calculus.'' Fuck.

There’s no reason, on paper at least, why I need these pills to get through life. I had a great childhood, loving parents, the whole package. I wasn’t beaten, abused, or expected to get nothing but As. I had nothing but love and support, but that wasn’t enough somehow. My friend Erin says we all have demons inside us, voices that whisper we’re no good, that if we don’t make this promotion or ace that exam we’ll reveal to the world exactly what kind of worthless sacks of skin and sinew we really are. Maybe that’s true. Maybe mine just have louder voices. But I don’t think it’s as simple as that. The depression I fell into after university wasn’t about exams and self-worth, it was something stranger, more chemical, something that no talking cure was going to fix. Cognitive behavioral therapy, counseling, psychotherapy—none of it really worked in the way that the pills did. Lissie says she finds the notion of chemically rebalancing your mood scary, she says it’s the idea of taking something that could alter how she really is. But I don’t see it that way; for me it’s like wearing makeup—not a disguise, but a way of making myself more how I really am, less raw. The best me I can be.

Ace let out a deep breath, squeezing my hand and then letting go. "I know how hard this all is for you and I'm sorry that I haven't been more receptive. I promise from now on I will try my hardest to let you in more. Tell you more about my world and everything that makes me tick." I took his hand and pulled it up to my lips, barely grazing his knuckles. "Deal.

Good Morning." "You're not at work," he said, his voice raspier, sexier, than usual. "Neither are you." "Are you going in late?" "Nope. And you're not either." I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He was still warm from the bed. My sleepy, sensual dream come true. "We're going to hole up today, ace. Just you and me hanging out in our pajamas and relexing.

I’ll see you at five, ace.” “Not a minute later,” he ordered gruffly. I laughed despite myself, infatuated with every rough-edged facet of him. “Or what?” Pulling back, he gave me a look that made my toes curl. “Or I come get you.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t just kiss me and make everything better, ya know.” “Yes, I can. The expression is ‘kiss and make up’ for a reason. And considering you just called me your boyfriend, I’d say that’s well within my right.

His crying stops instantly the minute Ry cradles him in her arms. He knows. How simple is that? And if I thought I was sucker-punched before, the sight of her holding our son is the knockout punch. I’m looking down at his little face and hers next to each other, and shit I never expected to feel in my life surges through me, wraps around my heart, and fills it in a way I never thought was possible

Yeah, I just needed to wash your fruity shot off my hands, and Shayne said it was okay to come up, so if it’s a problem—” “My…shot?” I looked down at my pants and then grinned back up at him. “Well, not yet, but there’s still time to come.

The quest for self improvement and personal growth is now an integral part of my life. I’m always looking for ways to increase my capacity to grow, develop and achieve more. And that means, I’m willing to read, observe, listen, discuss, research and do whatever it takes to become a better improved me. I hope you are too.

So," Benji says when Chloe finds Georgia next to him, "I know things have been crazy, but I just wanted to say, oh my god! Shara Wheeler is in love with you, and Georgia has been secretly dating a member of the Homecoming Court. Like, what is going on?? Also, when do I get a hot person??" "I saw you flirting with Ace," Chloe counters. "Yeah, he's, like, Dodge Truck Month level straight. I'm not wasting my time.

The young man is both like and unlike us." Oberon paused his perpetual motion. "Like and unlike? Could he be a changeling, one of the Faery?" I shook my head. "He is human. I am certain. But he sees the world as it is and not as humans would have it be." (p63)

Memorization has gotten a bad rap recently. Lots of students, and even some educators, say that being able to reason is more important than knowing facts; and besides, why bother committing things to memory when you've got Google? My response to this - after I've finished inwardly groaning - is that of course reasoning is important, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't know facts as well. It's not like you have to choose between one or the other. Besides, facts give you a foundation on which to reason about things.

See, admit it, you need my help.” “Fine. I need you… your help.” My admission made Ace’s half smile bloom into a full one. He really was devastatingly handsome. And so very, very unattainable. “What makes you say that, Riles?” His thumb brushed up my neck, as his other hand splayed a little wider along my hip. “Huh? He winked at me. “I’ve never been unattainable.” I stood there, dumbfounded. “I said that out loud?

What’re you doing here?” I asked Tate after Ned tossed my bag in the backseat. “I’m your ride,” he replied and then we were off and I barely got a chance to wave at Ned and Betty who were both standing outside my room. “Whose SUV is this?” I asked once we were out of Carnal. “Mine,” he answered. I looked at him. “You drive a Harley.” “Not big on puttin’ bad guys on the back of my bike when I hunt them down, Ace. Fucks with my street cred.

Sher just laughed, shaking her head in genuine bemusement. “Just think it through Ace. I’m sure the answer will come to you… eventually.” Jake sat there in silence, staring at the closed door to Sher’s bedroom. What had just happened here? Well, he’d just knocked back Sher’s invitation to have sex for starters. Oh my God, what had he just done?

I can rest my hands on my abdomen and know that he or she is a fighter, is healthy, and can’t wait for me to hold him or her in my arms. I can sit here and feel the love surging through me for this baby Colton and I made together, and know without a doubt, this perfect little being will only cement and make stronger the love we feel for one another.

If you understand 'it' will come, then you'll understand 'it' will pass. No matter what happens, you can make it. Trust me, you can.

I got my grade back.” I slip the paper out of my pocket, holding it up. “I aced it.” And for the first time, I say out loud, “I’m valedictorian.” Logan gazes at the paper for a long moment. And when he takes it, I feel the brush of his finger against mine. “Look at that,” he says with awe. “That’s brilliant. Smart girl.” His large hand moves to my shoulder, squeezing. And I feel it everywhere. Warmth tingles through me, from the top of my ears to the tips of my toes. "Congratulations, Ellie." My mouth stretches so far into a smile, tears spring up in my eyes. “Thanks. I just . . . I wanted to tell someone.” Him. I wanted to tell him. "I'm glad it was me.

Tell me you love me,” he growled … “Tell me you’re mine.” “I love you,” I sobbed back, wrapping my fists in his hair. His hips paused, leaving him only halfway inside me before he ordered again, “Tell me you’re mine.” “I’m yours. I’m yours!” I pleaded, sliding one hand to his shoulder and digging my nails into his back until he slammed back inside me. “That’s right, baby. You’re mine and I’m yours.

Psychologists call the everyday occurrences of my and Lindsay’s life “adverse childhood experiences,” or ACEs. ACEs are traumatic childhood events, and their consequences reach far into adulthood. The trauma need not be physical. The following events or feelings are some of the most common ACEs: • being sworn at, insulted, or humiliated by parents • being pushed, grabbed, or having something thrown at you

There’d be plenty of time for mourning, I thought. It will come, probably on the sly, as I’ve heard these things always do, and there won’t be any getting off lightly, either. Anticipating sorrow to neutralize sorrow—that’s paltry, cowardly stuff, I told myself, knowing I was an ace practitioner of the craft. And what if it came fiercely? What if it came and didn’t let go, a sorrow that had come to stay, and did to me what longing for him had done on those nights when it seemed there was something so essential missing from my life that it might as well have been missing from my body, so that losing him now would be like losing a hand you could spot in every picture of yourself around the house, but without which you couldn’t possibly be you again.

As Julie Sondra Decker, author of The Invisible Orientation: An Introduction to Asexuality, tells me, “We’re whole people who just lack that ‘driving force’ and it’s understandable in the same way that it’s understandable that someone doesn’t have ‘crafts’ as their driving force.” (Or in the way that people don’t have “not wearing sock-monkey hats” as their driving force.) “I’m not a ‘non-crafter’; I’m only asexual because there’s a word for it and because people have an objection to me not wanting to have sex. If they didn’t, my life would not have involved very much of talking about it,” she says.

The results of the study were astoundingly clear: The more childhood trauma someone had suffered, the worse their health outcomes were in adulthood. And their risk for contracting diseases didn’t go up just a few percentage points. People with high ACE scores were about three times as likely to develop liver disease, twice as likely to develop cancer or heart disease, four times as likely to develop emphysema.[2] They were seven and a half times more likely to become alcoholics, four and a half times more likely to suffer from depression, and a whopping twelve times more likely to attempt suicide.[3] Scientists have learned that stress is literally toxic. Stress chemicals like cortisol and adrenaline surging through our bodies are healthy in moderation—you wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning without a good dose of cortisol. But in overwhelming quantities, they become toxic and can change the structure of our brains. Stress and depression wear our bodies out. And childhood trauma affects our telomeres. Telomeres are like little caps on the ends of our strands of DNA that keep them from unraveling. As we get older, those telomeres get shorter and shorter. When they’ve finally disappeared, our DNA itself begins to unravel, increasing our chances of getting cancer and making us especially susceptible to disease. Because of this tendency, telomeres are linked to human lifespan. And studies have shown that people who suffered from childhood trauma have significantly shortened telomeres.[4]

You know, I'm really trying to cut down on this stuff. But..." Peabody ripped into the pack of cookies. "Thing is, weird, McNab doesn't think I'm chubby. And when a guy sees you naked, he knows where the extra layers are." "Peabody, do you have some delusion that I want to hear how McNab sees you naked?" She crunched into a cookie. "I'm just saying. Anyway, you know we have sex, so you've probably reached the conclusion we're naked when we're having it. You being an ace detective and all." "Peabody, in the chain of command, you may, on rare occasions and due to my astonishing good nature, respond to sarcasm with sarcasm. You are not permitted to lead with it. Give me a damn cookie." "They're coconut crunchies. You hate coconut." "Then why did you buy coconut?" "To piss you off." Grinning now, Peabody pulled another pack of cookies from her bag. "Then I bought chocolate chip, just for you." "Well, hand them over then." "Okay, so ..." Peabody ripped open the second pack, offered Eve a cookie. "Anyway, McNab's got a little, bitty butt, and hardly any shoulders. Still -- " "Stop. Stop right there. If I get an image of a naked McNab in my head, you're going back to traffic detail." Peabody munched, hummed, waited. "Damn it! There he is." Hooting with laughter, Peabody polished off the last cookie. "Sorry. Dallas, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Kinda cute, isn't he?

He blinks a few times. It’s like watching his consciousness swim toward the surface. “Obviously I like the book. I begged to work on it, remember?” “I’ll remember you begging until my last dying breath.” He looks abruptly to the screen, all business, and it feels like my heart is taking on water. “The pages are great,” he says. “The perky physical therapist is a good foil to Nadine, but I think by the end of this section, she needs more depth.” “I wrote that too!” I’m immediately self-conscious about my teacher’s pet I-just-aced-a-quiz voice when I see Charlie’s face. “What?” He squelches his smirk. “Nothing.” “Not ‘nothing,’ ” I challenge. “That’s a face.” “I’ve always had one, Stephens,” he says. “Fairly disappointing you just noticed.

At This Moment Of Time Some who are uncertain compel me. They fear The Ace of Spades. They fear Loves offered suddenly, turning from the mantelpiece, Sweet with decision. And they distrust The fireworks by the lakeside, first the spuft, Then the colored lights, rising. Tentative, hesitant, doubtful, they consume Greedily Caesar at the prow returning, Locked in the stone of his act and office. While the brass band brightly bursts over the water They stand in the crowd lining the shore Aware of the water beneath Him. They know it. Their eyes Are haunted by water Disturb me, compel me. It is not true That "no man is happy," but that is not The sense which guides you. If we are Unfinished (we are, unless hope is a bad dream), You are exact. You tug my sleeve Before I speak, with a shadow's friendship, And I remember that we who move Are moved by clouds that darken midnight

But maybe I’ll try to work myself up. I don’t know if I could do it, but I might try. Because I want to get out of Castle Rock and go to college and never see my old man or any of my brothers again. I want to go someplace where nobody knows me and I don’t have any black marks against me before I start. But I don’t know if I can do it.” “Why not?” “People. People drag you down.” “Who?” I asked, thinking he must mean the teachers, or adult monsters like Miss Simons, who had wanted a new skirt, or maybe his brother Eyeball who hung around with Ace and Billy and Charlie and the rest, or maybe his own mom and dad. But he said: “Your friends drag you down, Gordie. Don’t you know that?” He pointed at Vern and Teddy, who were standing and waiting for us to catch up. They were laughing about something; in fact, Vern was just about busting a gut. “Your friends do. They’re like drowning guys that are holding onto your legs. You can’t save them. You can only drown with them.

This druid feeling I get in the woods’s so thrilling it makes me want to crap, so I dug a hole with a flat stone inside a clump of mitten-leafed shrubs. I pulled down my cacks and squatted. It’s ace shitting outside like a caveman. Let go, thud, subtle crinkle on dry leaves. Squatted craps come out smoother than craps in bogs. Crap’s peatier and steamier in open air, too. (My one fear is bluebottles flying up my arsehole and laying eggs in my lower intestine. Larvae’d hatch and get to my brain. My cousin Hugo told me it actually happened to an American kid called Akron Ohio.) “Am I normal,” I said aloud just to hear my voice, “talking to myself in a wood like this?” A bird so near it might’ve perched on a curl of my ear musicked a flute in a jar. I quivered to own such an unownable thing. If I could’ve climbed into that moment, that jar, and never ever left, I would’ve done. But my squatting calves were aching, so I moved. The unownable bird took fright and vanished down its tunnel of twigs and nows.

Call me Ace. That’s what my friends call me.” they both look up at me in question and I laugh, remembering just how young they really are,before I nudge my head slightly toward Ashton.Eric takes Ashton’s hand first, gesturing him forward like he’s got a secret to whisper in his ear. Of course, a five-year-old’s whisper might as well be through a megaphone. “What’s wrong with you?Livie’s really pretty for a girl.”I try not to laugh. Ashton’s eyes flicker to me and there’s a mischievous twinkle in them. A twinge of panic hits me. Of all the ways he could answer this question . . . “I’ve tried, little buddy. But Livie doesn’t like me very much.” “She’s your friend but she doesn’t like you? Why not?” Derek asks, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Ashton shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve tried as hard as I can, but . . .” then his shoulders slouch a bit and his smile falters, playing the role of wounded boy to Academy Award perfection. e twins cock their heads and stare at me in eerie unison. “Why don’t you like him, Livie?” Derek asks. And I have turned into the villain here.

I started to pull it up. I stopped. He arched an eyebrow at me, like a challenge. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” My face grew hot. “Right,” I muttered. “Just… no ideas, okay?” He laughed, but I didn’t think it was at me. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. Not really.” I was almost insulted. I was proud of my body. I was strong. I was young. I was capable of providing for my— Fuck. He wiped his eyes. “No, oh god, get that wounded look off your face. Christ.” He took a deep breath. “I’m ace.” I frowned. “What’s that?” “Asexual.” “Oh. Oh.” I scrunched up my face. “Like… really?” Now he was laughing at me. “Like, really.” “How did that work?” I blanched. “Holy shit, ignore me. Seriously, don’t think you need to explain—” “If that’s what you want,” he said, and that was it. I scowled at him. He smiled at me. I lasted a few more seconds. “Are you sure?” “I am,” he said simply. “But.” I waved my hand in the direction of my neck and the scar on it that extended near my shoulder. “And. Like. You know.” He laughed again. I thought I even heard Ox snorting outside the door. “We made it work. It’s not that I’m repulsed by sex or anything. It’s just not everything to me. There’s more to us than physical intimacy. Or there was.” “Oh.” I bit the inside of my cheek, but the words came out in a rush. “And I was okay with that?” “You were,” he said, and his voice took on a wistful tone that made me feel like I was intruding. “We made it work because we… well.” Blue. The room filled with blue. It was smothering. I wanted to go to him. It was like a pull. Toward what, I didn’t know. Instead I pulled off my shirt and let it fall to the floor. “You can stop flexing,” he said, the blue fading slightly. “I’m not.” “Really,” he said. “So your pecs usually bounce up and down like that normally? That’s something you should probably get checked out.” He looked me up and down, but there was no stink of arousal coming from him. Instead, it was warm, like a heavy blanket on a winter day. “You’re bigger than you were. Harder.” “I’m… sorry?” I wasn’t sorry at all. He shook his head. “It looks good on you.

This brings us to the crux moment in the supposed 'Show Trial' melodrama. Employing the confusing and confused testimony of Jude Wanniski (who he also describes as a political nut-case, if not a nut-case flat-out, and to whom he introduced me in the first place) Blumenthal suggests that I concerted my testimony in advance with the House Republicans, notably James Rogan and Lindsey Graham. Feebly bridging the gap between sheer conjecture and outright conspiracy, Rogan is quoted as saying: 'Hitchens may well have called Lindsey..' I did not in fact do any such thing. Why should my denial be believed? It's not as if I care. I probably should have colluded with them, if my intention was to land a blow on Clinton (which it was) let alone to plant a Judas kiss on Blumenthal (which it was not). But every other fragment of Blumenthal's evidence and description shows—even boasts—that Congressman Graham was essentially punching air until the last day of the trial. That could not possibly have been true, especially in his cross-examination of Blumenthal, if he knew he had an ace in his vest-pocket all along. Only a tendency to paranoia or to all-explaining theories could suggest the contrary. I'd even be able to claim for myself, I hope, that if I'd truly wanted to gouge a deep or vengeful wound I could or would have made a better job of it.

Anticipating sorrow to neutralize sorrow—that’s paltry, cowardly stuff, I told myself, knowing I was an ace practitioner of the craft. And what if it came fiercely? What if it came and didn’t let go, a sorrow that had come to stay, and did to me what longing for him had done on those nights when it seemed there was something so essential missing from my life that it might as well have been missing from my body, so that losing him now would be like losing a hand you could spot in every picture of yourself around the house, but without which you couldn’t possibly be you again. You lose it, as you always knew you would, and were even prepared to; but you can’t bring yourself to live with the loss. And hoping not to think of it, like praying not to dream of it, hurts just the same. Then a strange idea got hold of me: What if my body—just my body, my heart—cried out for his? What to do then? What if at night I wouldn’t be able to live with myself unless I had him by me, inside me? What then? Think of the pain before the pain. I knew what I was doing. Even in my sleep, I knew what I was doing. Trying to immunize yourself, that’s what you’re doing—you’ll end up killing the whole thing this way—sneaky, cunning boy, that’s what you are, sneaky, heartless, cunning boy. I smiled at the voice. The sun was right on me now, and I loved the sun with a near-pagan love for the things of earth. Pagan, that’s what you are. I had never known how much I loved the earth, the sun, the sea—people, things, even art seemed to come second. Or was I fooling myself?

I'm in the unique position of being able to call my brother, straight out, a non-stop talker - which is a pretty vile thing to call somebody, I think - and yet at the same time to sit back, rather, I'm afraid, like a type with both sleeves full of aces, and effortlessly remember a whole legion of mitigating factors (and 'mitigating' is hardly the word for it). I can condense them all into one: By the time Seymour was in mid-adolescence - sixteen, seventeen - he not only had learned to control his native vernacular, his many, many less than elite New York speech mannerisms, but had by then already cone into his own true, bull's-eye, poet's vocabulary. His non-stop talks, his monologues, his nearharangues then came as close to pleasing from start to finish - for a good many of as, anyway -as, say, the bulk of Beethoven's output after lie ceased being encumbered with a sense of hearing, and maybe I'm thinking especially, though it seems a trifle picky, of the B-flat-major and C-sharp-minor quartets. Still, we were a family of seven children, originally. And, as it happened, none of us was in the least tongue-tied. It's an exceedingly weighty matter when six naturally profuse verbalizers and expounders have an undefeatable champion talker in the house. True, he never sought the title. And he passionately yearned to see one or another of us outpoint or simply outlast him in a conversation or an argument. Аз съм стигнал до завидното положение да мога направо да нарека брат си кречетало — което не е много ласкателно — и същевременно да седя спокойно, сякаш съм пълен господар на положението, и без усилие да си припомням цяла редица смекчаващи вината обстоятелства (при все че „смекчаващи вината“ едва ли е най-подходящият израз в случая). Мога да ги обобщя в едно: по времето, когато Сиймор бе достигнал средата на юношеската си възраст — на шестнайсет-седемнайсет години, — той не само владееше до съвършенство родния си език с всичките му тънкости, но си беше създал и собствен, много точен поетически речник. Неговата говорливост, неговите монолози, неговите едва ли не прокламации звучеха почти толкова приятно — поне за мнозина от нас, — колкото, да речем, повечето от творбите на Бетховен, създадени, след като се е освободил от бремето на слуха; макар и да звучи претенциозно, тук имам предвид по-специално квартетите в си бемол мажор и до диез миньор. В нашето семейство бяхме седем деца. И нито едно от тях не беше лишено в ни най-малка степен от дар слово. Е, не е ли голямо тегло, когато шестима словоохотливци и тълкуватели имат в къщата си един непобедим шампион по речовитост? Вярно, той никога не се е стремил към тази титла. Дори жадуваше някой от нас да го надмине ако не по красноречие, то поне до дългоречие в някой спор или прост разговор.

I’m okay. I think all this isolation, and all the extra security stuff, is just starting to wear on me. I’m going a little stir-crazy being cooped up all the time.” She tried to explain her sulky mood. “Especially with Homecoming this weekend. The idea of sitting around here, while everyone else is out having fun, just sucks.” He didn’t react the way she’d expected him to react. She’d expected some more sympathy, and maybe even some suggestive comments about the two of them being left alone together. What she didn’t expect was for him to smile at her. But he did. And it was his sideways smile, which told Violet that he knew something she didn’t. “What?” she demanded adamantly. He grinned. He was definitely keeping something from her. “Tell me!” she insisted, glowering at him. “I don’t know . . .” he teased her. “I’m not sure you deserve it.” She punched him in the arm for making her beg. “Please, just tell me.” He laughed at her. “Fine. I give up. Bully.” He pretended to rub his arm where she’d hit him. “What if I were to tell you that . . .”—he dragged it out, making her lean closer in anticipation, his crooked smile lighting up his face—“. . . we’re still going to the dance?” Violet was speechless. That wasn’t at all what she’d expected him to say. “Yeah, right,” she retorted cynically. “My parents barely let me go to school, let alone go to the dance.” “You’re right, they didn’t want you to go, but we talked about it, and even your uncle Stephen helped out. The football game was definitely out of the question; there are just too many people coming and going, and there’re no restrictions for getting in. But the dance is at school, in the gym. Only students and their dates can get in, and your uncle said he was already planning to have extra security there. So, as long as I promise to keep a close eye on you . . . which I do”—his voice suggested that the last part had nothing to do with keeping her safe, and Violet felt her cheeks flushing in response—“your parents have agreed to let you go.” She glanced down at her ankle, double-wrapped in Ace bandages, and completely useless. “But I can’t dance.” She felt crestfallen. He slid his finger beneath her shin and lifted it up so that she was staring into his eyes. “I don’t care at all if we dance. I just want to take my girlfriend”—his emphasis on the word gave her goose bumps, and she smiled—“to Homecoming.” They stayed there like that, with their eyes locked and unspoken meaning passing between them, for several long, electrifying moments. Violet was the first to break the spell. “Lissie’ll be there,” she stated in a voice that was devoid of any real jealousy. Jay shook his head, still gazing at her intently. “I won’t even notice her. I won’t be able to take my eyes off you.” Violet was glad she was already sitting, because his words made her feel weak and fluttery. The corner of her mouth twitched upward with satisfaction. “Not if I have any say in it, you won’t,” she answered.