O'hare Quotes

I give Finn a wicked smile. "Don't you think a peg leg would be charming? Like a pirate? The first mate of the Calypso had one, didn't he?" "It would add a certain rakish factor. Have you got a spare eye patch?" "Be serious, you two. Gangrene is no laughing matter," Mrs. O'Hare scolds.

Get on with it," Mrs. O'Hare prompts, and I do, wrapping the bandage snugly over Finn's instep and up his calf― which is sinewy with muscle, covered in fine coppery hair and more freckles. I'm fascinated by the pattern they form over his skin. Do they go all the way up his leg? I flush scarlet at the the thought.

You're my bodyguard and lover." She shook her head. "Just your bodyguard." "He'll never believe I'm not sleeping with you." "You aren't." "Even I find that unbelievable," Nick said.

You don’t have to be there to be there.

We want you to break into the Smithsonian." "Always a pleasure," Nick said. Kate raised an eyebrow at Nick. "You've done it before?" Nick shrugged. "Nobody goes to D.C. without visiting the Smithsonian." "Most people go when it's open." "I don't like crowds.

Good grief. Are you flirting with me?" "Honey, my intentions are way past flirting." "Your intentions could get you a knee in the groin." Nick grinned. "At least your mind's on the right body part.

Most fathers don't show up with hand grenades and bowie knives." "They should be ashamed of themselves," Jake said.

Do you know how to pilot a yacht?” she asked. “No, I don't, but I thought it would be fun to try it in pitch-black darkness in the middle of the Flores Sea,” Nick said, smiling. “They light up the island, right?” “You're such a smart-ass” “I known, but I'm a charming smart-ass

Kate prefers a loaded gun next to her bed." "Is that all?" Jake asked Kate. "Where's your hand grenade?" "I don't have a hand grenade." "What happened to the one I gave you for Christmas?" "I forgot about that," she said. "I guess it's around the apartment somewhere." "You lost a hand grenade in your apartment?" Nick said. "Next time I visit I'll be more careful.

They were about ten yards away, coming up the starboard side, when the men suddenly dove off their boat. Nick looked over his shoulder and saw Kate standing behind him with a rocket-propelled grenade launcher resting on her shoulder. It may have been the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Your words, O Hares! are good; but they lack both claws and teeth such as we have.

That's disappointing," Nick said. "I was hoping to see you in action again. It's kind of sexy in a violent, perverted sort of way." "Gosh, knowing that makes my day complete." "I thought you'd want me to be open about my feelings now that we're married.

I can't wear this,” she said from inside the dressing room. “It's too small.” “Let's see,” Nick said. “Come on out.” “Get me a bigger size. A lot bigger.” Nick opened the door and looked in at Kate. “Whoa,” he said on a gush of air. His pupils dilated to the point where his brown eyes were almost totally black, and Kate decided the dress must look better than she'd first thought. “Well?” she asked. “I think I'm in love,” Nick said. “But then my brain isn't completely engaged right now. That's not where the blood is flowing.” “Too much information” Kate said. “It would have been enough to tell me I look okay.” “Honey you look a lot better than okay.” “You don't think I look slutty?” “Not at these prices,” Nick said.

Tess focuses on Cyclops’s placid, one-eyes face. He lost one of his black button eyes year ago, but she wouldn’t let Mrs. O’Hare replace it. She said it made him more interesting, and changed his name from Barnabus.

If you can’t fool yourself,” he said, “how can you expect to fool anybody else?

You wake up at SeaTac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

Nick stopped on the sidewalk, pulled a ring from his pocket, and handed it to Kate. "Your wedding ring." It was a platinum band inlaid with diamonds. Simple but elegant. Kate put the ring on her finger. "That's got to be the least romantic proposal in history. Where did you steal this?" "I bought it," he said. "That must have been a new experience for you." "It was. Cost me ten grand." He slipped a matching platinum band onto his finger. "I want that ring back when this marriage is over." "No way," she said. "You can keep the dishes.

Venus, I’m sorry that you’ve gone on minding that I didn’t let you drive me to O’Hare. “That’s what we do,” you said: “We drive each other to and from the airport.” Do you realize how rare that is? No one does it anymore, not even newlyweds. All right – it was selfish of me to decline. I said it was because I didn’t want to say goodbye to you in a public place. But I think it was the asymmetry of it that was really troubling me. You and I, we drive each other to and from the airport. And I didn’t want a to when I knew there wouldn’t be a from.

She gestured to the bag. "What have you got in there?" "Nothing much. Some golfballs, a handful of tees, a Glock, extra ammo, two hand grenades, a tear gas canister, a knife, Tums, clean socks, flares, and some Ensure chocolate shakes." "You took all of that with you to play golf?

May misfortune follow us the rest of our lives, but never catch up.

Always remember this. Children have memories. I remember you and I will never forget what you did to us all.

Sometimes when a plan is right, everything else, all the things you can’t control, falls into place just the way it should.

It was still early morning when Tess landed at O’Hare, bringing her the ultimate enjoyment of driving through Chicago’s infamous, rush-hour traffic.

The man was irresistible. What’s with that? she thought. It was like wanting to bake cookies for the spawn of Satan.

Is that why you have hand grenades and a garrote in your nightstand?" "They're sleep aids.

Yeah, I'm a thief." "Honey, that's such a turn-on." He reached for her, and she jumped away. "Stand down," Kate said. "My hands are lethal weapons." Nick backed her against the wall and leaned into her. "I've go a better lethal weapon than you do," he said. "Wanna see it?" "No!" Good lord, she could feel his lethal weapon pressing against her belly. It was big and hard. And as much as she hated to admit it, his big, hard weapon was exactly what she needed. She looked down and gasped because it was so perfect. "Is this for me?" she asked. "Absolutely," he said. "Take it if you want it." "I want it," she said. "I really, really want it." It was a Toblerone bar. Giant size.

Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her flawless skin had a slight sheen from her dash across the parking lot and up the stairs. Sexy, but he suspected the fantasy the sheen inspired was better than the reality. She was the job. Probably wore Kevlar to bed. End of story. Still, he did enjoy playing with her. He liked her big blue eyes, cute little nose, slim athletic body, and her earnest dedication to making the world a more law-abiding place. It made his dedication to crime much more interesting.

Hector believes in—he believes in institutions, he believes in—in country, he believes in family, he believes in the army. Isn't it funny how hard it is to describe a good man? He's a brave man, but deep down, he'd rather be taming horses.

On an average, 324 000 new babies are born into the world every day. During the same day, 10 000 persons, on an average, will have starved to death or died from malnutrition. So it goes. In adition 123 000 persons will die for other reasons. So it goes. This leaves a net gain of about 191 000 each day in the world. The Population Reference Bureau predicts that the world's total population will double to 7,000,000,000 before the year 2000. "I suppose they will all want diginity" I said "I suppose" said O'Hare

Kate knocked on his door and sucked in some air when he opened the door fresh from a shower. His hair was wet and he had a towel wrapped low on his hips. "Jeez," Kate said, staring at the towel, her mind running amuck over what the towel was hiding, unable to drag her eyes to Nick's face. "Is that a good jeez or a bad jeez?" "It's just jeez. Don't you have a robe?" "The room didn't come with a robe." "Okay, so that's why you're wearing the towel. I can see that. Makes perfect sense." A smile twitched at the corners of Nick's mouth. "Is there something I can do for you?" "No! Gosh. Absolutely not." Kate stared at the towel. She was pretty sure she saw it move. Nick tightened his grip on the towel. "Kate?" "Yep?" "You're staring." "I know. I can't help myself." "Cute," Nick said. Kate squinched her eyes shut and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh! I hate being cute." "Cute is good." "It's not. I'm an FBI agent. There's no cute in the FBI. Cute is goofy." "I'd grab you and kiss you, but I'd lose my towel, and I'm afraid you'd faint at the sight of me naked." "I think I could handle it." Nick dropped his towel

Us survivors know we cannot change the past, but we can expose the truth and share our story. We just might make a difference for tomorrow’s children.

Ask not what the future can do for your past, but what your past can do for the future.

The law is for people who have nothing to hide.

Many believe O’Hare International Airport to be the very inferno Dante spoke of,

There’s no such thing as semi-legal.

There is clearly a rule at O’Hare that, no matter what flight you come in on, your connecting flight must be at a gate as far away as possible. And,

I hate shopping for clothes," Kate said. "I liked when I was in the military and all I needed was camouflage gear." "Shopping can be fun. Especially when it's for a con. It's the first step in creating a character. Isn't there anything you enjoy buying? Lingerie? Shoes? Jewelry?" "Shoes are okay. I don't have to take my clothes off to try them on." "You don't like to take your clothes off?" "It's the lighting in the dressing rooms. It makes you look fat and anemic. And pulling clothes on and off wrecks my hair." Nick put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "Like this?" Kate jumped away. "Stop it! I have enough hair problems without you making it worse." "Maybe if you ran a brush through it once in a while." "Maybe if you'd keep your hands off it!" Nick grinned and hugged her into him. "Are we a team, or what? Stick with me and I'll get you to enjoy taking your clothes off." "You're flirting with me." "Stating a fact," Nick said.

A hundred years ago, it could take you the better part of a year to get from New York to California; whereas today, because of equipment problems at O’Hare, you can't get there at all.” Dave Barry

On an average, 324,000 new babies are born into the world every day. During that same day, 10,000 persons, on an average, will have starved to death or died from malnutrition. So it goes. In addition 123,000 persons will die for other reasons. So it goes. This leaves a net gain of about 191,000 each day in the world. The Population Reference Bureau predicts that the world’s total population will double to 7,000,000,000 before the year 2000. “I suppose they will all want dignity,” I said. “I suppose,” said O’Hare.

I was pressed for time, so all I was able to whip up was deviled eggs with a dollop of Tsar Nicoulai caviar on top, a selection of fruit and artisanal cheeses, and sauteed Dover sole with lemon and capers." Kate's idea of preparing a quick meal was eating Cap'n Crunch out of the box, so this was Christmas dinner by comparison.

I wondered what a man I had encountered the day before on the plane en route to Chicago's O'Hare airport would have made of this. As he tried to push through a crowded aisle, he said loudly: "Life is never easy. And it's never pleasant." I couldn't let this go. I looked up at him from my seat and said, "I do hope life gives you cause to change that opinion. Otherwise you may find that opinion walking ahead of you, giving you more and more reasons to believe it.

They were actually sitting at a table, like two old friends, not like the hunter and the hunted. And it wasn't especially awkward. They were comfortable together, despite the fact that she'd hit him with a bus. Maybe his scheme would work.

You and Nick are good together," Jake said. "Probably in more ways than you know." "Let's not go there." "You keep saying that to yourself, but maybe it's time for a rethink." "Since when are you interested in my love life?" "You don't have one. You're all about the job. With Bob, you can have both." "You don't know anything about Bob." "I know it's got to be Nick, because there isn't anybody else," Jake said. "Who could possibly compete?" "Someone who isn't a criminal on the FBI's Most Wanted list for starters." "How boring would that guy be? He couldn't match the excitement Nick brings to your life.

That's why I'm not on social media. People are way too open about their private lives. I don't need to see pictures of what somebody had for lunch or hear about how difficult their last bowel movement was or see on a map where they were when either one happened.

DOCTOR AIN WAS recognized on the Omaha-Chicago flight. A biologist colleague from Pasadena came out of the toilet and saw Ain in an aisle seat. Five years before, this man had been jealous of Ain's huge grants. Now he nodded coldly and was surprised at the intensity of Ain's response. He almost turned back to speak, but he felt too tired; like nearly everyone, he was fighting the flu. The stewardess handing out coats after they landed remembered Ain too: A tall thin nondescript man with rusty hair. He held up the line staring at her; since he already had his raincoat with him she decided it was some kooky kind of pass and waved him on. She saw Ain shamble off into the airport smog, apparently alone. Despite the big Civil Defense signs, O'Hare was late getting underground. No one noticed the woman. - 'The Last Flight of Doctor Ain

But I could end up in prison.” He waved off her concern. “I’d break you out.” “You’d do that for me?” “You’re my daughter, aren’t you?” Kate smiled. Sure, he’d missed a lot of Christmases and birthdays during her childhood, but not many fathers could be counted on to mount a prison break.

Dad's on a fishing boat in front of Carter's estate. If we get into trouble, all I have to do is press the button on the tiny transmitter in my pocket and he'll destroy the dome on top of Carter's house. Is that enough of a distraction for you?" "Maybe we can work out something a little more subtle.

Which was one reason why Revolt of the Zombie Strippers was being shot in Gallup and not in a warehouse in Van Nuys.

peripatetic

What’s wrong? You don’t want me anymore?” “No.” “No? You don’t like me!

burst

Two windows,” she said with a smile. “And there’s no such word as besweatered.” “It’s like bespectacled, only with a sweater.

Because that is who you are. Sometimes when a plan is right,

Did you pack an extra gun?” “Of course,” she said. “You can never have too many weapons.” Jake smiled. “I raised you right.

The percentage of mistakes in quick decisions is no greater than in long-drawn-out vacillation, and the effect of decisiveness itself ‘makes things go’ and creates confidence.

You're afraid if you catch this guy, you'll lose the excitement in your life and the goal-oriented sense of purpose that drives you.

Probably went to get a pretzel

But in my experience, the virtuous are usually the first to die.

For Mary O’Hare and Gerhard Müller

Sawyer: Tell me where you are,Keely O´Hare,or I swear to God when I find you-and I will find you-I´ll paddle your ass something fierce. Keely:Oh,I´d like to see you try.

Watching your sadness is worse than dying.  Do not die while you are still alive, my love.  Do not fear to live and love again.

Whatever the other team does best, that’s what you have to do better.

stupefied boredom.

Greeks thought there were four kinds of love. Storge, or familial love. Philia, or friendship. Eros, or romantic love, and agape, or unconditional love.

Shakespeare. “To do a great right, do a little wrong.

I like cars the way I like my men. I pick them up, grab the stick, and drive them hard down the straightaways and fast around the curves.

Then you know that my portrayal was dead-on. He breaks into homes and asks children to eat him. He's obviously not a well-adjusted pancake.

A couple of weeks after I telephoned my old war buddy, Bernard V. O’Hare, I really did go to see him. That must have been in 1964 or so—whatever the last year was for the New York World’s Fair.

The Population Reference Bureau predicts that the world’s total population will double to 7,000,000,000 before the year 2000. “I suppose they will all want dignity,” I said. “I suppose,” said O’Hare.

Sure, he was attracted to her, but women always had to go beyond that. Women [had] nesting fantasies. It wasn't long before they were redecorating your apartment and criticizing your choice of mustard.

You’d really go all the way to Greece, and run a covert operation again, just so I can have the satisfaction of capturing Nick Fox?” “Sure,” he said. “We don’t get nearly enough quality father-daughter time.

And the sun went down, and we had supper in an Italian place, and then I knocked on the front door of the beautiful stone house of Bernard V. O’Hare. I was carrying a bottle of Irish whiskey like a dinner bell. •  •  •

Count me in.” Jake put his things back in the rucksack, slung it over his shoulder, and stood up. “The kids can finish up this project.” “You’ve taught them how to make land mines?” “I wouldn’t be much of a grandfather if I didn’t.

Stealing equipment from a small-town fire station is such an easy, petty crime,” Nick said. “It feels anticlimactic after starting the day in New York selling three stolen Rembrandts and outwitting the FBI.” “We could break into the International Bluegrass Music Museum,” she said. “I hear that it’s the Louvre of northwest Kentucky.” That got Nick’s attention. “What have they got to see?” “I was kidding! I was being sarcastic.” “Sarcasm isn’t one of your strengths,” he said.

Besides, there's nobody who is going to watch your back better than me. You know that. And that's why I'm going to be there with you, whenever there is, whenever you ask, and as long as I'm able, he said. It's what fathers do. Most father's don't show up with hand grenades and bowie knives. They should be ashamed of themselves, Jake said.

Okay, how's this? Margery O'Hare, I solemnly promise never to marry you." "And?" "And I won't talk about marrying you. Or sing songs about it. Or even think about marrying you." "Better." H glanced around him, then lowered his voice, placing his mouth beside her ear so that she squirmed a little. "But I will stop by and do sinful things to that fine body of yours. If you'll allow me." "How sinful?" She whispered. "Oh. Bad. Ungodly." She slid her hand inside his overalls, feeling the faint sheen of sweat on his warm skin. For a moment it was just the two of them. The sounds and scents of the mine receded, and all she could feel was the thumping of her heart, the pulse of his skin against hers, the ever-present drumbeat of her need for him. "God loves a sinner, Sven." She reached up and kissed him, then delivered a swift bite to his lower lip. "But not as much as I do.

I’m not going!” she screamed, grabbing her mother by the shoulder. But Laura didn’t even turn around. She hiccupped, once, and watery vomit splashed onto the floor between her legs. Maggie let go of her mother’s shoulder then, her rage replaced not exactly with pity, but with such a tired disgust with her whole pathetic family that she gave up. Kevin never came home at all that night, and the next afternoon, Nanny Ei drove them to O’Hare.

CAIR officials have even been granted access to airport security procedures. In June 2006, U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents gave CAIR officials a tour of security operations at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. According to CAIR’s Chicago office, “the group walked through Customs and Borders operations beginning at the point of entry for passenger arrival to customs stations, agricultural screening, and the interview rooms.

A complete stranger--a giant pancake, no less--has just appeared in their home," Boyd said. "Why isn't anyone reacting to this? Wouldn't they be screaming in terror?" "They love pancakes," Stan said. "What would they do if a fried chicken leg walked in?" "I'm not sure a chicken leg could walk in," said the script supervisor, a lady who wore three layers of shirts and sucked on a pencil as if it were a pacifier. "I suppose it could hop." Stan looked over his shoulder at her. "let me handle this." He turned back to Boyd. "The family knows you. You're not just another pancake off the street. You're a celebrity pancake, the Jay Leno of breakfast foods. Would anyone throw Leno out of their house?" "Okay, assuming you're right, I'm a pancake asking this family to eat me. Am I suicidal or simply filled with self-loathing?" "Take your pick," Stan said. "Whatever will get you through the scene.

Eyes the broad-shouldered faceless character that symbolizes Men’s Room, does Sternberg, and struggles with himself. He’s needed a bowel movement for hours, and since the LordAloft 7:10 lifted things have gotten critical. He tried, back at O’Hare. But he was unable to, because he was afraid to, afraid that Mark, who has the look of someone who never just has to, might enter the rest room and see Sternberg’s shoes under a stall door and know that he, Sternberg, was having a bowel movement in that stall, infer that Sternberg had bowels, and thus organs, and thus a body. Like many Americans of his generation in this awkwardest of post-Imperial decades, an age suspended between exhaustion and replenishment, between input too ordinary to process and input too intense to bear, Sternberg is deeply ambivalent about being embodied; an informing fear that, were he really just an organism, he’d be nothing more than an ism of his organs.

I think the climax of the book will be the execution of poor old Edgar Derby,” I said. “The irony is so great. A whole city gets burned down, and thousands and thousands of people are killed. And then this one American foot soldier is arrested in the ruins for taking a teapot. And he’s given a regular trial, and then he’s shot by a firing squad.” “Um,” said O’Hare. “Don’t you think that’s really where the climax should come?” “I don’t know anything about it,” he said. “That’s your trade, not mine.

On an average day, 324,000 new babies are born into the world every day. During that same day, 10,000 persons, on an average, will have starved to death or died from malnutrition.’ So it goes. ‘In addition, 123,000 persons will die for other reasons.’ So it goes. ‘This leaves a net gain of about 191,000 each day in the world. The Population Reference Bureau predicts that the world’s total population will double to 7,000,000,000 before the year 2000.’ ‘I suppose they will all want dignity,’ I said. ‘I suppose,’ said O’Hare.

Nick stopped on the sidewalk, pulled a ring from his pocket, and handed it to Kate. “Your wedding ring.” It was a platinum band inlaid with diamonds. Simple but elegant. Kate put the ring on her finger. “That’s got to be the least romantic proposal in history. Where did you steal this?” “I bought it,” he said. “That must have been a new experience for you.” “It was. Cost me ten grand.” He slipped a matching platinum band onto his finger. “I want that ring back when this marriage is over.” “No way,” she said. “You can keep the dishes.

Kate heard from Nick two weeks after the events in Hawesville. He invited her to a mansion on Broad Beach in Malibu. The place belonged to an actor who was shooting an eight-hour gothic miniseries in Bulgaria. Nick was an actor friend from England who was housesitting. At least that's what he told the neighbors. Kate wore her favorite date-night outfit of jeans, Glock, and navy FBI windbreaker. Nick had Tolberones and caviar set out. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to seduce me," Kate said, eyeing the Toblerones. "You could be right," Nick said.

Mackay had a low opinion of all Crusades. The Children’s Crusade struck him as only slightly more sordid than the ten Crusades for grown-ups. O’Hare read this handsome passage out loud: History in her solemn page informs us that the crusaders were but ignorant and savage men, that their motives were those of bigotry unmitigated, and that their pathway was one of blood and tears. Romance, on the other hand, dilates upon their piety and heroism, and portrays, in her most glowing and impassioned hues, their virtue and magnanimity, the imperishable honor they acquired for themselves, and the great services they rendered to Christianity.

I consider myself a Chicagoan now, having lived in the city since I graduated from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign with a degree in accounting. I came here often when I went to Maine West High School out in Des Plaines, which is a short drive west on the Kennedy or a short Blue Line ride toward O’Hare airport, the next-to-last stop in fact. My friends and I would take the Blue Line downtown and then transfer to the Red or Brown Line up to Belmont and Clark, our favorite part of the city when we were 16 and 17, mainly because of The Alley—a store that sold concert shirts, posters, spiked bracelets and stuff like that—and Gramophone Records, the electronic music store that took my virginity, so to speak. - 1st paragraph from Sophomoric Philosophy

Welcome to the compound,” says Zoe. “This building used to be O’Hare Airport, one of the busiest airports in the country. Now it’s the headquarters of the Bureau of Genetic Welfare--or just the Bureau, as we call it around here. It’s an agency of the United States government.” I feel my face going slack. I know all the words she’s saying--except I’m not sure what an “airport” or “united states” is--but they don’t make sense to me all together. I’m not the only one who looks confused--Peter raises both eyebrows as if asking a question. “Sorry,” she says. “I keep forgetting how little you all know.” “I believe it’s your fault if we don’t know anything, not ours,” Peter points out. “I should rephrase.” Zoe smiles gently. “I keep forgetting how little information we provided you with. An airport is a hub for air travel, and--” “Air travel?” says Christina, incredulous. “One of the technological developments that wasn’t necessary for us to know about when we were inside the city was air travel,” says Amar. “It’s safe, fast, and amazing.” “Wow,” says Tris. She looks excited. I, however, think of speeding through the air, high above the compound, and feel like I might throw up.

Okay, let’s try

But the cruel quirk in the situation is that conditions on the other side of the line are so hopeless that 500 are now returning out of the 1000 who escaped daily. There is no place for them in Germany.....Nothing reveals the present state of affairs more clearly than the fact that people who risk their lives to get out of Soviet territory take the greater risk of going back when they see what awaits them outside.

You are you [Nanette O'Hare] - and that's okay, because this existence you're making your way through is your story and no one else's.

You expect me to give you two hundred grand and let you jet off alone to Southeast Asia?" Kate asked him, more accusation than question. "You aren't thinking about going after Griffin and the half a billion dollars yourself, are you?" "Never crossed my mind." They were so close that their lips were practically touching, and she could feel his heart beating under her hand. She'd sort of hoped his heart would be racing, but his heart was steady. Her heart was the only one racing. Dammit. She saw his eyes darken just as they had in the dressing room. He leaned in to her ever so slightly, and a hot rush of panic flashed through her. The panic was followed by something she feared was desire. Holy Toledo, she thought, he's going to kiss me. "See you in Denpasar," Nick said, his lips lightly brushing hers when he spoke. "Mmm," Kate murmured, ready for the kiss. "Denpasar." Nick stepped away, smiled at her, and messed up her hair.

When the plane landed at O’Hare Airport, the flight attendants asked the passengers to remain in their seats. Sitting eight rows back, Kyle watched as two men wearing standard-issue government suits—clearly FBI agents—boarded the plane and handed over a document to the pilot. “Yep, that would be me,” Kyle said, grabbing his backpack from underneath the seat in front of him. The elderly Hispanic man sitting next to him lowered his voice to a whisper. “Drugs?” “Twitter,” Kyle whispered back. He stood up, backpack in hand, and nodded at the FBI agents that had stopped at his row. “Morning, gentlemen.” The younger agent held out his hand, all business. “Hand over the computer, Rhodes.” “I guess we’re skipping the pleasantries,” Kyle said, handing over his backpack

His head throbbed beyond mere headache. This went deeper. For a brief moment, as the tiny voices chattered, unintelligible—what were they saying?—Mad Mike felt a familiar panic surge within him. And though he told himself he'd never do it, he understood a .45 round as a solution—a messenger of peace, an exit. And that knowledge, that intimacy, terrified him. He felt strangely tired and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool window. He wanted to shed his uniform, like a snake's skin, and to sleep for a very long time. A dim room. Clean sheets. The hum of an air conditioner. The touch of an understanding woman. Not even sexual—a mother maybe. And the realization all of that was so far away. He opened his eyes. It was all still here.

This unfortunate phenomenon happened throughout the professor’s career—the students, who could not bear natural interest in the lectures, profited off O’Hare’s passion. They rested their fangs on her neck and used her original elixir for their needs. If they did it unconsciously, then another phenomenon would occur. The students imitated their teachers. And it was the largest robbery of education. By using the vocabulary of their passionate elders, young, ambitious minds convinced themselves and the world of something they did not believe in. Articulation was so personal. It was the result of countless experiences, people, readings, and reflections. When expressing an authentic belief, some ears were fooled by the speaker’s passion, which was like a contagious trance. So those ears applied others’ articulation as their own. By seeing O’Hare speak enthusiastically about a topic, one, with enough attention, could easily think they loved the topic, too.

Every artist loved their art for the same reason, and this caused no suspicion to the world. They regularly say: 'My field captures the human experience.' 'And what is the human experience to you exactly?' questions O’Hare. 'I want to be a storyteller who inspires and expresses their imagination.' 'But how does your chosen art differ from other mediums?' questions O’Hare. 'I am a quiet observer who innately loves philosophy.' But here you are screaming this in a room, cries Dr. O’Hare. 'I am beyond grateful for the people I’ve worked with who made this the greatest collaboration I could have ever asked for.' 'But how did you collaborate—with thought and rehearsal?—or did you just perform some damn thing and sign both your names on it?' asked O’Hare.

To Andrei, he could see all that was unpleasant about her face—her large nose and bony frame. But inside her, there was so much peace and contentment that somehow, she lit up everywhere. She was beautiful to him. It was the kind of attraction between people who were really people—and who could see the other person’s aura and makings. He saw what made her flesh move, and not her flesh. The intricate mechanics of her person, and not her shell. Andrei looked at O’Hare and saw something genderless—a kind of organism that was born and that over time has been affected and affects—that was ultimately kind and brave. It was the highest rank of physical desire one could experience. When the beautiful made standard love to each other, there always lay at least one angle of ugly—maybe in the dark, from the side, with a sound they made, or everything once one was finished. In what O’Hare and Andrei shared, beauty could take its time and no second could stop it. It was the type of wholesome love that made a couple stare for minutes at the other, not because they adored their lover’s eye color, but because in those minutes they were speaking to the person within the person, finding them, seeing them see, and playing together in that invisible planet created by two intuitive inventors.

He wanted to bite her nose and she wanted to grip his cheeks. They moved toward the person they liked and did all that was meant to be done. They kissed with unmistakable character. O’Hare had mastered English; mastery in any field defined one’s behavior. When one let something kill them enough, that essence shaped their core and the person became distinctive. It gave rhythm to their kisses. Motivated their periods of intensity and retreat. How they pulled each other’s hair. Andrei pressed his lips over her moles, island by island, star by star, and ate them like chocolate chips.

And, unlikely as it seemed at lunchtime on 2 April, Ascension Auxiliary Air Force Base was about to displace Chicago O’Hare as the busiest airfield in the world.

This leaves a net gain of about 191,000 each day in the world. The Population Reference Bureau predicts that the world’s total population will double to 7,000,000,000 before the year 2000. “I suppose they will all want dignity,” I said. “I suppose,” said O’Hare.

These were “times of stress and change,” and Roosevelt had thought much of the responsibilities of the Presidency in 1932. “The Presidency is not merely an administrative office,” he told Anne O’Hare McCormick during the campaign. “That’s the least of it. It is more than an engineering job, efficient or inefficient. It is preeminently a place of moral leadership. All our great Presidents were leaders of thought at times when certain historic ideas in the life of the nation had to be clarified.” So Washington had personified the idea of federal union, Jefferson and Jackson the idea of democracy, Lincoln union and freedom, Cleveland rugged honesty. “Isn’t that what the office is—” he suggested, “a superb opportunity for reapplying, applying in new conditions, the simple rules of human conduct we always go back to? I stress the modern application, because we are always moving on; the technical and economic environment changes, and never so quickly as now. Without leadership alert and sensitive to change, we are bogged up or lose our way, as we have lost it in the past decade.