Please Accept My Love Quotes

And I’m in love with her. Like, really in love with her. Crippling, debilitating, paralyzing love. So please accept my sincerest apologies, because she’s coming home with me tonight. I hope. I pray.

When I tried this morning, after an hour or so of unhappy thinking, to dip back into my meditation, I took a new idea with me: compassion. I asked my heart if it could please infuse my soul with a more generous perspective on my mind's workings. Instead of thinking that I was a failure, could I perhaps accept that I am only a human being--and a normal one, at that?

Please accept this humble fax. My love for you is without wax.

I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I’ve become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me. I have no patience for cynicism, excessive criticism and demands of any nature. I lost the will to please those who do not like me, to love those who do not love me and to smile at those who do not want to smile at me. I no longer spend a single minute on those who lie or want to manipulate. I decided not to coexist anymore with pretense, hypocrisy, dishonesty and cheap praise. I do not tolerate selective erudition nor academic arrogance. I do not adjust either to popular gossiping. I hate conflict and comparisons. I believe in a world of opposites and that’s why I avoid people with rigid and inflexible personalities. In friendship I dislike the lack of loyalty and betrayal. I do not get along with those who do not know how to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. Exaggerations bore me and I have difficulty accepting those who do not like animals. And on top of everything I have no patience for anyone who does not deserve my patience.

I’m not laughing.” I was actually crying. “And please don’t laugh at me now, but I think the reason it’s so hard for me to get over this guy is because I seriously believed David was my soul mate. ”He probably was. Your problem is you don’t understand what that word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it. Your problem is, you just can’t let this one go. It’s over, Groceries. David’s purpose was to shake you up, drive you out of your marriage that you needed to leave, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job, and he did great, but now it’s over. Problem is, you can’t accept that his relationship had a real short shelf life. You’re like a dog at the dump, baby – you’re just lickin’ at the empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you’re not careful, that can’s gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it.“But I love him.” “So love him.” “But I miss him.” “So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, then drop it. You’re just afraid to let go of the last bits of David because then you’ll be really alone, and Liz Gilbert is scared to death of what will happen if she’s really alone. But here’s what you gotta understand, Groceries. If you clear out all that space in your mind that you’re using right now to obsess about this guy, you’ll have a vacuum there, an open spot – a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with the doorway? It will rush in – God will rush in – and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed. So stop using David to block that door. Let it go.

Mel? Mel, I love you. Mel, come back . Mel, Mel, Mel." It's Jared's voice, trying to call me back the way Wanda called back the Healer's host, the way she taught Kyle to call to Jodi. I can answer him. I can speak now. I can feel my tongue in my mouth, ready to move into whatever shape I ask it to. I can feel the air in my lungs, ready to push out the words. If I want this. "Mel, I love you, I love you." This is Wanda's gift to me, paid for with her silver blood. Jared and I, put back together again as if she'd never lived. As if she hadn't saved us both. If I accept this gift, I profit from her death. I kill her again. I take her sacrifice and make it murder. "Mel, please? Open your eyes." I feel his hand on my face, cradling my cheek. I feel his lips burn against my forehead, but I don't want them, not at this price. Or do I?

If there are #coffee stains on my @Harvard application, it’s because I was up all night Photoshopping a high school diploma. Please accept my apology, and please accept me.

I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I’ve become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me. I have no patience for cynicism, excessive criticism and demands of any nature. I lost the will to please those who do not like me, to love those who do not love me and to smile at those who do not want to smile at me. I no longer spend a single minute on those who lie or want to manipulate. I decided not to coexist anymore with pretense, hypocrisy, dishonesty and cheap praise. I do not tolerate selective erudition nor academic arrogance. I do not adjust either to popular gossiping. I hate conflict and comparisons. I believe in a world of opposites and that’s why I avoid people with rigid and inflexible personalities. In friendship I dislike the lack of loyalty and betrayal. I do not get along with those who do not know how to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. Exaggerations bore me and I have difficulty accepting those who do not like animals. And on top of everything I have no patience for anyone who does not deserve my patience. NOTE: She neither said nor wrote this quote. Just because you saw it on Facebook does not mean it's true. Snopes is your friend. The quote was written by José Micard Teixeira

Theodore," Ben says, interrupting him. " You seem like a... nice guy." "Thanks," Theodore says, smiling. "Let me finish," Ben says, holding up a finder in warning. "Because you're about to hate me. I lied. I'm not writing a paper." He points at Glenn. "This guy told me earlier today where to show up tonight so that I could find the girl I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with. And I'm sorry, but that girl just so happens to be your date. And I'm in love with her. Like, really in love with her. Crippling, debilitating, paralyzing love. So please accept my sincerest apologies, because she's coming home with me tonight. I hope. I pray." Ben shoots me an endearing look. "Please ? Otherwise this speech will make me look like a complete fool and that won't be good when we tell our grandkids about this.

(Golden Globe acceptance speech in the style of Jane Austen's letters): "Four A.M. Having just returned from an evening at the Golden Spheres, which despite the inconveniences of heat, noise and overcrowding, was not without its pleasures. Thankfully, there were no dogs and no children. The gowns were middling. There was a good deal of shouting and behavior verging on the profligate, however, people were very free with their compliments and I made several new acquaintances. Miss Lindsay Doran, of Mirage, wherever that might be, who is largely responsible for my presence here, an enchanting companion about whom too much good cannot be said. Mr. Ang Lee, of foreign extraction, who most unexpectedly apppeared to understand me better than I undersand myself. Mr. James Schamus, a copiously erudite gentleman, and Miss Kate Winslet, beautiful in both countenance and spirit. Mr. Pat Doyle, a composer and a Scot, who displayed the kind of wild behavior one has lernt to expect from that race. Mr. Mark Canton, an energetic person with a ready smile who, as I understand it, owes me a vast deal of money. Miss Lisa Henson -- a lovely girl, and Mr. Gareth Wigan -- a lovely boy. I attempted to converse with Mr. Sydney Pollack, but his charms and wisdom are so generally pleasing that it proved impossible to get within ten feet of him. The room was full of interesting activitiy until eleven P.M. when it emptied rather suddenly. The lateness of the hour is due therefore not to the dance, but to the waiting, in a long line for horseless vehicles of unconscionable size. The modern world has clearly done nothing for transport. P.S. Managed to avoid the hoyden Emily Tomkins who has purloined my creation and added things of her own. Nefarious creature." "With gratitude and apologies to Miss Austen, thank you.

Lottie, I love you. You’re beautifully frustrating, annoyingly right most of the time, and you bring me more joy than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have. You complement my surly attitude. You put me in my place when I need it, and you listen to me when I need a listening ear. Plain and simple, you complete me, and I know for certain, I can’t live this life without you in it.” He pops open the ring box, revealing a beautiful, cushion-shaped diamond ring with diamond accents on the band. It’s different than the current ring on my finger, edgier, just like me. “I love you so goddamn much. Please, would you accept the contract, and will you also do me the honor of being my wife?

I am just a guy, doing my best to be the best person I can be. And, every once in a while, I fuck up the moment I’m in. Please. Get over it. Get over yourselves. Get over this weird need to be morally superior to me and to the other people in this world. And let me be imperfect. I assure you, my imperfections drive me to improve. Let me love myself. I assure you, loving myself despite my faults will only make me a better person. Let me be my own judge. I assure you, I’ll be more fair and just than you ever will. Let me be the owner of my own intentions. I assure you, there isn’t another soul on earth who knows what my real intentions are but me. Love and acceptance despite ongoing and glaring imperfection is all I’ve ever tried to attain with this blog. For me. For you. For everyone. And I’ll never stop.

No, Celia, tell the truth.” His grip tightened on her. One hand rose, sinking into her loose hair. “You spoke correctly the first time. You’re afraid. I tell you over and over again that I want you, but you generate excuses for me. I tell you that I refuse to worship my father’s image of respectability, but you make it a matter of safety. I will love you if I please. I will make you my altar, I’ll put you above everything else in this world, I’ll revel in every morsel you are made of. It’s simple—just tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll let you go. But I won’t accept anything else. I won’t accept your refusal on the make-believe grounds of our work.

Good news: most people are surprisingly respectful with boundaries. Folks take a no better than I suspected. When I say, “Thank you for inviting me into this good thing of yours. It is as extraordinary as you are. But any new yes I give means a no to my family and sanity. Please accept my sincere regrets and count on my prayers,” most people are amazing. You can say no, and no one will die.

I will love you if I please. I will make you my altar, I’ll put you above everything else in this world, I’ll revel in every morsel you are made of. It’s simple—just tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll let you go. But I won’t accept anything else. I won’t accept your refusal on the make-believe grounds of our work.

Hear me Isis as I pray. See her pain and take it all away. Let the heaven's light shine bright from above. And wrap her in your most benevolent love. Let no evil touch this child. Protect and hold her all the while. Save her from the darkness, ills and fevers of all kind. Heal her wounds by your most sacred design. There is nothing more earnest I can say. Except please accept my humble heart as I pray.

As I looked at the great tapestry that was the accumulation of my life up to that point, I was able to identify exactly what had brought me to where I was today. Just look at my life path! Why, oh why, have I always been so harsh with myself? Why was I always beating myself up? Why was I always forsaking myself? Why did I never stand up for myself and show the world the beauty of my own soul? Why was I always suppressing my own intelligence and creativity to please others? I betrayed myself every time I said yes when I meant no! Why have I violated myself by always needing to seek approval from others just to be myself? Why haven’t I followed my own beautiful heart and spoken my own truth? Why don’t we realize this when we’re in our physical bodies? How come I never knew that we’re not supposed to be so tough on ourselves? I still felt myself completely enveloped in a sea of unconditional love and acceptance. I was able to look at myself with fresh eyes, and I saw that I was a beautiful being of the Universe. I understood that just the fact that I existed made me worthy of this tender regard

Often, I minimize some of my emotions just so I don’t appear as complicated. I dilute the most essential parts of myself just to be accepted.

Although my body and I have reached if not peace, at least a state of détente, “fat” remains how I experience anger, dissatisfaction, disappointment. I feel “fat” if I can’t master a task at work. I feel “fat” if I can’t please those I love. “Fat” is how I blame myself for my failures. “Fat” is how I express my anxieties. A psychologist once told me, “Fat is not a feeling.” If only it were that simple. As for so many women, the pathology of self-loathing is permanently ingrained in me. I can give in to it, I can modify it, I can react against it with practiced self-acceptance, but I cannot eradicate it. It frustrates me to consider what else I might have done with the years of mental energy I have wasted on this single, senseless issue.

Please don’t ever leave me. I love you Kelly. I love holding you. I love laughing with you and arguing with you and just plain being with you. I love the way you accept everything about me without trying to change me. I love making love to you and holding you when you sleep. And I don’t ever want to give that up. Not in a year, or two years, or ever. When I’m with you, I know that I finally found the kind of love that my parents had – the kind of love that will last forever.

I smiled ruefully to myself, knowing I had already experienced a far greater and deeper union with this man than that which propriety was so busy guarding against. I had seen and accepted our fate here, tonight, on the crest of this ancient hill, and all other ceremonies would be just that: rituals to please the people and make public the commitment that had been made in the privacy of my own heart.

I know you're scared. And maybe you really meant all those things you said about our friendship, just wanting to be friends, and if you did, I'll accept that. But I feel maybe it's possible you said those things, at least in some way, because you wanted me to make the other case. As if I would come out and say, please, Eileen, don't do this to me, I've been in love with you all along, I don't know how to live without you. Or whatever, whatever you wanted me to say. Not that it's not true, of course it's true. And maybe even when you're getting angry at Alice, saying that she doesn't care about you — I don't know, maybe it's the same idea. At some level you want her to say, oh but Eileen, I love you very much, you're my best friend. But the problem is that you seem to be drawn to people who aren't very good at giving you those responses. I mean, anyone could have told you — certainly Felix and myself both knew — that Alice was never going to react that way just now. And maybe it's the same with me, in a way. If you tell me you don't want to be with me, I might feel very hurt and humiliated, but I'm not going to start begging and pleading with you. At some level, I actually think you know I won't. But then you get left with the impression that I don't love you, or I don't want you, because you're not getting this response from me — this response that you basically know you won't get, because I'm not the type of person who can give it to you.

When I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I realized that my decision was motivated by my necessity to please everyone except myself. There had never been a time where I stood up against my family. And this was out of my desperate need to be accepted.

In the cycle of being afraid to disappoint those whose opinions we hold in high regard, we often willingly open ourselves up for self-disappointment. My desperate need to be loved and feel accepted by my family led me into making a decision where I was willing to make everyone else happy except myself

Let people feel the weight of who you really are, and let them fucking deal with it." The spot on my forehead where he touched me is tingling. I reach up and rub it. The weight of who I am. It isn't my responsibility to deal with it. It is theirs. Muslim is right. I am, what I am, what I am. Stay or leave.

I'd failed to live up to the expectations of my parents. I had not utilized my education in any real way and I'd given up on my marriage. For the first time, I accepted that I could not meet the expectations of others and make myself happy at the same time. Being true to myself had led me here--onto a wild trail in the middle of the night--not into a nine-to-five and the creation of my own family. I hated myself for not being able to conform happily. I hated myself for trying and failing. I loved myself for choosing to do what was right for me, no matter the cost. I forgave myself for trying to please others when I knew it wasn't right for me.

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

Hold your tongue, or I'll kill you! You'll kill me? No, excuse me, I will speak. I came to treat myself to that pleasure. Oh, I love the dreams of my ardent young friends, quivering with eagerness for life! 'There are new men,' you decided last spring, when you were meaning to come here, 'they propose to destroy everything and begin with cannibalism. Stupid fellows! they didn't ask my advice! I maintain that nothing need be destroyed, that we only need to destroy the idea of God in man, that's how we have to set to work. It's that, that we must begin with. Oh, blind race of men who have no understanding! As soon as men have all of them denied God -- and I believe that period, analogous with geological periods, will come to pass -- the old conception of the universe will fall of itself without cannibalism, and, what's more, the old morality, and everything will begin anew. Men will unite to take from life all it can give, but only for joy and happiness in the present world. Man will be lifted up with a spirit of divine Titanic pride and the man-god will appear. From hour to hour extending his conquest of nature infinitely by his will and his science, man will feel such lofty joy from hour to hour in doing it that it will make up for all his old dreams of the joys of heaven. Everyone will know that he is mortal and will accept death proudly and serenely like a god. His pride will teach him that it's useless for him to repine at life's being a moment, and he will love his brother without need of reward. Love will be sufficient only for a moment of life, but the very consciousness of its momentariness will intensify its fire, which now is dissipated in dreams of eternal love beyond the grave'... and so on and so on in the same style. Charming! Ivan sat with his eyes on the floor, and his hands pressed to his ears, but he began trembling all over. The voice continued. (The devil) The question now is, my young thinker reflected, is it possible that such a period will ever come? If it does, everything is determined and humanity is settled for ever. But as, owing to man's inveterate stupidity, this cannot come about for at least a thousand years, everyone who recognises the truth even now may legitimately order his life as he pleases, on the new principles. In that sense, 'all things are lawful' for him. What's more, even if this period never comes to pass, since there is anyway no God and no immortality, the new man may well become the man-god, even if he is the only one in the whole world, and promoted to his new position, he may lightheartedly overstep all the barriers of the old morality of the old slaveman, if necessary. There is no law for God. Where God stands, the place is holy. Where I stand will be at once the foremost place... 'all things are lawful' and that's the end of it! That's all very charming; but if you want to swindle why do you want a moral sanction for doing it? But that's our modern Russian all over. He can't bring himself to swindle without a moral sanction. He is so in love with truth-.

I like blank paper. To meet people I find interesting. Writing puts me into a world that has not been written yet. I spend much of my time contemplating love and death. When I am writing a surge of complete happiness takes over. To make readers hear the sound of their own heartbeats, that sound that whispers up to us: you are alive. When I manage to turn pages and pages of crap into a little bit of art, I feel like that girl in the Diamonds Are Forever ad. Writing gives me permission to be a child and to play with words the way that children play with blocks or twigs or mud. Writing makes me a god, each new page enabling me to create and destroy as many worlds as I please. It allows me to spy on my neighbors. It’s the only socially acceptable way to be a compulsive liar. I want to cleanse the past. To discover, to express, to celebrate, to acknowledge, to witness, to remember who I am. I find out what might have been, what should have happened, and what I fear will happen. It’s a means of asking questions, though the answers may be as puzzling as a rune. This question drives me crazy. There is nothing else I want to do more. My soul will not be still until the words are written on paper. Because I can. Because I must. I can’t not. If I don’t I will explode. I want to be good at something and I’ve tried everything else.

Thank you for inviting me into this good thing of yours. It is as extraordinary as you are. But any new yes I give means a no to my family and sanity. Please accept my sincere regrets and count on my prayers,

Dear God, I’m afraid of the things that I don’t understand. I’m even afraid of you, God. Please open my heart to your love. Show me how to understand and how to live with you each day. I don’t want to look weak, God, but the truth is I am weak because I don’t know you at all. Please come into my heart and allow me to push aside my pride and accept you totally into my life. Thank you for saving me. In Jesus’s name, I pray, amen.

I had to do something about my longing, so I got up, went to the kitchen in my nightgown, peeled a pound of potatoes, boiled them up, sliced them, fried them in butter, salted them generously and ate every bite of them - asking my body the whole while if it would please accept the satisfaction of a pound of fried potatoes in lieu of the fulfillment of lovemaking. My body replied, only after eating every bite of food: "No deal, babe.

This was not going the way I wanted it to. I felt a desperate need to escape before I said something that would screw up my plans. Ren was the dark side, the forbidden fruit, my personal Delilah-the ultimate temptation. The question was…could I resist? I gave his knee a friendly pat and played my trump card…”I’m leaving.” “You’re what?” “I’m going home to Oregon. Mr. Kadam thinks it will be safer for me anyway, with Lokesh out there looking to kill us and all. Besides, you need time to figure out…stuff.” “If you’re leaving, then I’m going with you!” I smiled at him wryly. “That kind of defeats the purpose of me leaving. Don’t you think?” He slicked back his hair, let out a deep breath, then took my hand and looked intently into my eyes. “Kells, when are you going to accept the fact that we belong together?” I felt sick, like I was kicking a faithful puppy who only wanted to be loved. I looked out at the pool. After a moment, he sat back scowling and said menacingly, “I won’t let you leave.” Inside, I desperately wanted to take his hand and beg him to forgive me, to love me, but I steeled myself, dropped my hands in my lap, then implored, “Ren, please. You have to let me go. I need…I’m afraid…look, I just can’t be here, near you, when you change your mind.” “It’s not going to happen.” “it might. There’s a good chance.” He growled angrily. “There’s no chance!” “Well, my heart can’t take that risk, and I don’t want to put you in what can only be an awkward position. I’m sorry, Ren. I really am. I do want to be your friend, but I understand if you don’t want that. Of course, I’ll return when you need me, if you need me, to help you find the other three gifts. I wouldn’t abandon you or Kishan in that way. I just can’t stay here with you feeling obligated to pity-date me because you need me. But I’d never abandon your cause. I’ll always be there for you both, no matter what.” He spat out, “Pity-date! You? Kelsey, you can’t be serious!” “I am. Very, very serious. I’ll ask Mr. Kadam to make arrangements to send me back in the next few days.” He didn’t say another word. He just sat back in his chair. I could tell he was fuming mad, but I felt that, after a week or two, when he started getting back out in the world, he would come to appreciate my gesture. I looked away from him. “I’m very tired now. I’d like to go to bed.” I got up and headed to my room. Before I closed the sliding door, I asked, “Can I make one last request?” He sat there tight-lipped, his arms folded over his chest, with a tense, angry face. I sighed. Even infuriated he was beautiful. He said nothing so I went on, “It would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t see you, I mean as a man. I’ll try to avoid most of the house. It is yours after all, so I’ll stay in my room. If you see Mr. Kadam, please tell him I’d like to speak with him.” He didn’t respond. “Well, good-bye, Ren. Take care of yourself.” I tore my eyes away from him, shut the door, and drew the curtains. Take care of yourself? That was a lame goodbye. Tears welled in my eyes and blurred my vision. I was proud that I’d gotten through it without showing emotion. But, now, I felt like a steamroller had come along and flattened me.

I pictured Becs and myself together, squabbling, but always over little things, while I rotted away at the core from love of Ferris. It was hopeless. ‘Here.’ I laid my hands on the table, palms up, and jerked my head at them, ‘put yours on top.’ Ferris did not move. ‘Please,’ I said. He laid his cold hands on mine and I curled my fingers, folding his within them. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘I’ve neither accepted nor refused. Speak it out plainly, tell me and I’ll do it.’ He cried, ‘Don’t put it onto me! Choose for yourself.’ ‘This is choosing. Tell Aunt I will do whatever you’ll have me do, and that’s my answer.’ I kept hold of his fingers. We stayed there silent and motionless for some time, while the candles burnt down. At last he said quietly, ‘It is a lot to give up.’ ‘Well. My history is bad enough without bigamy,’ I replied, at which he smiled but made no reply. The candles were half burnt. I took one and rose. ‘Goodnight, Ferris.’ ‘Goodnight, Jacob.

I know this may be a disappointment for some of you, but I don’t believe there is only one right person for you. I think I fell in love with my wife, Harriet, from the first moment I saw her. Nevertheless, had she decided to marry someone else, I believe I would have met and fallen in love with someone else. I am eternally grateful that this didn’t happen, but I don’t believe she was my one chance at happiness in this life, nor was I hers. Another error you might easily make in dating is expecting to find perfection in the person you are with. The truth is, the only perfect people you might know are those you don’t know very well. Everyone has imperfections. Now, I’m not suggesting you lower your standards and marry someone with whom you can’t be happy. But one of the things I’ve realized as I’ve matured in life is that if someone is willing to accept me—imperfect as I am—then I should be willing to be patient with others’ imperfections as well. Since you won’t find perfection in your partner, and your partner won’t find it in you, your only chance at perfection is in creating perfection together. There are those who do not marry because they feel a lack of “magic” in the relationship. By “magic” I assume they mean sparks of attraction. Falling in love is a wonderful feeling, and I would never counsel you to marry someone you do not love. Nevertheless—and here is another thing that is sometimes hard to accept—that magic sparkle needs continuous polishing. When the magic endures in a relationship, it’s because the couple made it happen, not because it mystically appeared due to some cosmic force. Frankly, it takes work. For any relationship to survive, both parties bring their own magic with them and use that to sustain their love. Although I have said that I do not believe in a one-and-only soul mate for anyone, I do know this: once you commit to being married, your spouse becomes your soul mate, and it is your duty and responsibility to work every day to keep it that way. Once you have committed, the search for a soul mate is over. Our thoughts and actions turn from looking to creating. . . . Now, sisters, be gentle. It’s all right if you turn down requests for dates or proposals for marriage. But please do it gently. And brethren, please start asking! There are too many of our young women who never go on dates. Don’t suppose that certain girls would never go out with you. Sometimes they are wondering why no one asks them out. Just ask, and be prepared to move on if the answer is no. One of the trends we see in some parts of the world is our young people only “hanging out” in large groups rather than dating. While there is nothing wrong with getting together often with others your own age, I don’t know if you can really get to know individuals when you’re always in a group. One of the things you need to learn is how to have a conversation with a member of the opposite sex. A great way to learn this is by being alone with someone—talking without a net, so to speak. Dates don’t have to be—and in most cases shouldn’t be—expensive and over-planned affairs. When my wife and I moved from Germany to Salt Lake City, one of the things that most surprised us was the elaborate and sometimes stressful process young people had developed of asking for and accepting dates. Relax. Find simple ways to be together. One of my favorite things to do when I was young and looking for a date was to walk a young lady home after a Church meeting. Remember, your goal should not be to have a video of your date get a million views on YouTube. The goal is to get to know one individual person and learn how to develop a meaningful relationship with the opposite sex.

It felt as though God had played a mean trick on us. Be open to life, accept seven sons, accept a pregnancy later in life and then, I will give you a daughter, but she will have a disability. Besides the anguish of a disabled daughter was the anguish that I felt such little love in my heart for her. My pleading to God began. Lord, please help me to love my daughter the way you do. I knew it was wrong not to love her the way I loved my sons. I began a relentless pursuit to learn to love like God loves.

Please accept my apologies for that disgraceful performance. So many f-words. What will my grandchildren think? Probably that their grandpa had his heart ripped out, bloody and still beating, from behind his shattered rib cage by a wily Western Australian. Which is pretty much what happened.

I have never returned to the mortal realms. Those who make frequent trips do so at great personal sacrifice.” I looked at Reth, who still stood next to me, had been standing next to me this entire time, silent and watching. Reth who never needed to come back to Earth after I freed him from IPCA. Reth who was looking dimmer by the hour after taking the midnight faerie’s attack in my place. The Light Queen followed my gaze. “My golden son has given much because of his love for you and his devotion to me. He may yet give up all.” Well, bleep. It was so much simpler to hate him. “I know you hold depths of anger and bitterness toward the fey, child, but please understand our desperation. And please know my deep respect for humans and human life. Such beautiful, fragile animals, so fleeting and easily broken yet powerful beyond anything faeries can ever hope to be. We cannot create but live forever, unchanging. You change with every breath, dying even as you live, but your thread to eternity and immortality is reborn with every new generation.” I was bust avoiding Reth’s eyes, not wanting to think that, as someone who was nobly sacrificing to be around me and protect me. Not wanting to accept that he really loved me the way he was always saying he did.

There is a boy in the neighborhood...whom I have defended in some of his troubles with the law. He used to stop in often on Saturday mornings to shave and wash up, after having spent the week on the streets. He has been addicted for a long time. His father threw him out three years ago, when he was first arrested. He has contrived so many stories to induce clergy and social workers to give him money to support his habit that he is no longer believed when he asks for help...He is dirty, ignorant, arrogant, dishonest, unemployable, broken, unreliable, ugly, rejected, alone. And he knows it. He knows at last that he has nothing to offer. There is nothing about him that permits the love of another person for him. He is unlovable. Yet it is in his own confession that he does not deserve the love of another that he represents all the rest of us in this regard. We are all unlovable. More tan that, the action of this boy's life points beyond itself, it points to the Gospel, to God who loves us though we hate Him, who loves us though we do not please Him, who loves us not for our sake but for His own sake, who loves us freely, who accepts us though we have nothing acceptable to offer him. Hidden in the obnoxious existence of this boy is the scandalous secret of the Word of God.

Crashing through windows I thought were open doors. Apologizing for the mess. Rationalizing my behavior in metaphors you’ll simply never understand. Learning to accept defeat. Watching you walk away from me, from us, from all of this, using every door I missed. Begging, "Please don’t leave me now, I killed those boys to make you love me.

I've brought thee a sup o' tea, lass," he said. "Well you needn't, for you know I don't like it," she replied. "Drink it up, it'll pop thee off to sleep again." She accepted the tea. It pleased him to see her take it and sip it. "I'll back my life there's no sugar in," she said. "Yi - there's one big un," he replied, injured. "It's a wonder," she said sipping again. She had a winsome face when her hair was loose. He loved her to grumble at him in this manner.

Your family will not be pleased at all... I am not beautiful. I have no connections. I have nothing to offer you. I am going to count to three, very slowly. You must take your leave while you have the chance, Your Grace, for if you are still here by the time I have finished counting, I warn you that I shall accept your proposal and you will leave here an engaged man. I only have so much self-discipline, you see, and part of me sees you as quite the answer to all of my problems.

One of my greatest concerns for the young women of the Church is that they will sell themselves short in dating and marriage by forgetting who they really are--daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. . . . Unfortunately, a young woman who lowers her standards far enough can always find temporary acceptance from immature and unworthy young men. . . . At their best, daughters of God are loving, caring, understanding, and sympathetic. This does not mean they are also gullible, unrealistic, or easily manipulated. If a young man does not measure up to the standards a young woman has set, he may promise her that he will change if she will marry him first. Wise daughters of God will insist that young men who seek their hand in marriage change before the wedding, not after. (I am referring here to the kind of change that will be part of the lifelong growth of every disciple.) He may argue that she doesn't really believe in repentance and forgiveness. But one of the hallmarks of repentance is forsaking sin. Especially when the sin involves addictive behaviors or a pattern of transgression, wise daughters of God insist on seeing a sustained effort to forsake sin over a long period of time as true evidence of repentance. They do not marry someone because they believe they can change him. Young women, please do not settle for someone unworthy of your gospel standards. On the other hand, young women should not refuse to settle down. There is no right age for young men or young women to marry, but there is a right attitude for them to have about marriage: "Thy will be done" . . . . The time to marry is when we are prepared to meet a suitable mate, not after we have done all the enjoyable things in life we hoped to do while we were single. . . . When I hear some young men and young women set plans in stone which do not include marriage until after age twenty-five or thirty or until a graduate degree has been obtained, I recall Jacob's warning, "Seek not to counsel the Lord, but to take counsel from his hand" (Jacob 4:10). . . . How we conduct ourselves in dating relationships is a good indication of how we will conduct ourselves in a marriage relationship. . . . Individuals considering marriage would be wise to conduct their own prayerful due diligence--long before they set their hearts on marriage. There is nothing wrong with making a T-square diagram and on either side of the vertical line listing the relative strengths and weaknesses of a potential mate. I sometimes wonder whether doing more homework when it comes to this critical decision would spare some Church members needless heartache. I fear too many fall in love with each other or even with the idea of marriage before doing the background research necessary to make a good decision. It is sad when a person who wants to be married never has the opportunity to marry. But it is much, much sadder to be married to the wrong person. If you do not believe me, talk with someone who has made that mistake. Think carefully about the person you are considering marrying, because marriage should last for time and for all eternity.

Ananda, an attendant of the Buddha, passed by a well near a village. A young low-caste woman, Pakati, was fetching water. He asked her for a drink. Pakati said: “I am low caste and therefore may not give you water. Please ask nothing from me in case I contaminate your holy state with my low-caste status.” Ananda said, “I am not interested in caste. It is water I am after.” Pakati’s heart leaped joyfully. She gave him water to drink, and when he left she followed him at a discrete distance. Finding out that he was a disciple of the Buddha, she went to the Buddha and said, “Please accept me and let me live in this place where your disciple Ananda dwells, so that I may see him and supply him with what he needs. For I find that I love Ananda.” The Buddha understood what was going on in her feelings and he said gently, “Pakati, your heart if full of love but you don’t understand your own emotions. It is not Ananda that you love, but his kindness. Accept the kindness that he has shown to you and in your turn practice it toward other. You have been born low caste, but in time you will outshine the glory of kings and queens.

Hold your hands out,” Peter prompts. I look at John one more time before I obey, and Peter pulls something out of his pocket and drops it into my palms. My heart locket. “It’s yours.” Slowly I say, “I thought you returned the necklace to your mom’s store.” “Nope. Wouldn’t look right on another girl.” I blink. “Peter, I can’t accept this.” I try to give it back, but he shakes his head; he won’t take it. “Peter, please.” “No. When I get you back, I’m gonna put that necklace back around your neck and pin you.” He tries to hold my eyes with his own. “Like the 1950s. Remember, Lara Jean?

O, weary angels, don’t look at me with those eyes. If that is your state then what of our cries? What can I tell you of goodness that you don’t already know? What can I tell you of faith, of hope and love that you yourselves bestow? O, angels, don’t pluck another feather, this isn’t the sky, it’s just the weather. Please, angels, try. We are one all together. Look up and listen, I’ll say it once and then put down my pen: We are sorry for our ignorance and even though we are worldly, it might happen again. We are sorry for your weariness and even though you aren’t worldly, we are no more than human.

Mother’s been in my room again. I leave little traps for her everywhere, little ways that I’ll know where she’s been with her prying fingers and cutting eyes. But she didn’t find my journal. Dear, dear Mother, who loves like a knife, slicing me into ever smaller pieces until I’m exactly the shape that pleases her the most. Love like a knife. I sit back, overwhelmed. Sometimes I’ll have a feeling, but I won’t know how to express it until I find it captured in a poem or lyrics. Pulled straight out of my chest and put into a form I can understand. If I can understand the feeling, then I can accept it and move on.

Leaving my empty goblet, I slide from the soft pile at his order. I can already feel the desire bursting from between my thighs as I fall to all fours and begin my crawl to where he has seated himself. “We will begin as before—you will be spanked over my knee—but this time there will be little pleasure in it for you, my captive. I intend to hurt you—to mark that pretty little behind—and make you unable to sit properly for some time.” I am back by his feet as he concludes and warily, I raise my eyes as he finishes the sentence. I know I am not hiding the terror in my face and yet still I am compelled to carry on—submitting myself to him in this way for our mutual need. He catches my hair in his left hand and pulls it into a rough ponytail, again drawing my head back. “When my hand is aching from tanning your backside, I will bind you to the bedpost and continue to thrash you with my strap. Do you understand?” He eyes me wildly and for a moment I am too afraid to even respond. I have to swallow hard again to find my voice. “Please, my Lofðungr,” I say shakily. “I do not know if I can bear such a punishment?” He never takes his eyes from me as he answers. “You can and you will, my sweeting,” he says. “You will submit to me in this way as a sign of your true desire to be mine.” I close my eyes at his words, understanding for the first time his real intention. He means not just to punish me, but to mark and possess me in some meaningful way. To make me his again in the way that our coupling had done before. As I open my eyes again and see him standing over me, there are tears but also a new acceptance. I nod my head as best I can whilst he is still holding my hair in his fist. “I will bear it,” I say, my voice breaking. He leans in toward me, his face just an inch from mine, those blue pools burning into me. “You will bear it,” he replies, his hot breath against my face, “and I will love you for it.

The quick ticket to ecstasy is to catch yourself feeling in a very low state of mind--depressed, stupid, hateful--and to love yourself for feeling that way. When you do that you can experience a rocket ride right to the top. Love does not take time; it's possible to transform depression into ecstasy in a flash. But please do not accept my word for it. Try it as an experiment next time you are feeling low. Something else to consider is that we will always be in the process of remembering how to love ourselves, then forgetting, then remembering again. It does not seem to be our destiny to be any one way all the time. So let's get used to being pendulums and enjoy the ride.

Okay, listen to me one more time. I find you very beautiful, and I'm not going to be some guy who leaves you hanging like that idiot did yesterday evening. I am willing to show you what a real woman can do to please you in every way." Jana stood they're just looking at Angel dumbstruck, unsure what to say. She just thought of what to say next, but nothing came to words. Jana sat on the couch without a word. Angel sat next to her. "I am sorry for being so honest with you. But since I met you yesterday evening, I just can't and won't let my feelings go without knowing." She sighed. She just wished Jana could feel the same about her as she did about Jana. Jana looked at Angel. Her eyes were full of questions. "Why me? Out of all the women in this world, you choose me. I'm nothing compared to anyone else and my best friend Destiny has the life I want and crave for." Angel smiled and hugged Jana. She didn’t try to leave her embrace. Angel counted that as a small win. "That is where you are blind on. Women that are friends or couples can have all that as well. Please, just give me a chance to show you and will go from there." Jana took a deep breath looking down at her hands. She was still deciding if she should accept Angel’s suggestion. "Are you sure about this? I mean we just met, and I am not sure what to think of all this? I wouldn't even know what to tell anyone that knows me?" Angel placed a finger over Jana's lips responding, "We can keep it hidden, do you agree? I just want what is best for you and me, for us. I have never been attracted to a straight woman before, but you took my breath away.

Stop.” He shot in front of me, moving so fast I didn’t see him until we were face to face. “Please just . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say, Josie.” I winced, feeling what he was saying all the way to the core. “That . . . that says everything, Seth, because if you don’t—” My voice cracked, right along with what was left of my heart. “If you don’t know what to say, then that’s it.” “You don’t understand.” His voice was low.“I don’t understand anything.” Heart aching, I stepped to the side, but Seth followed. “Please, just let me go. We can forget we even had—” He clasped my cheeks in a gentle grasp. “No one has ever told me that before.” “What?” I whispered after a moment. His eyes were wide, slightly dilated. “No one has ever said they loved me or were in love with me, and actually meant it.” I couldn’t believe that. Not even his mother? Yes, that was a different kind of love, but then I remembered how his mom was and once again I found myself wishing she was alive so I could bitch-slap her into eternity. But to live the years he had, and to never experience any kind of love wasn’t just wrong, it was sad. I wished it wasn’t so. Seth’s hands slid down my neck, stopping where his thumbs pressed against my pulse. “But you . . .” I had a choice here. I recognized that. I could save face and let this go. I could pull away and walk out of this room, but I was hurting for myself and despite everything that had gone on between us, I was still hurting for him. Maybe that. “But I love you.” Seth’s hands shook—his hands. Hands that were always so steady in battle, but they trembled now, touching me. “I don’t deserve that from anyone, but especially from you.” Voice rough and heavy, he searched my face intently. “That is a precious gift that I . . . that I am not worthy of.” I sucked in air. Oh gosh, that hurt. Hearing him say that tore me up, ripped me right apart, and it struck me then. I knew why he had backed off. Him pushing me away had nothing to do with Alex or with me. It was because of him, because of how he believed he deserved nothing more than punishment. That he sincerely believed that the only thing he had was to atone for his past sins. Tears pricked my eyes as I folded my hands over his wrists. I had to prove what he believed wasn’t true. Prove that he was the total of everything he’d done and not just the dark things he was ashamed of, and I would do so, because I loved him and accepted him for who he was, for all his faults. That was what love meant.

So the fundamental question before the church is who is Lord? Is the church the lord of Jesus Christ, so that it has liberty to edit and manipulate, accepting what it likes and rejecting what it dislikes? Or is Jesus Christ our Teacher and our Lord, so that we believe and obey his teaching? He still says to us, ‘Why do you call me, “Lord, Lord,” and do not do what I say?’ (Luke 6:46). To confess Jesus as Lord but not obey him is to build our lives on a foundation of sand. Again, ‘Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me,’ he said in the upper room (John 14:21). Here then are two cultures and two value systems, two standards and two lifestyles. On the one side there is the fashion of the world around us; on the other side is the revealed, good and pleasing will of God. Radical disciples have little difficulty in making their choice.

• He is anomaly, not the exception. • I’ve found a fetish:you spending all my money • Luck is believing you are lucky. • Stupid people rely on chance; smart people know luck can be optimized by skill. • It (love) feels like your heart is walking outside of your body. • Self-control sits at my very core, tethering me like an anchor, and yet, it seems to defy gravity the moment she steeps into my vision. • If he dipped those fingers lower, he would realise my body doesn’t hate him as much as my brain does. • Just because I am a gentleman doesn’t always mean I am a gentle man. • It doesn’t scream money, it whispers wealth. • (He) is a picture of polished perfection. • You can’t put a timeline on grief. -Wishful thinking. -Meaning? -I am sorry? -Apology accepted. -These seats(car) are Nappa leather. -And my sweater is cotton. -What? -Thought we were naming fabrics no one gives a shit about. -Say please. -Over my dead… -That doesn’t sound like please.

At this very instant I’m asking the God to help me. I’m needing. Needing more than human strength. I am strong but also destructive. The God must come to me since I haven’t gone to Him. Let the God come: please. Though I don’t deserve it. Come. Or perhaps those who least deserve Him need Him most. I’m restless and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside myself. It’s just that I don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs. If I received so much love inside me and nonetheless am restless it’s because I need the God to come. Come before it’s too late. I’m in danger like every person who lives. And the only thing I can expect is precisely the unexpected. But I know that I shall have peace before death and that one day I shall taste the delicateness of life. I shall notice—as we eat and live the taste of food. My voice falls into the abyss of your silence. You read me in silence. But in this unlimited silent field I unfurl my wings, free to live. So I accept the worst and enter the core of death and that is why I’m alive. The feeling core. And that it makes me quiver.

From: “Chris Kyle” Date: December 25, 2010 at 12:55:57 AM EST I appreciate your upbringing and your respect. My dad would have kicked my ass if I didn’t call everyone sir or Mr. until they notified me otherwise. So I am telling you, my name is Chris. Please no more sir bullshit. I went to college right out of high school, but did not finish. Sometimes I regret that. Now that I am out, I could really use the degree. Even if you think you will retire from the service, like I did, there is life after the military. I joined at 24 years old. I had some mental maturity over my teammates due to joining later. I also got to enjoy my youth. One thing about being a SEAL, you age fast. I was only in for eleven years, but I spent over half that time in a combat zone. Unlike other combat units, SEALs in a combat zone are operating. That means getting shot at on a daily basis. I had a baby face when I joined, and within two years, I looked as if I had aged 10 years. I am not in any way talking you out of joining. I loved my time, and if I hadn’t gotten married and had two kids, I would still be in. Unforeseen events will come at you in life. Your plants today will not be the same in four years. I am just trying to prep you for what is to come. I sit in an office or train other people on a range all day, every day. I would much rather be in Afghanistan being shot at again. I love the job and still miss it today. There is no better friendship than what the teams will offer. Once you become a SEAL, you will change. Your friends and family may think you are the same, but if they are really honest, they will see the difference. You will no longer have that innocence that you have now. Sometimes I even miss that person I used to be, but do not regret in any way who I have become. You will be much harder emotionally than you have ever imagined. The day to day bullshit that stresses people out now, fades away. You realize, once you have faced death and accepted it, that the meaningless bullshit in day to day life is worthless. I know this was a long answer to an easy question, but I just wanted to be completely honest. Take your time and enjoy your youth. The SEALs are one of the greatest things that have ever happened to me, but once you are in, you will no longer be the same. Chris Kyle

There was an awful tension in Arin, one that reminded Kestrel of his childhood violin. He had been strung too hard for far too long. When he finally spoke, his reply came in a low growl. “I agree.” “Then give orders to open the gate. My father will enter and escort all Valorians in your city back to the capital.” “I agree,” Arin said, “under one condition. You mentioned emissaries. There will be one emissary from the empire. It will be you.” “Me?” “You, I understand. You, I know how to read.” Kestrel wasn’t so sure of that. “I think that will be acceptable,” she said, and wanted to turn away from how much she wanted this condition. How she would seize any chance to see him, even with the purpose of enforcing the emperor’s will. Since she could not turn away from her own wanting, she turned away from him. “Please don’t do this,” he said. “Kestrel, you don’t know. You don’t understand.” “I see things quite clearly.” She began to walk to meet her father, in whose eyes she had, at last, done something to make him proud. “You don’t,” Arin said. She pretended not to hear him. She watched the white sky dissolve into snow and shiver apart over the leaden sea. She felt icy sparks on her skin. The snow fell on her, it fell on him, but Kestrel knew that no single flake could ever touch them both. She didn’t look back when he spoke again. “You don’t, Kestrel, even though the god of lies loves you.

You are very quiet,” Archer remarked as they walked together to the refreshment table. They’d just finished a game of whist and when Rose begged off from a second round, Grey’s brother did the same. “My apologies,” she replied. “I do not mean to be rude.” “My brother doesn’t deserve to take up so much room in that lovely head of yours.” She might have been insulted by his disparaging Grey, or his familiarity with her, had she not been so surprised by the remark itself. “You are impertinent, sir.” He grinned-a grin so much more roguish than Grey’s. “One of my more charming traits. I did not mean offense, dear lady. Only that thinking about him will do you no good. The man is bent on punishing himself for the rest of his life.” Rose accepted the plate he offered her. “Thank you. Why would he wish to punish himself?” “Because he’s an ar…idiot. Sandwich?” He held up a cucumber sandwich caught in silver tongs. “Please. I’m not certain I wish to discuss your brother with you, Lord Archer.” “Not even if I can help you win him?” Rose’s heart froze-no, it simply stopped. Her entire body went numb. She would have dropped her plate had Archer not swept it from her hand into his own. “What makes you think I wish to win him?” He flashed her a coy glance. “Please, lady Rose. I’ve not made a career out of studying your sex to fall for your false innocence now.” Oh dear God. Had Grey told him? “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I’ve had to put with hearing about you for the last four years-no offense.” Rose arched a brow as he piled food upon her plate. “None taken. I wasn’t aware that I looked at your brother in a manner different from how I might look upon anyone else.” “Mm.” He popped a small cake into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “That’s just it. You try too hard to treat him like everyone else. It’s obvious you care for him, and not just as the man who saved your life.” “Saved my life? How very dramatic.” He gave her a very serious look as he handed her the laden plate. “Where do you suppose you’d be right now if Grey hadn’t taken you in? Certainly not here, with such good food and charming company.” Point taken. And now she felt simply awful for the way she had spoken to Grey earlier. She was such a cow. “You shame me, sir.” And worse, he’d made tears come to her eyes. Staring at her food-such a wonderful array he’d picked for her-she blinked them away. He steered her toward a window seat where they sat in plain view of the room, but at least with a modicum of privacy. “My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to offend you with my plain and thoughtless words.” “Plain, perhaps. Thoughtless, I highly doubt it.” She managed a small smile. “I don’t think you do anything without thinking first.” Archer laughed, looking so much like Grey it hurt to look at him. “Were that but true.

Let’s find out where your shame came from by taking a look at your past. But before we do that, I want to address a common misconception people have about looking at their past. I have heard many people misinterpret the apostle Paul’s words: I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead…Philippians 3:13 People use this verse to teach that a person should never reflect on their past to resolve their present problems. They think looking to your past is a sign of doubt and weak faith. “Good Christians” should forget about their past, they say, and focus on who they are as a believer in Jesus. That might sound good, but I couldn't disagree more. That kind of thinking is both unbiblical and illogical. It is unbiblical because Paul wasn’t telling people to forget past problems. He was simply referring to his former life when he sought to please God through religious works like praying, giving money, or fasting. He boasted about these religious habits as if they got him closer to God. But he stopped that kind of foolish thinking when he came to learn what Jesus had done for him. Paul wasn’t making an all-inclusive statement telling people to forget everything about their past. He was simply telling his personal story and encouraging people to find their acceptance from God based on his love, not on their good works. To read more into his words is to twist the meaning.

Dr. Syngmann: But someone must have made it all. Don't you think so, John? Pastor Jón: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and so on, said the late pastor Lens. Dr. Syngmann: Listen, John, how is it possible to love God? And what reason is there for doing so? To love, is that not the prelude to sleeping together, something connected with the genitals, at its best a marital tragedy among apes? It would be ridiculous. People are fond of their children, all right, but if someone said he was fond of God, wouldn't that be blasphemy? Pastor Jón once again utters that strange word 'it' and says: I accept it. Dr. Syngmann: What do you mean when you say you accept God? Did you consent to his creating the world? Do you think the world as good as all that, or something? This world! Or are you all that pleased with yourself? Pastor Jón: Have you noticed that the ewe that was bleating outside the window is now quiet? She has found her lamb. And I believe that the calf here in the homefield will pull through. Dr. Syngmann: I know as well as you do, John, that animals are perfect within their limits and that man is the lowest rung in the reverse-evolution of earthly life: one need only compare the pictures of an emperor and a dog to see that, or a farmer and the horse he rides. But I for my part refuse to accept it. Pastor Jón Prímus: To refuse to accept it - what is meant by that? Suicide or something? Dr. Syngmann: At this moment, when the alignment with a higher humanity is at hand, a chapter is at last beginning that can be taken seriously in the history of the earth. Epagogics provide the arguments to prove to the Creator that life is an entirely meaningless gimmick unless it is eternal. Pastor Jón: Who is to bell the cat? Dr. Syngmann: As regards epagogics, it is pleading a completely logical case. In six volumes I have proved my thesis with incontrovertible arguments; even juridically. But obviously it isn't enough to use cold reasoning. I take the liberty of appealing to this gifted Maker's honour. I ask Him - how could it ever occur to you to hand over the earth to demons? The only ideal over which demons can unite is to have a war. Why did you permit the demons of the earth to profess their love to you in services and prayers as if you were their God? Will you let honest men call you demiurge, you, the Creator of the world? Whose defeat is it, now that the demons of the earth have acquired a machine to wipe out all life? Whose defeat is it if you let life on earth die on your hands? Can the Maker of the heavens stoop so low as to let German philosophers give Him orders what to do? And finally - I am a creature you have created. And that's why I am here, just like you. Who has given you the right to wipe me out? Is justice ridiculous in your eyes? Cards on the table! (He mumbles to himself.) You are at least under an obligation to resurrect me!

That’s not the only present I brought you. It’s not even the best one.” He peels away from me and pulls a little velvet jewelry box out of his backpack. I gasp. Pleased, he says, “Hurry up and open it already.” “Is it a pin?” “It’s better.” My hands fly to my mouth. It’s my necklace, the heart locket from his mom’s antique store, the very same necklace I admired for so many months. At Christmas when Daddy said the necklace had been sold, I thought it was gone from my life forever. “I can’t believe it,” I whisper, touching the diamond chip in the middle. “Here, let me put it on for you.” I lift my hair up, and Peter comes around and fastens the necklace around my neck. “Can I even accept this?” I wonder aloud. “It was really expensive, Peter! Like, really really expensive.” He laughs. “I know how much it cost. Don’t worry, my mom cut me a deal. I had to sign over a bunch of weekends to driving the van around picking up furniture for the store, but you know, no biggie. It’s whatever, as long as you’re into it.” I touch the necklace. “I am! I’m so, so into it." Surreptitiously I look around the cafeteria. It’s a petty thought, a small thought, but I wish Genevieve were here to see this. “Wait, where’s my valentine?” Peter asks me. “It’s in your locker,” I say. Now I’m sort of wising I didn’t listen to Kitty and let myself go a little overboard this first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend. With Peter. Oh, well. At least there are the cherry turnovers still warm in my backpack. I’ll give them all to him. Sorry, Chris and Lucas and Gabe.

When we were first born, Spirit was our predominate guide, but as we ‘matured,’ our society quickly cured us of that. I learned later in my studies that any negative moaning I have about my life is only an affirmation of weakness and makes all those around me not want to be there. Life is nothing more than a dance with God; we just need to follow His lead and quit stepping on His toes. We must be able to release the things we hold dearest in order to truly have. I believe you must know the feeling of hunger before you can truly taste and enjoy food, you can only recognize authenticity by experiencing fraud, and you can only experience true love after enduring heartache. Your level of awareness will increase as you experience the rawness of life on your path to becoming more. God never gives you more than you can handle. He is perfect in His teaching. Know that what comes around goes around, and what you’re unable to forgive and let go will stay around. We need to control what we think, what we say, and how we feel. It’s our thoughts that produce our words, and our words lead to our actions. Our actions over time become habits, which form our character. Our character is what unfolds into our reality. Life is not about a future someone, it’s about ‘becoming’ someone and enjoying every step along the way. There’s no need to wait—significance is available right now. If you had to carry your mental seeds of desired reality around with you, growing to an additional nine pounds concentrated in your belly for nine months, and actually give birth to them, they too would become pretty obvious. The problem with most is they don’t care enough to endure the process, so they wind up aborting their dreams before they have a chance to be born. As you begin to do things to close the gap toward your ideal, you will find that life speeds up. Things quicken, and the closer you get to your goal, the faster it comes for you. The ultimate goal is to condition your body and mind so you can manifest ideals instantly—to think like God thinks. Yearning destroys your ability to have. It’s the carrot dangling just beyond your nose that you will never taste. When you’re obsessed with something you become out of balance and this imbalance creates a barrier between you and what you want. You become too emotionally attached to accept it. We must know the price of our obsessions and refuse to pay it. If Spirit cannot overcome ego and move away from the ways of the world, we will be destined to repeat it. We will die only to perpetuate death. In the beginning of my spiritual quest, I felt left out, alone, and cold. Wandering around in the darkness of my human nature, I came upon a door, and on the door was the word heaven. I knocked on the door but no one answered. I returned back every day, hoping to get someone to hear me and let me in. I became increasingly frustrated, finding myself angrily pounding on the door, but it wouldn’t open. Exhausted, I finally fell to my knees at the foot of the door and prayed, “Please, God, let me in!” The door immediately cracked open. I realized I had been knocking from the inside.

Do you ever find yourself reminiscing about the girl you used to be? I used to do it all the time, and depending on my mood – I’d either smile or cringe. I went through phases where, on the outside, I was the ‘everything’s gonna be okay’ type of girl. I comforted my friends and family. I was intelligent, confident, and strong, but in private, I hated myself. You see, I was adopted into what many consider the perfect family, and while I can say that I was raised in a loving home, there still wasn't enough love in the world that could’ve convinced me that I was enough. There wasn’t enough love in the world to make me believe I was loveable. Although my adoptive parents gave me all of their love, there wasn’t enough love in the world that could make me stop craving the love of my birth mother. It's taken me a very long time to accept myself. It’s taken years to win the war between who I am versus the crippling insecurities that made me hate myself. I’d love to be the perfect woman without flaws or insecurities, but this isn’t Barbie’s Dreamhouse. So, I apologize in advance for my inconsistency, at times. I apologize in advance for my mood swings. I apologize in advance for my immaturity. I apologize for my stupidity. I apologize for my moments of low self-esteem. I apologize for my lingering self-doubt. And I apologize for believing that I wasn’t good enough. I’m still a work in progress, and one day, I’ll even be confident enough to stop apologizing, but in the meantime, please bear with me. Growth doesn’t always happen in a straight line, nor does it happen overnight, so I thank you in advance for this difficult journey that we're about to embark on together, and I hope you can grow to love me as I’ve finally grown to love myself.

Universe of My Love I have loved you; why, when, how. I do not know, I have loved you for your beautiful smile and for your mysterious glow, With which you fill my life offering me a sense of completeness, That invades me with your love’s stillness, Your love, my emotions, my sentiments and my entire existence, It feels like the most beautiful moment of reality with no hint of pretence, Inside me I feel you flowing in my senses, And there hidden from the world, just you and I and our romances, Kisses of love, thoughts of togetherness and basking in your beauty, Everything within me and outside me regards you as its patron deity, In the night’s anonymity your thoughts are my only gladdening acquaintance, And I willingly accept my, self-decreed sentence, To become your prisoner, your admirer enslaved forever, With the hope that someday in my humble submissions you will discover your lover, Who loves you, only you. Why? I do not wish to know, As long as in your eyes I see a reflection of my own life's flow, So sleep my love Irma, but please never close your eyes, For whenever you do so something within me dies, You are my end and you are my beginning too, I am the river and you are the always waiting sea that I restlessly flow to, In you I have seen my heaven and daylight, In this universe of mine you are my only starlight, You are my visions and my always longed for that beauty's ultimate sight, Let me hold your hair Irma, let me look into your eyes and be together every day and night, Fill the emptiness of my life with your sparkling eyes, Le me place my tired head under your hair and drift far and wide into these dark skies, Of this familiar universe that your presence creates for me, Let us be in this state forever my love; the ever expanding universe, and you with me!

Forgive me I hope you are feeling better. I am, thank you. Will you not sit down? In vain I have struggled. It will not do! My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. In declaring myself thus I'm fully aware that I will be going expressly against the wishes of my family, my friends, and, I hardly need add, my own better judgement. The relative situation of our families is such that any alliance between us must be regarded as a highly reprehensible connection. Indeed as a rational man I cannot but regard it as such myself, but it cannot be helped. Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, which despite of my struggles, has overcome every rational objection. And I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife. In such cases as these, I believe the established mode is to express a sense of obligation. But I cannot. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I'm sorry to cause pain to anyone, but it was most unconsciously done, and, I hope, will be of short duration. And this is all the reply I am to expect? I might wonder why, with so little effort at civility, I am rejected. And I might wonder why, with so evident a desire to offend and insult me you chose to tell me that you like me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character! Was this not some excuse for incivility if I was uncivil? I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. Do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining the happiness of a most beloved sister? Can you deny that you have done it? I have no wish to deny it. I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself. But it's not merely that on which my dislike of you is founded. Long before it had taken place, my dislike of you was decided when I heard Mr Wickham's story of your dealings with him. How can you defend yourself on that subject? You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns! And of your infliction! You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, and yet you can treat his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule! And this is your opinion of me? My faults by this calculation are heavy indeed, but perhaps these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by the honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design on you, had I concealed my struggles and flattered you. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly below my own? You are mistaken, Mr Darcy. The mode of your declaration merely spared me any concern I might have felt in refusing you had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. From the very beginning, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I had known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever marry! You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and now have only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Please forgive me for having taken up your time and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. Forgive me. I hope you are feeling better. I am, thank you. Will you no

Goaded on by climbing lust, he laid her on her back again and maneuvered himself gently atop her, taking care not to crush her with his weight. He slid his arm around her, cradled her lovely head in his hands, and gazed at her for a heartbeat. "I'm going to take you now." "Mm, yes, Rohan, please." She writhed beneath him. He lowered his head and consumed her mouth with kisses as he entered her. Inch by inch, pressing in, he gave her what they so desperately yearned for. She welcomed him, though he could feel her feverish uncertainty. He moved slowly, throbbing inside her. He was only about halfway in, pleasuring her with small motions, caressing her tight inner walls. Her breasts heaved against his chest as she grew accustomed to his incursion, warily accepting it; he sensed the moment she had need of more. He gave it to her, riding in more deeply, resolute in his taking. She licked her lips, opening to him, but still he held himself back. He moved slowly until her head thrashed back and forth on his pillow and her body squirmed beneath him in quivering frustration. He drove in harder, quickened his pace. She arched, clawing at his trembling hips, a whispered curse torn wildly from her. He could bear no more self-denial. As she lay trembling beneath him, he braced himself on his hands above her, gazed fiercely into her eyes, and thrust again, taking her completely. This time he drove in to the hilt, and a small cry of pain escaped her; he instantly regretted it. But when he started to pull back, she clung to him, her arms around his sweat-dampened waist. He swallowed hard, for a quick glance down at the juncture of their joined bodies had revealed a scarlet streak of her blood. Dear God. He had not expected the rush of emotion he now felt as it truly struck him that he had just deflowered her. She was the most beautiful, most astonishing creature he had ever met. And she had willingly given him her virginity.

When he reached the doorman, he stopped. “Did you see Miss Christian come in a few minutes ago?” The doorman nodded. “Yes, sir. She got here just before you arrived.” Relief staggered him. He bolted for the elevator. A few moments later, he strode into the apartment. “Kelly? Kelly, honey, where are you?” Not waiting for an answer, he hurried into the bedroom to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale and drawn in pain. When she heard him, she looked up and he winced at the dullness in her eyes. She’d been crying. “I thought I could do it,” she said in a raw voice, before he could beg her forgiveness. “I thought I could just go on and forget and that I could accept others thinking the worst of me as long as you and I were okay again. I did myself a huge disservice.” “Kelly…” Something in her look silenced him and he stood several feet away, a feeling of helplessness gripping him as he watched her try to compose herself. “I sat there tonight while your friends and your mother looked at me in disgust, while they looked at you with a mixture of pity and disbelief in their eyes. All because you took me back. The tramp who betrayed you in the worst possible manner. And I thought to myself I don’t deserve this. I’ve never deserved it. I deserve better.” She raised her eyes to his and he flinched at the horrible pain he saw reflected there. Then she laughed. A raw, terrible sound that grated across his ears. “And earlier tonight you forgave me. You stood there and told me it no longer mattered what happened in the past because you forgave me and you wanted to move forward.” She curled her fingers into tight balls and rage flared in her eyes. She stood and stared him down even as tears ran in endless streams down her cheeks. “Well, I don’t forgive you. Nor can I forget that you betrayed me in the worst way a man can betray the woman he’s supposed to love and be sworn to protect.” He took a step back, reeling from the fury in her voice. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t forgive me?” “I told you the truth that day,” she said hoarsely, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears. “I begged you to believe me. I got down on my knees and begged you. And what did you do? You wrote me a damn check and told me to get out.” He took another step back, his hand going to his hair. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. So much of that day was a blur. He remembered her on her knees, her tear-stained face, how she put her hand on his leg and whispered, “Please don’t do this.” It made him sick. He never wanted to go back to the way he felt that day, but somehow this was worse because there was something terribly wrong in her eyes and in her voice. “Your brother assaulted me. He forced himself on me. I didn’t invite his attentions. I wore the bruises from his attack for two weeks. Two weeks. I was so stunned by what he’d done that all I could think about was getting to you. I knew you’d fix it. You’d protect me. You’d take care of me. I knew you’d make it right. All I could think about was running to you. And, oh God, I did and you looked right through me.” The sick knot in his stomach grew and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breathe. “You wouldn’t listen,” she said tearfully. “You wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. You’d already made your mind up.” He swallowed and closed the distance between them, worried that she’d fall if he didn’t make her sit. But she shook him off and turned her back, her shoulders heaving as her quiet sobs fell over the room. “I’m listening now, Kelly,” he forced out. “Tell me what happened. I’ll believe you. I swear.” But he knew. He already knew. So much of that day was replaying over and over in his head and suddenly he was able to see so clearly what he’d refused to see before. And it was killing him. His brother had lied to him after all. Not just lied but he’d carefully orchestrated the truth and twisted it so cleverly that Ryan had been completely deceived.

THE INSTRUCTION OF PTAHHOTEP Epilogue Part I If you listen to my sayings. All your affairs will go forward; In their truth resides their value, Their memory goes on in the speeds of men, Because of the worth of their precepts; If every word is carried on. They will not perish in this land. If advice ıs given for the good, The great will speak accordingly; It is teaching a man to speak to posterity, He who hears it becomes a master-hearer; It is good to speak to posterity, It will listen to it. If a good example is set by him who leads, He will be beneficent for ever, His wisdom being for all time. The wise feeds his ba with what endures, So that it is happy with, him on earth. The wise is known by his wisdom, The great by his good actions; His heart matches his tongue. His lips are straight when he speaks; He has eyes that see, His ears are made to hear what will profit his son. Acting with truth he is free of falsehood. Useful is hearing to a son who hears; If hearing enters the hearer, The hearer becomes a listener. Hearing well is speaking well. Useful is hearing to one who hears, Hearing is better than all else, It creates good will. How good for a son to grasp his father’s words, He will reach old age through them. He who hears is beloved of god, He whom god hates does not hear. The heart makes of its owner a hearer or non-hearer, Man’s heart is his life-prosperity-health! The hearer is one who hears what is said. He who loves to hear is one who does what is said. How good for a son to listen to his father. How happy is he to whom it is said: “The son, he pleases as a master of hearing.” The hearer of whom this is said, He is well-endowed And honored by his father; His remembrance is in the mouth of the living. Those on earth and those who will be. If a man’s son accepts his father's words. No plan of his will go wrong. Teach your son to be a hearer, One who will be valued by the nobles; One who guides his speech by what he was told, One regarded as a hearer. This son excels, his deeds stand out. While failure follows him who hears not. The wise wakes early to his lasting gain, While the foot is hard pressed.

Kato’s expression shifts into something I could almost call a smile for the first time since I found him. He plucks the chordsagain in the beginnings of a tune I recognize, a ballad popular in southern Sinta. His fingers move with skill and subtlety over the strings. I had no idea he was musical. “Maybe we’re not meant to kill it.” He keeps playing. “Doesn’t music soothe the beast? I’ll play, you sing.” “I sound like a strangled Satyr when I sing.” He smiles. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” “There’s no need for mudslinging,” I say with a huff. He chuckles softly. “I can carry a tune.” “Great!” I pat his arm. “That’ll be your job. I’ll stand back—waaaaay back—while you calm the beast. I’m confident you’ll sound as good as you look.” His chest puffs out. “How do I look?” “Terrible.” I grin. “You needed a bath, a shave, and a comb before we even set foot on the Ice Plains. Now, I can just barely make out your eyes and your nose. The rest is all”—I flap my hands around—“hair.” His chest deflates. He eyes me wryly. “I could say the same about you.” I gasp. “I grew a beard? Do you think Griffin will like it? I’ve been trying to keep it neat, but I may have picked up an eel.” Kato laughs outright, and he really is unbearably handsome. Some of the grimness evaporates from his eyes. “I was talking about this.” He gives one of my tousled waves a light tug. I once saw Griffin do that to Kaia. It’s brotherly. Affectionate. My heart squeezes in my chest. My love for Griffin is completely different, but Kato has a piece of me that no man ever had, not even Aetos. Kato sees me, and accepts. In that moment, I realize he’s slipped inside my soul right next to Eleni. They’re a blond-haired, blue-eyed, sunny pair—my light in the dark. Clearing my throat doesn’t drive away the thick lump in it, or dispel the sudden tightness, so I make a show of smoothing down my hair—a lost cause at this point. “Ah, that. It’s getting to the stage where it deserves a name. The Knotted Nest? The Twisted Tresses?” “What about the Terrible Tangle?” I nod. “That has serious possibilities.” “The Matted Mess?” he suggests. My jaw drops. “It’s not that bad!” Grinning, Kato pats my head. “Let’s get out of here.” Yes, please! “I have your clothes. They’re even dry, thanks to your Eternal Fires of the Underworld Cloak.” He quirks an eyebrow, taking the things I hand him. “That gets a name, too?” “I should think so,” I answer loftily.

Reflection A child needs the affirmation of their father. But many times that affirmation is not there. The father may be absent or it may be that their father never told them how proud he was of them. He was quick to criticize, but slow to affirm. When that child grows older, they will continue to search for the blessing of their father. They may become a work-a-holic, believing that through accomplishment they can finally find the fulfillment they are looking for. But they continue to live with a void. In another scenario, it might happen that feelings of unworthiness and self-doubt would be so pervasive that they never pursue God’s calling on their life and settle for less. Maybe you can relate. You desire love, respect, acceptance, or approval. But you don’t feel worthy. You believe you are not accomplished enough. You believe you are not beautiful enough. You believe you are not able enough. You believe you are not __________ (You fill in the blank). But these are lies that come straight out of the pit of hell. You are worthy enough because Jesus died for you. He accomplished everything that needed to be accomplished. He makes you beautiful. His Holy Spirit gives you the ability to accomplish all things (see Philippians 4:13). Before Jesus began his ministry, he was baptized by John the Baptist in the Jordan River. And when Jesus was baptized, the voice of the Heavenly Father spoke from heaven: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” Matthew 5:17 ESV The ministry of Jesus had yet to begin. He had not yet healed anyone. He had not yet preached any sermons of note. He had not accomplished anything worthy to be recorded in the Scriptures. But still the Father expresses his approval. Why? It was because of the relationship of the Father to the Son. The Father’s love and approval of the Son was not based on accomplishment. He loved the Son for no other reason than the fact that he was his son. You are so important to your Heavenly Father that he sent Jesus for you. The Heavenly Father made you and created you. He gave you your life and your being. He loved you so much that he sent Jesus to die on the cross for you. It is not about anything you have accomplished. You need to know that you are the most beautiful, the most precious, and the most prized part of his creation. Your Heavenly Father is proud of you. More than you realize! You are worthy because you are his precious child, redeemed by the blood of Jesus.

I long for the Church to be more truly itself, and for me this involves changing its stance on war, sex, investment and many other difficult matters. I believe in all conscience that my questions and my disagreements are all of God. Yet I must also learn to live in and attend to the reality of the Church as it is, to do the prosaic things that can be and must be done now and to work at my relations now with the people who will not listen to me or those like me—because what God asks of me is not to live in the ideal future but to live with honesty and attentiveness in the present, i.e., to be at home. "What if the project in question is myself, and not some larger social question such as war? At the end of the day, it is the central concern for most of us. We long to change and to grow, and we are rightly suspicious of those who are pleased with the way they are and cannot seem to conceive of changing any further. Yet the torture of trying to push away and overcome what we currently are or have been, the bitter self-contempt of knowing what we lack, the postponement of joy and peace because we cannot love ourselves now—these are not the building blocks for effective change. We constantly try to start from somewhere other than where we are. Truthful living involves being at home with ourselves, not complacently but patiently, recognizing that what we are today, at this moment, is sufficiently loved and valued by God to be the material with which he will work, and that the longed-for transformation will not come by refusing the love and the value that is simply there in the present moment. "So we come back, by a longish detour, to the point to which Mark's narrative brought us: the contemplative enterprise of being where we are and refusing the lure of a fantasized future more compliant to our will, more satisfying in the image of ourselves that it permits. Living in the truth, in the sense in which John's Gospel gives it, involves the same sober attention to what is there—to the body, the chair, the floor, the voice we hear, the face we see—with all the unsatisfactoriness that this brings. Yet this is what it means to live in that kingdom where Jesus rules, the kingdom that has no frontiers to be defended. Our immersion in the present moment which is God's delivers the world to us—and that world is not the perfect and fully achieved thing we might imagine, but the divided and difficult world we actually inhabit. Only, by the grace of this living in the truth, we are able to say to it at least an echo of the 'yes' that God says, to accept as God accepts.

One morning, a farmer knocked loudly on the door of a monastery. When Brother Porter opened the door, the farmer held out to him a magnificent bunch of grapes. “Dear Brother Porter, these are the finest grapes from my vineyard. Please accept them as a gift from me.” “Why, thank you! I’ll take them straight to the Abbot, who will be thrilled with such a gift.” “No, no. I brought them for you.” “For me? But I don’t deserve such a beautiful gift from nature.” “Whenever I knocked on the door, you opened it. When the harvest had been ruined by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a glass of wine every day. I want this bunch of grapes to bring you a little of the sun’s love, the rain’s beauty and God’s miraculous power.” Brother Porter put the grapes down where he could see them and spent the whole morning admiring them: they really were lovely. Because of this, he decided to give the present to the Abbot, whose words of wisdom had always been such a boon to him. The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, but then he remembered that one of the other monks was ill and thought: “I’ll give him the grapes. Who knows, they might bring a little joy into his life.” But the grapes did not remain for very long in the room of the ailing monk, for he in turn thought: “Brother Cook has taken such good care of me, giving me only the very best food to eat. I’m sure these grapes will bring him great happiness.” And when Brother Cook brought him his lunch, the monk gave him the grapes. “These are for you. You are in close touch with the gifts Nature gives us and will know what to do with this, God’s produce.” Brother Cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes and drew his assistant’s attention to their perfection. They were so perfect that no one could possibly appreciate them more than Brother Sacristan, who had charge of the Holy Sacrament, and whom many in the monastery considered to be a truly saintly man. Brother Sacristan, in turn, gave the grapes to the youngest of the novices in order to help him understand that God’s work is to be found in the smallest details of the Creation. When the novice received them, his heart was filled with the Glory of God, because he had never before seen such a beautiful bunch of grapes. At the same time, he remembered the day he had arrived at the monastery and the person who had opened the door to him; that gesture of opening the door had allowed him to be there now in that community of people who knew the value of miracles. Shortly before dark, he took the bunch of grapes to Brother Porter. “Eat and enjoy. You spend most of your time here all alone, and these grapes will do you good.” Brother Porter understood then that the gift really was intended for him; he savoured every grape and went to sleep a happy man. In this way, the circle was closed; the circle of happiness and joy which always wraps around those who are in contact with the energy of love.

First experiences in life are very important. I never analyzed you, I always saw you. I never judged you, I always grasped you. When I left, I became lost. I was working, living, performing but you were missing, I don’t know why? I seriously don't understand why you are impacting so much on me? Can you clear in future if you have answer? We never talked too much but why this pain of departure is there? I have tried to forget you a lot, tried to delete the contact, tried to full concentrate on my life, sometime cried but there was not a single day when I didn't think about you. Am I really over thinker? I failed in your case, I failed. I have to accept the reality that to be good with you is the only solution which can make me happy & stable. Wherever I'll be in life, but this connectivity is necessary now. It is a part of life. I have so many questions for you. Have you ever missed me like I do? Everyday? I felt it, was that true? Do you really like to hear me? Or you are also in me? Or you are trying to suggest me some future planning? Are you shy? Less talker? You always tried to be open up with me? I always maintained safe distance? Was I too reserved? Was I egoistic? Yes, I was, but only in your case. Whatever you did for me that all was unsaid, pure, clear, fair. You were always nice to me? You never scold me, is this your part of nature? I heard so many cases of your temper? I never asked about you to people, they used to tell me about you by their own. Can I suggest you something? You are smart thinker but be careful from the people. Never be too kind to anyone, not all people have value of it. People never learn from the mistakes; they don’t want to create; they want to copy. I would say, don’t kind to me too, I have said so many things to you. I never seen so calm person. How? Do you have emotions? neutral? You never think on the things? Are you so productive? Are you innocent (in case of people)? Why can’t you understand that people makes show off in front of you only? Why are you giving so much importance to commerce people? Are they intelligent than engineers? Do you think so? Am I asking you so many questions? I really care for you & your selection of people. What are you actually see in the people? Obviously it’s your choice to answer it or not? At least I can ask my questions. Did I make a mistake according to you? For me, I was right, but I never asked you about you. As you said, I never gave you chance. For me, you are the chance giver & I am chance taker. I was scared by you. Did I hurt you? Hope I never made loss of you in any manner. I want to clear you one thing that apart from all my shit thinking, if you need any kind of assistance then please feel free to share. So what I have confess my love to you? It’s fine? Right? It’s natural, I had tried to control it a lot. Now I am more transparent, shameless & confident. I can face you in any condition. This change has changed my life.

I’m at my locker; the door is jammed, and I’m trying to yank it open. I finally get the door loose and there’s Josh, standing right there. “Lara Jean…” He has this shell-shocked, confused expression on his face. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since last night. I came by, and nobody could find you…” He holds out my letter. “I don’t understand. What is this?” “I don’t know…,” I hear myself say. My voice feels far away. It’s like I’m floating above myself, watching it all unfold. “I mean, it’s from you, right?” “Oh, wow.” I take a deep breath and accept the letter. I fight the urge to tear it up. “Where did you even get this?” “It got sent to me in the mail.” Josh jams his hands into his pockets. “When did you write this?” “Like, a long time ago,” I say. I let out a fake little laugh. “I don’t even remember when. It might have been middle school.” Good job, Lara Jean. Keep it up. Slowly he says, “Right…but you mention going to the movies with Margot and Mike and Ben that time. That was a couple of years ago.” I bite my bottom lip. “Right. I mean, it was kind of a long time ago. In the grand scheme of things.” I can feel tears coming on so close that if I break concentration even for a second, if I waver, I will cry and that will make everything worse, if such a thing is possible. I must be cool and breezy and nonchalant now. Tears would ruin that. Josh is staring at me so hard I have to look away. “So then…Do you…or did you have feelings for me or…?” “I mean, yes, sure, I did have a crush on you at one point, before you and Margot ever started dating. A million years ago.” “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Because, Lara Jean…God. I don’t know.” His eyes are on me, and they’re confused, but there’s something else, too. “This is crazy. I feel kind of blindsided.” The way he’s looking at me now, I’m suddenly in a time warp back to a summer day when I was fourteen and he was fifteen, and we were walking home from somewhere. He was looking at me so intently I was sure he was going to try to kiss me. I got nervous, so I picked a fight with him and he never looked at me like that again. Until this moment. Don’t. Just please, don’t. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever he wants to say, I don’t want to hear it. I will do anything, literally anything, not to hear it. Before he can, I say, “I’m dating someone.” Josh’s jaw goes slack. “What?” What? “Yup. I’m dating someone, someone I really really like, so please don’t worry about this.” I wave the letter like it’s just paper, trash, like once upon a time I didn’t literally pour my heart onto this page. I stuff it into my bag. “I was really confused when I wrote this; I don’t even know how it got sent out. Honestly, it’s not worth talking about. So please, please don’t say anything to Margot about it.” He nods, but that’s not good enough. I need a verbal commitment. I need to hear the words come out of his mouth. So I add, “Do you swear? On your life?” If Margot was to ever find out…I would want to die. “All right, I swear. I mean, we haven’t even spoken since she left.” I let out a huge breath. “Great. Thanks.” I’m about to walk away, but then Josh stops me. “Who’s the guy?” “What guy?” “The guy you’re dating.” That’s when I see him. Peter Kavinsky, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Peter. He deserves background music, he looks so good. “Peter. Kavinsky. Peter Kavinsky!

In fact, I am generally proud of having had so many adventures. But today, I had barely pronounced the words than I was seized with contrition; it seems as though I am lying, that I have never had the slightest adventure in my life, or rather, that I don't even know what the word means any more. [...] Things have happened to me, events, incidents, anything you like. But no adventures. It isn't a question of words; I am beginning to understand. [...] There is nothing brilliant about my life now: but from time to time, for example, for example, when they play music in the cafes, I look back and tell myself: in old days, in London, Meknes, Tokyo, I have known great moments, I have had adventures. Now I am deprived of this. I have suddenly learned, without apparent reason, that I have been lying to myself for ten years. [...] ... adventure does not let itself be drawn out; it only makese sense when dead. [...] Each instant appears only as a part of a sequence. I cling to each instant with all my heart: I know that it is unique, irreplacable-and yet I would not raise a finger to stop it from being annihilated. [...] I shall never rediscover either this woman or this night. I grasp at each second, trying to suck it dry: nothing happens which I do not seize, which I do not fix forever in myself, nothing, neither the fugitive tenderness of those lovely eyes, nor the noises of the street, nor the false dawn on early morning: and even so the minute passes and I do not hold it back, I like to see it pass. All of a sudden something breaks off sharply. The adventure is over, time resumes its daily routine. I turn; behind me, this beautiful melodious form sinks entirely into the past. It grows smaller, contracts as it declines, and now the end makes one with the beginning. Following this gold spot with my eyes I think I would accept-even if I had to risk death, lost a fortune, a friend-to live it all over again, in the same circumstances, from end to end. But an adventure never returns nor is prolonged." (p.56-57) "... Perhaps there is nothing in the world I cling to as much as this feeling of adventure; but it comes when it pleases; it is gone so quickly and how empty I am once it has left. Does it, ironically, pay me these short visits in order to show me that I have wasted my life? [...] This feeling of adventure definitely does not come from events: I have proved it. It's rather they way in which the moments are linked together. I think this is what happens: you suddenly feel that time is passing, that each instant leads to another, this one to another one, and so on; that each instant is annihilated, and that it isn't worth while to hold it back, etc., etc. And then you attribute this property to events which appear to you *in* the instants; what belongs to the form you carry over to the content. You talk a lot about this amazing flow of time but you hardly see it. You see a woman, you think that one day she'll be old, only you don't see her grow old. But there are moments when you think you *see* her grow old and feel yourself growing old with her: this is the feeling of adventure. If I remember correctly, they call that the irreversibility of time. The feeling of advanture would simply be that of the irreversibility of time. But why don't we always have it? Is it that time is not always irreversible? There are moments when you have the impression that you can do what you want, go forward or backward, that it has no importance; and then other times when you might say that the links have been tightened and, in that case, it's not a questino of missing your turn because you could never start again.

Lady Thornton, how very good of you to find the time to pay us a social call! Would it be too pushing of me to inquire as to your whereabouts during the last six weeks?” At that moment Elizabeth’s only thought was that if Ian’s barrister felt this way about her, how much more hatred she would face when she confronted Ian himself. “I-I can imagine what you must be thinking,” she began in a conciliatory manner. He interrupted sarcastically, “Oh, I don’t think you can, madam. If you could, you’d be quite horrified at this moment.” “I can explain everything,” Elizabeth burst out. “Really?” he drawled blightingly. “A pity you didn’t try to do that six weeks ago!” “I’m here to do it now,” Elizabeth cried, clinging to a slender thread of control. “Begin at your leisure,” he drawled sarcastically. “here are only three hundred people across the hall awaiting your convenience.” Panic and frustration made Elizabeth’s voice shake and her temper explode. “Now see here, sir, I have not traveled day and night so that I can stand here while you waste time insulting me! I came here the instant I read a paper and realized my husband is in trouble. I’ve come to prove I’m alive and unharmed, and that my brother is also alive!” Instead of looking pleased or relieved he looked more snide than before. “Do tell, madam. I am on tenterhooks to hear the whole of it.” “Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth cried. “For the love of heaven, I’m on your side!” “Thank God we don’t have more like you.” Elizabeth steadfastly ignored that and launched into a swift but complete version of everything that had happened from the moment Robert came up behind her at Havenhurst. Finished, she stood up, ready to go in and tell everyone across the hall the same thing, but Delham continued to pillory her with his gaze, watching her in silence above his steepled fingertips. “Are we supposed to believe that Banbury tale?” he snapped at last. “Your brother is alive, but he isn’t here. Are we supposed to accept the word of a married woman who brazenly traveled as man and wife with another man-“ “With my brother,” Elizabeth retorted, bracing her palms on the desk, as if by sheer proximity she could make him understand. “So you want us to believe. Why, Lady Thornton? Why this sudden interest in your husband’s well-being?” “Delham!” the duchess barked. “Are you mad? Anyone can see she’s telling the truth-even I-and I wasn’t inclined to believe a word she said when she arrived at my house! You are tearing into her for no reason-“ Without moving his eyes from Elizabeth, Mr. Delham said shortly, “Your grace, what I’ve been doing is nothing to what the prosecution will try to do to her story. If she can’t hold up in here, she hasn’t a chance out there!” “I don’t understand this at all!” Elizabeth cried with panic and fury. “By being here I can disprove that my husband has done away with me. And I have a letter from Mrs. Hogan describing my brother in detail and stating that we were together. She will come here herself if you need her, only she is with child and couldn’t travel as quickly as I had to do. This is a trial to prove whether or not my husband is guilty of those crimes. I know the truth, and I can prove he isn’t.” “You’re mistaken, Lady Thornton,” Delham said in a bitter voice. “Because of its sensational nature and the wild conjecture in the press, this is no longer a quest for truth and justice in the House of Lords. This is now an amphitheater, and the prosecution is in the center of the stage, playing a starring role before an audience of thousands all over England who will read about it in the papers. They’re bent on giving a stellar performance, and they’ve been doing just that. Very well,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see how well you can deal with them.

After several years of hellfire sermons, I did what any reasonable ten-year-old child would do under the circumstances—I accepted Christ into my heart and began seeking to live a life that would please God.

For the first time, I accepted that I could not meet the expectations of others and make myself happy at the same time. Being true to myself had led me here—onto a wild trail in the middle of the night—not into a nine-to-five and the creation of my own family. I hated myself for not being able to conform happily. I hated myself for trying and failing. I loved myself for choosing to do what was right for me, no matter the cost. I forgave myself for trying to please others when I knew it wasn’t right for me.

You and me on the shores of river of life Standing there with you holding your hand, Just looking at you in the idleness of the moment, As I feel your breaths and beside you I stand, There is endless calm, yet I understand what you meant, So I walk with you through the serpentine gullies, And I greet life with a smile and never floundering will, While being pleased by sites of rainbows and lilies, That dance for you at their own free will, I hold on to your hand more firmly, And I turn to look at you and you smile, And I say, “I love you,” and I say it finally, You pause, and think for a while, As you slide your hand tenderly, To place it on my face, And then you kiss me sweetly, And my heart beats race, I hold your hand once again, And we continue walking through these serpentine gullies, As I rub your little finger again and again, And I feel the scent growing all over you, the scent of these happy lilies, Then we approach the river of life, And at its shores you embrace me, And you finally say, “I want to be your wife,” Then you hold me and we stare at the river, just you and me, And as we enter its water and we flow with it now, You dissolve in me and I dissolve in you, And we now flow as an essence of you and me and our love, But whenever I look back Irma, I see a reflection of you, Still at the shore, Where I hold your hand while the river of life flows by, There are no worries no torments anymore, Because we have together left them in the past to die, And as your reflection spreads over the river of life, You flow unto me, And as I accept you as my wife, In the presence of the river of life, you say, “this is how I always wanted to be!” And then I too become the river and flow within it, To flow with you into the sea of eternity, And then be there forever, only with you and with it, And experience love in its splendour of eternity, Where you live forever, And I exist within you, In this sea of feelings and love, as your only lover, While experiencing that loving embrace of you, For which I could cross any river and scale the depths of any sea, Because loving you is a discovery unto my own self, And when I dive into my life’s sea, You rise from the floor of the sea and you begin to flow through me yourself, Then my darling Irma, I let it be, Because our river of life has found its final destiny, Where I belong to you and you belong only to me, And I wish this to be our only and everlasting reality!

Theodore," Ben says, interrupting him, "You seem like a . . . nice guy." "Thanks," Theodore says, smiling. "Let me finish," Ben says, holding up a finger in warning. "Because you're about to hate me. I lied. I'm not writing a paper." He points at Glenn. "This guy told me earlier today where to show up tonight so that I could find the girl I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with. And I'm sorry, but that girl just so happens to be your date. And I'm in love with her. Like, *really* in love with her. Crippling, debilitating, paralyzing love. So please accept my sincerest apologies, because she's coming home with me tonight. I hope. I pray." -pg. 208-209

Dear Friend, Recently I have suffered a devastating loss. I am grieving, and it will take months and even years to recover from this loss. I wanted to let you know that I will cry from time to time. I don’t apologize for my tears since they are not a sign of weakness or a lack of faith. They are God’s gift to me to express the extent of my loss, and they are also a sign that I am recovering. At times you may see me angry for no apparent reason. Sometimes I’m not sure why. All I know is that my emotions are intense because of my grief. If I don’t always make sense to you, please be forgiving and patient with me. And if I repeat myself again and again, please accept this as normal. More than anything else, I need your understanding and your presence. You don’t always have to know what to say or even say anything if you don’t know how to respond. Your presence and a touch or hug lets me know you care. Please don’t wait for me to call you, since sometimes I am too tired or tearful to do so. If I tend to withdraw from you, please don’t let me do that. I need you to reach out to me for several months. Pray for me that I would come to see meaning in my loss someday and that I would know God’s comfort and love. It does help to let me know that you are praying for me. If you have experienced a similar type of loss, please feel free to share it with me. It will help, rather than cause me to feel worse. And don’t stop sharing if I begin to cry. It’s all right, and any tears you express as we talk are alright, too. This loss is so painful, and right now it feels like the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But I will survive and eventually recover. I cling to that knowledge, even though there have been times when I didn’t feel it. I know that I will not always feel as I do now. Laughter and joy will emerge once again someday. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for listening and praying. Your concern comforts me and is a gift for which I will always be thankful.26

the mother i want to be listens she asks how your day was but doesn’t accept good as an answer she wants to know the ins and outs she asks about the feelings she knows you are a wave that you swell and crash the mother i want to be listens without judgment she validates you gives advice only when asked teaches you to trust your instincts celebrates your life the mother i want to be tells you you are enough

Let me finish,’ Ben says, holding up a finger in warning. ‘Because you’re about to hate me. I lied. I’m not writing a paper.’ He points at Glenn. ‘This guy told me earlier today where to show up tonight so that I could find the girl I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. And I’m sorry, but that girl just so happens to be your date. And I’m in love with her. Like, really in love with her. Crippling, debilitating, paralyzing love. So please accept my sincerest apologies, because she’s coming home with me tonight. I hope. I pray.’” -pg. 208-209

Dear Russell, Please don’t fall in love with Mrs. Smith’s niece. I— Caleb’s dash crossed the entire page. Then he filled up the rest of the sheet with doodles, drawing stars and spirals and little tic-tac-toe boards. I love you, he wrote at the bottom, in tiny letters. I want to be with you. I want you to wait for me till I’m ready, and I can’t ask because for all I know you’d be waiting till doomsday, because I don’t know how to accept He wrote a series of dashes. He scribbled some more stars. He flipped over the page, and wrote on the back: that you might leave me. That it might not last. And also that it might last, it might be real, it might be something I have to tell my parents about one day, I might have to choose you over the entire rest of the world. That I might choose you over the entire rest of the world, and you might change your mind. He could not look at it anymore. He flipped the paper back over, and wrote one more sentence among the scattered stars. But I am going to try.

Prayer for Healing Lord Jesus, Thou camest to heal our wounded and troubled hearts. I beg Thee to heal the torments that cause anxiety in my heart; I beg Thee, in a particular way, to heal all who are the cause of sin. I beg Thee to come into my life and heal me of the psychological harms that struck me in my early years and from the injuries that they have caused throughout my life. Lord Jesus, Thou knowest my burdens. I lay them all on Thy Good Shepherd's Heart. I beseech Thee – by the merits of the great, open wound in Thy Heart – to heal the small wounds that are in mine. Heal the pain of my memories, so that nothing that has happened to me will cause me to remain in pain and anguish, filled with anxiety. Heal, O Lord, all those wounds that have been the cause of all the evil that is rooted in my life. I want to forgive all those who have offended me. Look to those inner sores that make me unable to forgive. Thou who camest to forgive the afflicted of heart, please, heal my own heart. Heal, my Lord Jesus, those intimate wounds that cause me physical illness. I offer Thee my heart. Accept it, Lord, purify it and give me the sentiments of Thy Divine Heart. Help me to be meek and humble. Heal me, O Lord, from the pain caused by the death of my loved ones, which is oppressing me. Grant me to regain peace and joy in the knowledge that Thou art the Resurrection and the Life. Make me an authentic witness to Thy Resurrection, Thy victory over sin and death, Thy living presence among us. Amen.

Your Culture is My Culture (The Sonnet) With infinite love brimming in my heart, I have arrived at your doorstep. Please, I beg you, do not turn me back, Let me in, so I may be one with your footstep. It's not my fault, I wasn't born in your culture, Yet I've assimilated your culture as my own. Please do not throw me out my dear friend, Standing together our powers will be honed. I may not speak your native tongue, I may not be familiar with your way of life. But do you not smile like me when in joy, Like me do you not shed tears when in strife! Here I stand at your door with my arms stretched. Hold it with affection or chop it off if you so elect.

Father God, I come before You today and humbly ask You to forgive me for judging You wrongly and allowing misrepresentations of who You are to affect my perceptions of You. I have allowed religion, that is based on performance, and fear to color my thoughts toward You. I have sought to please You and gain Your acceptance through my good works. I thought You were angry with me and disappointed in me because I wasn’t good enough to deserve Your love. My focus has been on religion and my performance instead of on my relationship with You. Please help me gain a new understanding of Your unconditional love for me. Now I bring to the cross all of those who misrepresented to me Your character as a loving Father. I choose to forgive anyone who gave me a false impression of who You are. I understand now that You are not angry with me, but You are longing for deep fellowship with me because You love me so much. Help me to realize this fully and share it with everyone I meet. In Jesus’ name, amen.

I love myself. I accept myself. I will not let the mistakes of my past determine my future. I am beautiful. I am lovely. I am worthy. I am enough. The life that God has for me is greater than anything I have ever imagined. I was made for more. I will have more. I decide to give myself more from this day forward. I forgive myself for the way I have treated myself and for the way I have allowed others to treat me. Please forgive me. I promise to honor you. I promise to give you the love that you deserve, and to put you first.

Real America, in honor of the hellhound, our beloved Bukowski You hate America, no, not at all, I love it so much that I can say obvious truths that they themselves do not want to accept. If I criticize myself all the time, why would I stop criticizing others? A poem in honor of the only sincere American, Bukowski. The myth of America tells us of the land of freedom, founded by descendants of intelligent and puritanical Europeans. It's all a load of crap, no, it's the land of slavery, my friends, not just in the sense of slavery of African descendants, but of mental slavery. Yes, the land of the alienated. Eden, created by Angels. This is all a load of crap. Real America, Real America, Strong America, came from the indigenous tribes, from the toil of blacks and the industrious mentality of descendants of Europeans, all lazy, violent and who wanted to get fat like pigs, without worrying about anything. Dirty America that produces clean America, sold in the movies. Why lazy? Well, they don't like to make a lot of effort, and this indolence produces innovation. Is that why they are so creative? Well, they are creative in order to pay well the brains of other nations who go to work there. They knew that numerous wars and constant friction were much worse than anything else and cost money. So? Well, then, let's create a land where everyone can get fat, rich and kill each other, but only as long as the general profit of society increases. Let's sell the excess food, weapons and our gourmet culture to other peoples. It worked. But let's not fool ourselves. America is Golden on the outside and dark on the inside. America is the country of weapons, drugs, fantasies and lies. Above all, lies. See, the mafias that operated there to supply the demand for alcohol, prohibited in order to maintain the pure "spirit" of the drunken bourgeoisie, were all called mafias of other nationalities. But they were all Americans. America is geography, not history or ethnicity. You are an American because of your ties to this immense land blessed by God. Is that what these bastards have done? They have turned their own pain into art and sold it to us in the movies. The weapons, yes, they have to be good and they have to kill quickly. Why? Because Americans are lazy and don't like anything that lasts long. Even wars have to be fought in other countries and if they are too exhausting, they lose their Hollywood shine, so we have to abandon Saigon. Fatness, that is another thing that best represents America. Americans are all obese. Well, at least you can't help but notice them. They are, well, heavy people, especially the Karens. I love Karens, I'm a male Karen, you know. And as for drugs, well, that's the most interesting part. It's the country that consumes them the most, why? Well, maintaining the American dream requires a lot of mescaline. Fat drug addicts with guns sticking out of their own toilets. The toilets in America must hide everything we really want to know. I will probably never get a visa there, thanks to this poem. Still, you can't deny that my writing is anthological. God bless all the Americas. Please don't blow me up, I have poetic license to write these words.

His eyes plead with mine, and it triggers a countdown inside me. It's ticking along, marking the seconds until I let myself forgive this betrayal and beg him please to love me. Don't leave me, is what I will say. I don't care if you've only been using me, as long as we can keep pretending it's more.It's what I feel in some shadowy corner of myself, and I hate it. I hate that my instinct is always to take less than I deserve. To let a man's inability or unwillingness to fully accept and respect me transform into a shame albatross around my neck. How many times did I do that with Josh, not fully aware of the compromise I was making with my own pride?

Please,” I beg. “Accept my v-version of love. Pl-ease. I love you, Ol-l-l—

While I was in Poland,’ she said, ‘I vowed to develop a less sentimental view of life, and if there is something I regret in my novel, it is that the material circumstances of the characters are so comfortable. It would be a more serious book, I believe, if that were not the case. Spending time with Olga,’ she said, ‘certain things came to light for me, as objects under water come to light when the water drains away. I realised that our whole sense of life as a romance – even our conception of love itself – was a vision in which material things played far too great a role, and that without those things we might find that certain feelings diminished while others became accentuated. I was very attracted to the hardness of Olga,’ she said, ‘to the hardness of her life. When she spoke about her relationship with her husband it was as though she were speaking about the parts of an engine, explaining how they worked or did not work. There was no romance in it, no place that was covered up and that you weren’t allowed to see. ... I started to feel more sympathetic towards the husband, being treated like a car engine; and then she told me that for a period of time he had left, had left the family, unable to bear this lack of sentimentality any longer, and had gone and lived in a flat on his own. When he returned, they resumed their life as before. Was she not angry with him, I said, for deserting her and leaving her to take care of the children alone? No, on the contrary, she was pleased to see him. We are completely honest with one another, she said, and so I knew when he came back that it was because he had accepted the way things were. I tried to imagine,’ Angeliki said, ‘what this marriage was like, in which nobody had to make promises or apologise, in which you didn’t have to buy flowers for the other person or cook them a special meal or light the candles to make a flattering atmosphere, or book a holiday to help you get over your problems; or rather, in which you were made to do without those things and live together so honestly and nakedly.

He slipped off the bench and took her right hand in both of his as he went down on one knee before her. “I love you,” he said, holding her gaze. “I love you, I cannot foresee the rest of my life without you, and I hope you feel similarly. For only if you do feel similarly will I accept your proposal of marriage or allow you to accept mine.” “You love me?” “For God’s sake.” He was off his knee in an instant, dusting briskly at his breeches. “Why else would I have tried to keep my bloody paws off you when you were just eight and twenty feet down the hall? Why else would I have gone to my father—Meddling Moreland himself?—to ask for help and advice? Why else would I have let you go, for pity’s sake, if I didn’t love you until I’m blind and silly and… Jesus, yes, I love you.” “Westhaven.” Anna reached out and stroked a hand through his hair. “You are shouting, and you mean this.” “I am not in the habit of lying to the woman whom I hope to make my duchess.” That, he saw, got through to her. Since the day she’d bashed him with her poker, he’d been honest with her. Cranky, gruff, demanding, what have you, but he’d been honest. So he was honest again. “I love you, Anna.” His voice shook with the truth of it. “I love you. I want you for my wife, my duchess, and the mother of all of my children.” She cradled her hand along his jaw, and in her eyes, he saw his own joy mirrored, his incredulity that life could offer him a gift as stunningly perfect as the love they shared, and his bottomless determination to grab that gift with both hands and never let go. She leaned into him, as if the weight of his honesty were too much. “Oh, you are the most awful man. Of course I will marry you, of course I love you, of course I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you have made me cry, and I have need of your handkerchief.” “You have need of my arms,” he said, laughing and scooping her up against his chest. He pressed his forehead to hers and jostled her a little in his embrace. “Say it, Anna. In the King’s English, or no handkerchief for you.” He was smiling at her, grinning like a truant schoolboy on a beautiful day. “I love you,” Anna said. Then more loudly and with a fierce smile, “I love you, I love you, I love you, Gayle Windham, and I would be honored to be your duchess.” “And my wife?” He spun them in a circle, the better to hold her tightly to his chest. “You’ll be my wife, and my duchess, and the mother of my children?” “With greatest joy, I’ll be your wife, your duchess, and the mother of all your children. Now please, please, put me down and kiss me silly. I have missed you so.

Making my way across the restaurant to clear off an empty table, my body froze and all the air left my lungs in one hard rush when I heard him directly behind me. “To refresh your memory, sweetheart, you belong to me.” Please let this be a nightmare. His large hand touched my lower back as he came up to my side and my body began shaking. “Long time, no see,” he said, and lowered his voice. “Hiding, Rachel?” Oh God, did Candice tell him where I work? “Leave me alone.” I hated how small my voice sounded, but I couldn’t force out anything more than a whisper. I refused to look over at him, and when he stepped closer, I dropped my head to stare at the floor. His other hand came up to my stomach and brushed gently back and forth, just above the top of my shorts, and I prayed I wouldn’t start dry-heaving in the middle of the restaurant. “Never. I gave you the summer to realize that you needed me, wanted me. Obviously you need more time, but make no mistake, you are mine. What I’m not okay with is someone else touching you. Kissing you.” “Please leave.” “Who is he, Rachel? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? And before you answer that, know that either of those two answers would be the wrong one.” “Rach, everything okay here?” Kash grabbed the arm farthest from Blake and pulled me into him. Blake’s fingers dug into my back momentarily, but he let me go. I still couldn’t take my eyes off the floor. “Everything’s fine. We were just catching up for a second,” Blake answered. His voice had dropped the threatening tone and was the smooth and silky voice everyone else knew and loved. “I haven’t seen Rachel since school ended.” “Babe . . . ,” Kash whispered softly. Blake’s arm shot out in front of me and I cringed back. “Blake West. Rach and I go way back.” “Logan . . . Hendricks. Rachel’s boyfriend.” He accepted Blake’s hand and shook it hard once before dropping it. “You’re a very lucky guy,” Blake said tightly. “Rachel is extremely picky when it comes to dating and has broken more than a few hearts with her rejections.” No one said anything as I was caught in the middle of a testosterone-filled staring contest. Kash’s hand ran up and down my back slowly and Blake finally cleared his throat. “It was good to meet you, Logan. Take care of Rachel for me, will you?” He took a step closer and Kash’s hand stopped on my back. I could feel his body vibrating as it tensed up. “I’ll be talking to you very soon, Rach.” As

Jeremy, wait!” she called, bending over to catch her breath. When Jeremy saw her, he picked up his pace and hurried toward the crosswalk. Madison threw her head back and moaned, “I can’t keep up! Please stop.” At the intersection, he had to stop to wait for the traffic light, and she stumbled off the curb and stood in front of him, clutching her side. “Please listen for one minute,” she gasped. “I know that the Homecoming disaster wasn’t your fault. I know you didn’t put up those awful photos. And I am so ashamed for jumping to conclusions about you, and not ever giving you a chance to explain.” Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, and she help up her palm. “Just a minute. I’m not finished.” She bent over once more and took a couple of deep breaths. “I know you’ll never accept my apology because you think I’m heartless and self-centered. But just to prove to you that I’m sincere, I’m withdrawing from the race and throwing all my support behind you.” Madison waited for Jeremy to respond. As she looked into his eyes, he continued to say nothing. She felt her throat tighten painfully. Tears pooled in her eyes. Madison turned to leave before she embarrassed herself any further. But as she stepped into the crosswalk, Jeremy caught her by the arm. “Now hold it a minute, will you?” he said, gently pulling her back onto the curb. “You just dropped an awful lot of information in my lap. The least you can do is give me a moment to process it.” Madison put a hand over her mouth, trying to hold herself together. Then she looked up into his pale blue eyes. They were no longer ice cold but filled with compassion. “I guess I’ll begin by accepting your apology,” Jeremy said slowly. “And offer my own apology in return.” Madison laughed. “You apologize to me? Whatever for?” “Excuse me,” a man interrupted from behind them. He and a woman were walking with their tenspeeds. “This is a crosswalk. If you want to talk, there are plenty of places to do it over there.” He pointed back to the park, by the lake. They shared an embarrassed laugh.

I tried!” She screamed, her eyes filled with raw emotion. All Sarah could do is stand there, speechless at this outburst. Sunni whirled on her heels, pacing back and forth in the narrow confines of the bedroom. “I tried as hard as I fucking could!” She continued, her voice thick with tears and heavy with anger .”I did the best I could! I loved you, no matter what. I loved every part of you, and I accepted who you were! I didn't like some parts, but you know what? It's who you fucking are! That's what you do as a partner!” She turned on Sarah now, her finger pointed in her direction, tears spilling over as the emotion got the best of her. “I loved you through it all, and what did you do? You abandoned me. You made empty promises to me, ones that filled my heart with hope. Even in my darkest times, you made it about you. Is that who you are, Sarah?!” H Sunni's voice dropped now, a whisper of shattered glass. “You left me, you abandoned me. Even in my greatest need, I was still there for you. And yet, you couldn't do the same for me. Why? Am I not good enough for you?” Sarah moved to speak, her throat closing with raw emotion. Sunni shook her head, her hand up to halt Sarah. “No, don't speak. Don't lie to me. No more lies, no more bullshit. If I was enough, then why weren't you there?” She let out a laugh now, a sound that was reminiscence to raw sandpaper. “I needed you, time and time again. I was there for you, because it was my job. It was my fucking duty as your partner to help you, to lift you up. And all you saw me as was a burden, someone who didn't conform to your little box. You're just like your fucking step mom.” Sarah jerked at the insult, her blood going cold. She didn't freeze because she was insulted. She froze because she knew it was true. “Sunni....Please. I really am sorry. I want to fix this with you. I can be bet-” Sunni shook her head, cutting off Sarah. “You've promised that before. I've shattered my heart with you, I've dedicated myself to you. And you didn't even have the common decency to return the favor. We're done, Sarah.” Her heart felt like lead, now. But she knew what she had to do. “I'm leaving you, Sarah. I can't do this anymore. I can't let myself be lead on my false lies. I've been there for you, and you can't do the same. I'm sorry. I need to take care of myself.

President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s service to this Country and a grateful Navy.” Tears fall uncontrollably as my heart falters. His hand extends and I know I need to take it. I have to . . . but

Lara Jean?” I open my eyes. I’m not dreaming, and this is real. This is a nightmare. Peter Kavinsky is holding my letter in his hand. It’s my handwriting, my envelope, my everything. “How--how did you get that?” “It came in the mail yesterday.” Peter sighs. Gruffly he says, “Listen, it’s no big deal; I just hope you’re not going around telling people--” “It came in the mail? To your house?” “Yeah.” I feel faint. I actually feel faint. Please let me faint right now, because if I faint I will no longer be here, in this moment. It will be like in movies when a girl passes out from the horror of it all and the fighting happens while she is asleep and she wakes up in a hospital bed with a bruise or two, but she’s missed all the bad stuff. I wish that was my life instead of this. I can feel myself start to sweat. Rapidly I say, “You should know that I wrote that letter a really long time ago.” “Okay.” “Like, years ago. Years and years ago. I don’t even remember what I said.” Up close, your face wasn’t so much handsome as beautiful. “Seriously, that letter’s from middle school. I don’t even know who would have sent it. Can I see it?” I reach for the letter, trying to stay calm and not sound desperate. Just casual cool. He hesitates and then grins his perfect Peter grin. “Nah, I want to keep it. I never got a letter like this before.” I leap forward, and quick like a cat I snatch it out of his hand. Peter laughs and throws up his hands in surrender. “All right, fine, have it. Geez.” “Thanks.” I start to back away from him. The paper is shaking in my hand. “Wait.” He hesitates. “Listen, I didn’t mean to steal your first kiss or whatever. I mean, that wasn’t my intention--” I laugh, a forced and fake laugh that sounds crazy even to my own ears. People turn around and look at us. “Apology accepted! Ancient history!” And then I bolt. I run faster than I’ve ever run. All the way to the girls’ locker room. How did this even happen? I sink to the floor. I’ve had the going-to-school-naked dream before. I’ve had the going-to-school-naked-forgot-to-study-for-an-exam-in-a-class-I-never-signed-up-for combo, the naked-exam-somebody-trying-to-kill-me combo. This is all that times infinity. And then, because there’s nothing left for me to do, I take the letter out of the envelope and I read it.

I had to do something about my longing, so I got up, went to the kitchen in my nightgown, peeled a pound of potatoes, boiled them up, sliced them, fried them in butter, salted them generously and ate every bite of them—asking my body the whole while if it would please accept the satisfaction of a pound of fried potatoes in lieu of the fulfillment of lovemaking.

I remembered the card from the harem ladies which I had left on my writing desk. When I opened it, a cheque for $16,000 was sandwiched between an Eid Mubarak card and a beautifully scripted message by Nasreen, on behalf of the harem women. It read: “Young, Thank you for your contribution to our make-overs. Please accept our humble gift.” All of the women had signed it. I was touched by this lovely gesture of gratitude and I promised myself then and there that I would make fashion my career. I would help women show their shiny beautiful selves to the world in shiny and beautiful couture!

Hazlit has pointed out I could protect Anna by simply marrying her. Would you and Her Grace receive her?” In a display of tact that would have made the duchess proud and quite honestly impressed Westhaven, the duke leaned over and topped off both tea cups. “I put this question to your mother,” the duke admitted, “as my own judgment, according to my sons, is not necessarily to be trusted. I will tell you what Her Grace said, because I think it is the best answer: We trust you to choose wisely, and if Anna Seaton is your choice, we will be delighted to welcome her into the family. Your mother, after all, was not my father’s choice and no more highly born than your Anna.” “So you would accept her.” “We would, but Gayle?” His father had not referred to him by name since Bart’s death, and Westhaven found he had to look away. “You are a decent fellow,” the duke went on, “too decent, I sometimes think. I know, I know.” He waved a hand. “I am all too willing to cut corners, to take a dodgy course, to use my consequence at any turn, but you are the opposite. You would not shirk a responsibility if God Almighty gave you leave to do so. I am telling you, in the absence of the Almighty’s availability: Do not marry her out of pity or duty or a misguided sense you want a woman in debt to you before you marry her. Marry her because you can’t see the rest of your life without her and you know she feels the same way.” “You are telling me to marry for love,” Westhaven concluded, bemused and touched. “I am, and you will please tell your mother I said so, for I am much in need of her good graces these days, and this will qualify as perhaps the only good advice I’ve ever given you.” “The only good advice?” Westhaven countered. “Wasn’t it you who told me to let Dev pick out my horses for me? You who said Val shouldn’t be allowed to join up to keep an eye on Bart? You who suggested the canal project?” “Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then,” the duke quipped. “Or so my brother Tony reminds me.