Pyke Quotes

That grin of his was torture on the balls.

Today had been a shit day, and it seemed I wasn’t about to climb down off the crap cart any time soon.

If it squirms, it's biology. If it stinks, it's chemistry. If it doesn't work, it's physics. And if you can't understand it, it's mathamatics.

Psychopath." Martin sniffed and shifted his hands down his body to highlight the finery. "Born this way, fuckturd. Jack's the made in the UK sociopath. Don't you know the fucking difference?

Time is like the ocean; you can only hold a little in your hands.

The real beauty behind submission is defined by how a man submits with no chains present, no physical restraint, just a pure will to allow someone else to control the moment, here and on full and stunning display.

You need a load of those yellow sticky papers to tattoo no trespassing over his ass, because, seriously, I'm all out.

Because you think you're a few revs short of the perfect engine he likes to drive?

How first loves and touches didn’t come close to being given the rare privilege of being someone’s last kiss.

I'd do the bastard, then hold the man for a lifetime afterwards.

when an open sewage system had forced MPs out of the Houses of Parliament, with delicate handkerchiefs held up to their noses to escape the clash of the classes via their asses.

Well, it's better than those yellow sticky labels you suggested tagging to his ass, when we first met.

Kind of a Straight For You Thing?

I'm doing my job, Jan, and it's fucking killing me with how I'm being made to dance naked in different whore-house windows.

The shit bowl is always easier to clean once it's been flushed. You don't need to know who's sat and caused the stench.

Jack, you're a switch in every sense of the word.

Good," said Jack, "because if you get any closer to that car in front, the driver'll be sticking up a sign asking you to climb up through the back window and give him head before you fuck him up the ass, is all.

necklace. The parchment curled, blackened, and took flame. Theon was aghast. “Have you gone mad?” His father laid a stinging backhand across his cheek. “Mind your tongue. You are not in Winterfell now, and I am not Robb the Boy, that you should speak to me so. I am the Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke,

your tongue. You are not in Winterfell now, and I am not Robb the Boy, that you should speak to me so. I am the Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, and no man gives me a crown. I pay the iron price. I will take my crown, as Urron Redhand did five thousand years ago.

And yes, in decades past being vegan was hard. It took a great deal of self-discipline as you were depriving yourself of a lot of textures and flavors. These days, as the recipes in this book demonstrate, it is a lot easier.

you don’t have to go vegan all at once. Veganism isn’t an on off switch. It’s more of a journey. It is fine to come to it gradually, one meal at a time. If you want, start with trying to stick to it once or twice a week and scale up from there. Every so often you'll back slide. That’s alright. As long as the road continues onward and upward, you have nothing to be ashamed of. After all, by embarking on this adventure you’re already doing more than most.

There are five pounds of undigested red meat in the average American’s gut. The digestive system was not built for this and can’t cope with this much meat. The meat actually begins to break down and decay. This causes the release of high amounts of nitrogen and other nasty chemical enzymes. What’s more, if this was all natural meat that would be one thing. But it isn’t. Almost all meat we consume nowadays has been injected full of growth hormones, antibiotics and steroids. What’s more, the fodder the slaughter animals eat is full of pesticides, which collect in their meat tissue. And when we eat meat, all these things collect in us, where they compromise our immune system and degrade our health.

dairy, because of the fat content, promotes weight gain and colds. That is far from the whole story, though. There is a high correlation between dairy consumption and health concerns. For example, as milk is high in fats consuming them means we spend a high amount of our metabolic energy processing them. This leads to weight gain and means that that energy is not available for muscle building. Also, as mentioned, modern farm animals consume large amounts of medicine, steroids and hormones. These also end up concentrated in the milk and dairy produced by those animals. Then when we consume that dairy they end up in us. There they have the same negative health impact as they do in the animal’s meat. And finally, milk proteins from other animals are not the same as those produced by a human mother. This leads to digestive track inflammation. You might have felt this. It's that bloated feeling you get after having had too much chocolate or milk-based desserts. Our human cells can actually rupture as a result of trying to digest these large cells. And so, milk products have many negative health repercussions. They are therefore best avoided. Instead we should aim for protein sources more aligned with what our bodies need, such as nuts and seeds!

don’t be fooled by those bogus words like ‘natural’ and ‘diet’. These words have no legal definition and can thus be put on anything.

Two words that do have legal meaning are ‘organic’ in the US and ‘bio’ in Europe. So you can use these words to guide your purchasing habits.

Make sure you visit your local fruit and vegetable market. These places offer wholesome, organic foods for a fraction of the price.

La vieja armería de Donal Noye, sin embargo, permanecía oscura y en silencio, y las habitaciones de Jon, en la parte de atrás de la vieja forja, estaban todavía más oscuras. Pero aún no había tenido tiempo de quitarse la capa cuando Dannel asomó la cabeza por la puerta para anunciar que Clydas le llevaba un mensaje. —Que pase. —Jon encendió un cirio en el brasero y prendió tres velas con él. Clydas entró parpadeando, con el rostro congestionado y un pergamino agarrado firmemente. —Disculpad, lord comandante. Sé que debéis de estar muy cansado, pero me pareció que querríais ver esto enseguida. —Bien hecho. —Jon leyó: En Casa Austera, con seis barcos. Mar bravía. Perdidos el Pájaro Negro y su tripulación; dos barcos lysenos encallados en Skane; la Garra hace agua. Nada marcha bien. Los salvajes se comen los cadáveres de los suyos. Cosas muertas en el bosque. Los capitanes braavosi solo quieren llevar mujeres y niños en sus barcos. Las brujas nos llaman esclavistas. Renunciamos a hacernos con la Cuervo de Tormenta; seis tripulantes y muchos salvajes muertos. Quedan ocho cuervos. Cosas muertas en el agua. Enviad ayuda por tierra; mar azotado por las tormentas. Desde la Garra, por la mano del maestre Harmune. Bajo el texto figuraba la furiosa firma de Cotter Pyke. —¿Es grave, mi señor? —preguntó Clydas. —Bastante grave. «Cosas muertas en el bosque. Cosas muertas en el agua. Quedan seis barcos de los once que zarparon. —Jon enrolló el pergamino con el ceño fruncido—. Cae la noche y comienza mi guerra.»

The parish clock chimed the quarter past six, and Pyke-Jones, the eminent Worthing entomologist, threw himself with a sigh of content into an arm-chair at the vegetarian guest-house known as the Lilac Rabbit. Pyke-Jones

He'd drawn the single link to a chain, shading it the best he could, finishing it off with the single message: Missing, link...

Table-play meant serious one-on-one time; Alex knew that. Ross lived for it.

Nothing was said, wounds just licked in private, in quiet.

But Theon was a Greyjoy, and Greyjoys were not murdered in Pyke, except once in a great while by their brothers, and his brothers were both mercifully dead. It was not the memories of ancient murders that made him glance about with distaste. The wall hangings were green with mildew, the mattress musty-smelling and sagging, and rushes old and brittle. It had been years since these chambers had last been opened. The damp went bone deep.

What a strange business this acting is, Pyke said; you are trying to convince people that you're someone else, that this is not-me. The way to do it is this, he said: when in character, playing not-me, you have to be yourself. To make your not-self real you have to steal from your authentic self. A false stroke, a wrong note, anything pretended, and to the audience you are as obvious as a Catholic naked in a mosque. The closer you play to yourself the better. Paradox of paradoxes: to be someone else successfully you must be yourself! This I learned!

Meanwhile, ravens would go forth to Riverrun, the Eyrie, Pyke, and Storm’s End, to gain the allegiance of their lords.

King Aegon’s overtures to Dalton Greyjoy of Pyke had thus far failed to win the Iron Islands to his side.

Our susceptibility to myth is a world danger. Because the application of science to human behaviour has come so late the myth is regarded as less dangerous than the bacillus. It is doubtful whether such a belief is justified.

Our susceptibility to myth is a world danger. Because the application of science to human behaviour has come so late the myth is regarded as less dangerous than the bacillus. It is doubtful whether such a belief is justified.

Gray hadn’t been laid in over six weeks, Jack only three, but if Gray said come, even sperm did a mass exodus for fear of going one-on-one with the man. Jack was going down, and he was going down, in Jack’s words, hard-fucked style. Giving

Well,” I said, “glad I could be of service, sir.

Edging,” said Gray. “The ability to keep a sub in a heightened state of sexual arousal. Or in Jack terms: basic fucking self-control.” All humour had gone from his voice.

I’d say perfectly balanced, but just fucking fuckable was all that came to mind around Gray. “Cosy.

Will you allow Gray to re-Master you, Jack?” Name the time, date, place, and I’d be there, saddle thrown over shoulder, cowboy hat on, naked, willing to ride the rough until he stopped bucking through exhaustion, but for all of the smart-ass answers I could have used, “Please,” was the only breathed reply I managed.

Gray, wearing nothing but a Santa’s hat, a black one, with BDSM badass printed on it? You holding a Santa, please stop here sign next to your ass, all wide-eyed, expectant, and on your knees?” Jack

He sounded so lute-like in the heat of sex, soft, gentle, something that could force you to follow him blindly into the woods and not give a fuck that he led you to be eaten by the big bad wolf. But he wasn’t a big bad wolf. Not yet.

Two-way contract, Jack. That protection is there for you too.” A pause. “It always has been. I’m not about to let either of you get hurt, well, unless it turns you both on.” Was it any wonder I liked this guy? “I

There was this element to Gray, the part that always forced you to avoid his eyes at all costs. He could steal your soul with a look, necromance it, strip it bare, all to run it through his fingers, untangle the strands, then hand it back with a smile knowing every fault and flaw about you. “I’m

Had to be me. Christ knows I attracted the crackpots.

But I didn’t relax. “Twenty-four hours, no longer,” said the voice. “And, Jack?” “What?” I spat. “Night, gorgeous.” I

All kidding aside…” I focus back on Pyke, genuine sincerity in my tone. “Thank you…for everything. For dragging my ‘clueless ass’ through the ocean, and over hill and vale, when you knew it was futile and stupid—but that I’d still try to do it, with or without your help. Thanks for tracking me down when I was alone and helpless; and for giving me a voice when I thought all hope was lost—” “Ugh, for crying out loud…Enough already,” Pyke squirms, a nauseated grimace twisting his hairy face. “Now you’re going way overboard with the gratitude…That kind of gushy crap is meant to be dished out in small doses,” he gripes. “Please make it stop…before I have to snap my own neck, just to end the suffering.” He backs away into the crowd, giving Tristan’s shoulder one more slap with a sly wink. “Hurry up, Man, and do something. Kiss her, muzzle her…shove a sock in her mouth—

Theon found himself wondering if he should say a prayer. Will the old gods hear me if I do? They were not his gods, had never been his gods. He was ironborn, a son of Pyke, his god was the Drowned God of the islands … but Winterfell was long leagues from the sea. It had been a lifetime since any god had heard him. He did not know who he was, or what he was, why he was still alive, why he had ever been born.

She discovered a curious thing about driving on islands. It’s impossible to get lost, even if you take a wrong turn, you just keep going and eventually you’ll be back where you started. Or you come to a dead end.

Time changes everything, if you think like a geologist. You can measure changes in the shoreline with every tide and even gentle rain will wear down granite mountains given enough time.

Life With Adventure

Well,’ said Harriet, ‘I agree absolutely with Miss Chilperic. If anybody did a dishonourable thing and then said he did it for one’s own sake, it would be the last insult. How could one ever feel the same to him again?’ ‘Indeed,’ said Miss Pyke, ‘it must surely vitiate the whole relationship.’ ‘Oh, nonsense!’ cried the Dean. ‘How many women care two hoots about anybody’s intellectual integrity? Only over-educated women like us. So long as the man didn’t forge a cheque or rob the till or do something socially degrading, most women would think he was perfectly justified. Ask Mrs. Bones the Butcher’s Wife or Miss Tape the Tailor’s Daughter how much they would worry about suppressing a fact in a mouldy old historical thesis.’ ‘They’d back up their husbands in any case,’ said Miss Allison. ‘My man, right or wrong, they’d say. Even if he did rob the till.’ ‘Of course they would,’ said Miss Hillyard. ‘That’s what the man wants. He wouldn’t say thank you for a critic on the hearth.’ ‘He must have the womanly woman, you think?’ said Harriet. ‘[. . .] Somebody who will say, “The greater the sin the greater the sacrifice – and consequently the greater devotion.” [. . .] I suppose it is comforting to be told that one is loved whatever one does.

Ned Stark’s tree, he thought, and Stark’s wood, Stark’s castle, Stark’s sword, Stark’s gods. This is their place, not mine. I am a Greyjoy of Pyke, born to paint a kraken on my shield and sail the great salt sea. I should have gone with Asha. On their iron spikes atop the gatehouse, the heads waited. Theon gazed at them silently while the wind tugged on his cloak with small ghostly hands. The miller’s boys had been of an age with Bran and Rickon, alike in size and coloring, and once Reek had flayed the skin from their faces and dipped their heads in tar, it was easy to see familiar features in those misshapen lumps of rotting flesh. People were such fools. If we’d said they were rams’ heads, they would have seen horns.

fleets of longships from the Iron Islands fell upon the shores of Lannister’s domains, led by Dalton Greyjoy of Pyke.

And so perished the Red Kraken of Pyke on the eve of his greatest battle…slain not by the sword of a foe, but by his own dagger, in the hand of one of his own wives.

Facts Per Serving Calories 229 Protein 3.9 g Cholesterol 0 mg Fat 18.5 g Carbohydrates

Yet he saw no familiar faces, no honor guard waiting to escort him from Lordsport to Pyke, only smallfolk going about their small business. Shorehands rolled casks of wine off the Tyroshi trader, fisherfolk cried the day’s catch, children ran and played. A priest in the seawater robes of the Drowned God was leading a pair of horses along the pebbled shore, while above him a slattern leaned out a window in the inn, calling out to some passing Ibbenese sailors. A handful of Lordsport merchants had gathered to meet the ship. They shouted questions as the Myraham was tying up. “We’re out of Oldtown,” the captain called down, “bearing apples and oranges, wines from the Arbor, feathers from the Summer Isles. I have pepper, woven leathers, a bolt of Myrish lace, mirrors for milady, a pair of Oldtown woodharps sweet as any you ever heard.” The gangplank descended with a creak and a thud. “And I’ve brought your heir back to you.

If I weren’t white and middle class I’d have been in Pyke’s show now. Obviously mere talent gets you nowhere these days. Only the disadvantaged are going to succeed in seventies’ England

banana 1 cup papaya 2 tablespoons tahini 1 tablespoon

Nutrition Facts Per Serving Calories 505 Protein 15.9 g Cholesterol 0 mg Fat 16.6 g Carbohydrates 75.3 g Fiber 4.8 g Sodium

was struck suddenly that I wasn’t talking to a complete personality. The way the accent bopped around from era to era, the bizarre switches in motive and behavior. This wasn’t Henry Pyke, or even Mr. Punch, this was like a patchwork, a personality cobbled together from half-remembered fragments. Maybe all ghosts were like this, a pattern of memory trapped in the fabric of the city like files on a hard drive—slowly getting worn away as each generation of Londoners laid down the pattern of their lives.

You must forgive her vigorous entrance. She lives life at a gallop.