Ready For Sunshine Quotes

The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who have helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity.

Miss Fairlie laughed with a ready good-humour, which broke out as brightly as if it had been part of the sunshine above us…

Though men in their hundreds of thousands had tried their hardest to disfigure that little corner of the earth where they had crowded themselves together, paving the ground with stones so that nothing could grow, weeding out every blade of vegetation, filling the air with the fumes of coal and gas, cutting down trees and driving away every beast and every bird -- spring, however, was still spring, even in the town. The sun shone warm, the grass, wherever it had not been scraped away, revived and showed green not only on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards but between the paving-stones as well, and the birches, the poplars and the wild cherry-trees were unfolding their sticky, fragrant leaves, and the swelling buds were bursting on the lime trees; the jackdaws, the sparrows and the pigeons were cheerfully getting their nests ready for the spring, and the flies, warmed by the sunshine, buzzed gaily along the walls. All were happy -- plants, birds, insects and children. But grown-up people -- adult men and women -- never left off cheating and tormenting themselves and one another. It was not this spring morning which they considered sacred and important, not the beauty of God's world, given to all creatures to enjoy -- a beauty which inclines the heart to peace, to harmony and to love. No, what they considered sacred and important were their own devices for wielding power over each other.

Praise is like sunlight to the warm human spirit; we cannot flower and grow without it. And yet, while most of us are only too ready to apply to others the cold wind of criticism, we are somehow reluctant to give our fellow the warm sunshine of praise.”*

Miss Fairlie laughed with a ready good-humour, which broke out as brightly as if it had been part of the sunshine above us, over her lovely face. "I

To everyone who has ever felt ready to fold themselves in half to fit somebody else’s idea of who they should be… Don’t dull your shine for anyone. The right people will want to bask in your sunshine, not steal it. Until then, soak it all in. You, exactly as you are, are enough.

Little girls are the nicest things that can happen to people. They are born with a bit of angel-shine about them, and though it wears thin sometimes, there is always enough left to lasso your heart—even when they are sitting in the mud, or crying temperamental tears, or parading up the street in Mother’s best clothes. A little girl can be sweeter (and badder) oftener than anyone else in the world. She can jitter around, and stomp, and make funny noises that frazzle your nerves, yet just when you open your mouth, she stands there demure with that special look in her eyes. A girl is Innocence playing in the mud, Beauty standing on its head, and Motherhood dragging a doll by the foot. God borrows from many creatures to make a little girl. He uses the song of a bird, the squeal of a pig, the stubbornness of a mule, the antics of a monkey, the spryness of a grasshopper, the curiosity of a cat, the speed of a gazelle, the slyness of a fox, the softness of a kitten, and to top it all off He adds the mysterious mind of a woman. A little girl likes new shoes, party dresses, small animals, first grade, noisemakers, the girl next door, dolls, make-believe, dancing lessons, ice cream, kitchens, coloring books, make-up, cans of water, going visiting, tea parties, and one boy. She doesn’t care so much for visitors, boys in general, large dogs, hand-me-downs, straight chairs, vegetables, snowsuits, or staying in the front yard. She is loudest when you are thinking, the prettiest when she has provoked you, the busiest at bedtime, the quietest when you want to show her off, and the most flirtatious when she absolutely must not get the best of you again. Who else can cause you more grief, joy, irritation, satisfaction, embarrassment, and genuine delight than this combination of Eve, Salome, and Florence Nightingale. She can muss up your home, your hair, and your dignity—spend your money, your time, and your patience—and just when your temper is ready to crack, her sunshine peeks through and you’ve lost again. Yes, she is a nerve-wracking nuisance, just a noisy bundle of mischief. But when your dreams tumble down and the world is a mess—when it seems you are pretty much of a fool after all—she can make you a king when she climbs on your knee and whispers, "I love you best of all!

The word 'humility' comes from the Latin word 'humus' which means fertile ground. Humility is the situation of the earth. The earth is always there, always taken for granted, never remembered, always trodden on by everyone, somewhere we cast and pour out all the refuse, all we don't need. It's there, silent and accepting everything and in a miraculous way making out of all the refuse new richness in spite of corruption, transforming corruption itself into a power of life and a new possibility of creativeness, open to the sunshine, open to the rain, ready to receive any seed we sow and capable of bringing thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold, out of every seed.

How can you love me if you don’t even know me?” He lifted my arms around his neck and placed his hands on the small of my back. “I know you, Jade. You’re witty and stubborn, like when you wanted to get rid of me at the bar in San Diego. And you’re sweet and caring, like when you talked to my mother at the hospital. And you can drink like a sailor. ” He chuckled. “And you hardly ever blush, but when you do it’s like the sunshine.” Then, he whispered in my ear with a husky voice, “And you make love with your soul.” Peter gave my earlobe a quick nibble. “I couldn’t care less about energy. It might have brought us together, but I only care about you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you; no matter if it’ll be ten or ten thousand.” Despite myself, I felt my eyes burn from tears I wasn’t ready to shed. Still, I couldn’t say it. “Peter...” I kissed him with all the tenderness I found in my heart and said, “the tub is about to spill.” “Oh, shit.” He jerked away from me, turned the water off and unplugged the tub, then hugged me again with wet hands. “All we need is time, Jade. You’ll see this love is real.

God is a wise husbandman, who "waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it (James 5:7). He cannot gather the fruit until it is ripe. He knows when we are spiritually ready to receive the blessing to our profit and His glory. Waiting in the sunshine of His love is what will ripen the soul for His blessing. Waiting under the cloud of trial, that breaks in showers of blessing, is as necessary. Be assured that if God waits longer than you could wish, it is only to make the blessing doubly precious. God waited four thousand years, until the fullness of time, before He sent His Son. Our times are in His hands. He will avenge His elect speedily. He will make haste for our help and not delay one hour too long.

The man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the pattering lumps of dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them, until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. Then, the mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go down into the village, roused him.

A ray of sunshine, I bring to the world my passion of guiding others to their point of power by first loving themselves from the inside out. I Am on a never ending journey of self discovery and that has earned me a PHd in life experience I share with you. If your ready to walk the path of happy, I am your partner and together we Can transform your world into something extraordinarily awesome.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I looked around the empty lot. I wavered on getting out when a giant lightning bolt painted a jagged streak across the rainy lavender-gray sky. Minutes passed and still he didn’t come out of the Three Hundreds’ building. Damn it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I jumped out of the car, cursing at myself for not carrying an umbrella for about the billionth time and for not having waterproof shoes, and ran through the parking lot, straight through the double doors. As I stomped my feet on the mat, I looked around the lobby for the big guy. A woman behind the front desk raised her eyebrows at me curiously. “Can I help you with something?” she asked. “Have you seen Aiden?” “Aiden?” Were there really that many Aidens? “Graves.” “Can I ask what you need him for?” I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled at the woman who didn’t know me and, therefore, didn’t have an idea that I knew Aiden. “I’m here to pick him up.” It was obvious she didn’t know what to make of me. I didn’t exactly look like pro-football player girlfriend material in that moment, much less anything else. I’d opted not to put on any makeup since I hadn’t planned on leaving the house. Or real pants. Or even a shirt with the sleeves intact. I had cut-off shorts and a baggy T-shirt with sleeves that I’d taken scissors to. Plus the rain outside hadn’t done my hair any justice. It looked like a cloud of teal. Then there was the whole we-don’t-look-anything-alike thing going on, so there was no way we could pass as siblings. Just as I opened my mouth, the doors that connected the front area with the rest of the training facility swung open. The man I was looking for came out with his bag over his shoulder, imposing, massive, and sweaty. Definitely surly too, which really only meant he looked the way he always did. I couldn’t help but crack a little smile at his grumpiness. “Ready?” He did his form of a nod, a tip of his chin. I could feel the receptionist’s eyes on us as he approached, but I was too busy taking in Grumpy Pants to bother looking at anyone else. Those brown eyes shifted to me for a second, and that time, I smirked uncontrollably. He glared down at me. “What are you smiling at?” I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, trying to give him an innocent look. “Oh, nothing, sunshine.” He mouthed ‘sunshine’ as his gaze strayed to the ceiling. We ran out of the building side by side toward my car. Throwing the doors open, I pretty much jumped inside and shivered, turning the car and the heater on. Aiden slid in a lot more gracefully than I had, wet but not nearly as soaked. He eyed me as he buckled in, and I slanted him a look. “What?” With a shake of his head, he unzipped his duffel, which was sitting on his lap, and pulled out that infamous off-black hoodie he always wore. Then he held it out. All I could do was stare at it for a second. His beloved, no-name brand, extra-extra-large hoodie. He was offering it to me. When I first started working for Aiden, I remembered him specifically giving me instructions on how he wanted it washed and dried. On gentle and hung to dry. He loved that thing. He could own a thousand just like it, but he didn’t. He had one black hoodie that he wore all the time and a blue one he occasionally donned. “For me?” I asked like an idiot. He shook it, rolling his eyes. “Yes for you. Put it on before you get sick. I would rather not have to take care of you if you get pneumonia.” Yeah, I was going to ignore his put-out tone and focus on the ‘rather not’ as I took it from him and slipped it on without another word. His hoodie was like holding a gold medal in my hands. Like being given something cherished, a family relic. Aiden’s precious.

In his book I Ain’t Much, Baby—But I’m All I Got, the psychologist Jess Lair comments: “Praise is like sunlight to the warm human spirit; we cannot flower and grow without it. And yet, while most of us are only too ready to apply to others the cold wind of criticism, we are somehow reluctant to give our fellow the warm sunshine of praise.

The soft autumn sunshine of hazy gold lay on the streets, but there was a nip, a sharpness in the air that put an electric sparkle into everything. The solid world was really lighter than it looked. There was a covert brilliance ready to dart forth into swift-rushing flame. He felt the throbbing sheen and rustle on the golden light, and his heart sang with joy above the heavy streets and pavements. He was aware of a point of view that almost denied weight to inert matter, making the dead mass of the universe alive and dancing. The nip and sparkle in the air interpenetrated all these fixed and heavy things, these laborious structures, these rigid forms, dissolving them into flowing, everychanging patterns of fluid loveliness. He saw them again as powder, the parks and roads blown everywhere, the pavements lifted, the wall wide open to the sky. The solid earth became transparent, flooded with light and air. It seemed etherialized. It spread great golden wings towards the blazing sun and limitless sky. Air knew no fixed and rigid forms. Societies, of course, were only cages. He saw the huge cage of the earth blow open. Humanity flew out at last…

Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready for the bag. A little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy's impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet. If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever, fortunately she wasn't thinking about herself, so when the time came, down she dropped.

He felt a crush of guilt then for loving them, and Oxford, as much as he did. He adored it here; he really did. For all the daily slights he suffered, walking through campus delighted him. He simply could not maintain, as Griffin did, an attitude of constant suspicion or rebellion; he could not acquire Griffin’s hatred of this place. Yet didn’t he have a right to be happy? He had never felt such warmth in his chest until now, had never looked forward to getting up in the morning as he did now. Babel, his friends, and Oxford – they had unlocked a part of him, a place of sunshine and belonging, that he never thought he’d feel again. The world felt less dark. He was a child starved of affection, which he now had in abundance – and was it so wrong for him to cling to what he had? He was not ready to commit fully to Hermes. But by God, he would have killed for any of his cohort.

Did you have any yourself?" she said. "Just one." Harold thought of David, but it was too much to explain. He saw the boy as a toddler and how his face darkened in sunshine like a ripe nut. He wanted to describe the soft dimples of flesh at his knees, and the way he walked in his first pair of shoes, staring down, as if unable to credit they were still attached to his feet. He thought of him lying in hit cot, his fingers so appallingly small and perfect over his wool blanket. You could look at them and fear they might dissolve beneath your touch. Mothering had come so naturally to Maureen. It was as if another woman had been waiting inside her all along, ready to slip out. She knew how to swing her body so that a baby slept; how to soften her voice; how to curl her hand to support his head. She knew what temperature the water should be in his bath, and when he needed to nap, and how to knit him blue wool socks. He had no idea she knew these things and he had watched with awe, like a spectator from the shadows. It both deepened his love for her and lifted her apart, so that just at the moment when he thought their marriage would intensify, it seemed to lose its way, or at least set them in different places. He peered at his baby son, with his solemn eyes, and felt consumed with fear. What if he was hungry? What if he was unhappy? What if other boys hit him when he went to school? There was so much to protect him from, Harold was overwhelmed. He wondered if other men had found the new responsibility of parenting as terrifying, or whether it had been a fault that was only in himself. It was different these days. You saw men pushing buggies and feeding babies with no worries at all.

From that point of view he gazed at the Oriental beauty he had not seen before. It seemed strange to him that his long-felt wish, which had seemed unattainable, had at last been realized. In the clear morning light he gazed now at the city and now at the plan, considering its details, and the assurance of possessing it agitated and awed him. "But could it be otherwise?" he thought. "Here is this capital at my feet. Where is Alexander now, and of what is he thinking? A strange, beautiful, and majestic city; and a strange and majestic moment! In what light must I appear to them!" thought he, thinking of his troops. "Here she is, the reward for all those fainthearted men," he reflected, glancing at those near him and at the troops who were approaching and forming up. "One word from me, one movement of my hand, and that ancient capital of the Tsars would perish. But my clemency is always ready to descend upon the vanquished. I must be magnanimous and truly great. But no, it can't be true that I am in Moscow," he suddenly thought. "Yet here she is lying at my feet, with her golden domes and crosses scintillating and twinkling in the sunshine. But I shall spare her. On the ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism I will inscribe great words of justice and mercy… . It is just this which Alexander will feel most painfully, I know him." (It seemed to Napoleon that the chief import of what was taking place lay in the personal struggle between himself and Alexander.) "From the height of the Kremlin—yes, there is the Kremlin, yes—I will give them just laws; I will teach them the meaning of true civilization, I will make generations of boyars remember their conqueror with love. I will tell the deputation that I did not, and do not, desire war, that I have waged war only against the false policy of their court; that I love and respect Alexander and that in Moscow I will accept terms of peace worthy of myself and of my people. I do not wish to utilize the fortunes of war to humiliate an honored monarch. 'Boyars,' I will say to them, 'I do not desire war, I desire the peace and welfare of all my subjects.' However, I know their presence will inspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do: clearly, impressively, and majestically. But can it be true that I am in Moscow? Yes, there she lies.

I must talk to Kennit first. He will tell me when he is ready for us to have a baby." "Never," Bolt said flatly. "What?" "Never wait for a male on any such decision. You are the queen. You decide. Males are not made for such decisions. I have seen it time and time again. They would have you wait for days of sunshine and wealth and plenty. Yet to a male, enough is never sufficient, and plenty never reached. A queen knows that when times are hardest and game most scarce, that is when one must care most about the continuance of the race. Some things are not for males to decide.

Vasectomy After the steaming bodies swept through the hungry streets of swollen cities; after the vast pink spawning of family poisoned the rivers and ravaged the prairies; after the gamble of latex and diaphragms and pills; I invoked the white robes, gleaming blades ready for blood, and, feeling the scourge of Increase and Multiply, made affirmation: Yes, deliver us from complicity. And after the precision of scalpels, I woke to a landscape of sunshine where the catbird mates for life and maps trace out no alibis—stepped into a morning of naked truth, where acts mean what they really are: the purity of loving for the sake of love.

sunshine made the whole place look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He spoke to her of his own accord. “Springtime’s comin’,” he said. “Cannot tha’ smell it?” Mary sniffed and thought she could. “I smell something nice and fresh and damp,” she said. “That’s th’ good rich earth,” he answered, digging away. “It’s in a good humor makin’ ready to grow things. It’s glad when plantin’ time comes. It’s dull in th’ winter when it’s got nowt to do. In th’ flower gardens out there things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ sun’s warmin’ ’em. You’ll see bits o’ green spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit.” “What will they be?” asked Mary. “Crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys. Has tha’ never seen them?” “No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,” said Mary. “And I think things grow up in a night.” “These won’t grow up in a night,” said Weatherstaff. “Tha’ll have to wait for ’em. They’ll poke up a bit higher here, an’ push out a spike more there, an’ uncurl a leaf this day an’ another that. You watch ’em.” “I am going to,” answered Mary. Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question. “Do you think he remembers me?” she said. “Remembers thee!” said Weatherstaff indignantly. “He knows every cabbage stump in th’ gardens, let alone th’ people. He’s never seen a little wench here before, an’ he’s bent on findin’ out all about thee. Tha’s no need to try to hide anything from him.” “Are

Praise is like sunlight to the warm human spirit; we cannot flower and grow without it. And yet, while most of us are only too ready to apply to others the cold wind of criticism, we are somehow reluctant to give our fellow the warm sunshine of praise. It’s a sad reality that most people would rather criticize others than praise them. It’s sad because praise is what lifts the human spirit and criticism is what brings it down. Why would we make this awful choice? Some believe that by talking badly of other people it will make them in turn feel better about themselves, but this is definitely not the solution. Want to feel better about yourself? Then learn to treat others the way you want to be treated. If you see the good in someone then tell them.

Couldn't I come along with you? I've been trapped inside for days now and I need some sunshine and exercise. If you're really busy today, maybe I could hhelp. It's not as if I'm a greenhorn who'd get in your way." "This isn't a good idea, Freckles, and you know it." The feisty redhead grinned. "I admit I'm somewhat ignorant on the subject, but I've never heard of doing "it" on the back of a horse." A roguish grin dangled from the corner of his mouth. "Sweetheart, you'd be surprised where...Never mind." Though he'd tried to sound gruff, Willow detected a slight wavering in his determination. "I'll promise not to attack your body, if that's what you're worried about." She started laughing. Moving closer, she backed him against the door. Then tilting her head, she hit him full force with her big blue-green sparklers. Her lips parted in a very seductive, very naughty smile. "Please, just a short ride?" She toyed with the edge of his black leather vest, the backs of her fingers sliding up and down his chest. Rider sucked in a gulp of air. "Dammit, woman,what's Mrs. Brigham been teaching you? Stop that!" He batted her hand away, laughing despite himself. He was beaten and he knew it. "Well?" She smiled slyly. He grasped her arms and set her away to a safer distance. "All right, all right. I give up. I'll take you for a ride." When her face lit up,he raised a cautioning finger and hastened to add, "On one condition. You have to keep yours hands to yourself. No touching!" "Yes! I promise!" Willow threw herself into his arms and pulled his face close for a brisk buss on the cheek. Then she sprang free and skipped past him to the door. "I kow, no touching. That was just a thank you. Hurry up, I'm all ready to go." Following in her wake, Rider groaned, "Yeah,so am I-in more ways than one." "What did you say?" she called back. "I said you were a little flirt!" She gave him an innocent smile over her shoulder and sprinted off to saddle Sugar.

Harvey wanted to dive into his ugliness; he intentionally reached for those long hours of soul desolation. He waited. He paced, ready to face down whatever was to come. Paulette’s, though, busted loose uninvited, catching her completely off guard when she was already hurting, feeling crumbled, and vulnerable. When all she really wanted was some quiet gentle feelings for a change. A few flowers. Some sunshine. A way out of all that inner torment for even just a moment. Had she had brought only nastiness out of her childhood? Hadn’t there been anything sweet she could remember instead? As she wandered back to her cabin, searching for even a single fond memory, light faded everywhere around her. Aw, c’mon, she thought. Everyone had some happy childhood memories. She had to have at least a couple. How about the coloring? Children enjoy coloring; how about that? She’d spent hours and days on her art. It was as close as she could remember to having her Mamma stand over her with anything even remotely resembling approval. Her books and comics could be tales of Jesus, but coloring books had to be Old Testament because “No child’s impure hand could touch a crayon to the sweet beautiful face of our beloved Lord and savior Christ Jesus.” So the little girl had scrunched down over Daniel in the lion’s den. Samson screaming in rage, pain, and terror as they blinded him with daggers and torches. The redder she made the flowing wounds of a man of God shot full of arrows, the richer the flames around those three men being burned in an iron box, the longer Mamma let her stay out of that closet. - From “The Gardens of Ailana

Morning, September 6 "In the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world." Philippians 2:15 We use lights to make manifest. A Christian man should so shine in his life, that a person could not live with him a week without knowing the gospel. His conversation should be such that all who are about him should clearly perceive whose he is, and whom he serves; and should see the image of Jesus reflected in his daily actions. Lights are intended for guidance. We are to help those around us who are in the dark. We are to hold forth to them the Word of life. We are to point sinners to the Saviour, and the weary to a divine resting-place. Men sometimes read their Bibles, and fail to understand them; we should be ready, like Philip, to instruct the inquirer in the meaning of God's Word, the way of salvation, and the life of godliness. Lights are also used for warning. On our rocks and shoals a light-house is sure to be erected. Christian men should know that there are many false lights shown everywhere in the world, and therefore the right light is needed. The wreckers of Satan are always abroad, tempting the ungodly to sin under the name of pleasure; they hoist the wrong light, be it ours to put up the true light upon every dangerous rock, to point out every sin, and tell what it leads to, that so we may be clear of the blood of all men, shining as lights in the world. Lights also have a very cheering influence, and so have Christians. A Christian ought to be a comforter, with kind words on his lips, and sympathy in his heart; he should carry sunshine wherever he goes, and diffuse happiness around him. Gracious Spirit dwell with me; I myself would gracious be, And with words that help and heal Would thy life in mine reveal, And with actions bold and meek Would for Christ my Saviour speak.

And all I can think about is that it's not over and I'm tired and I'm ready to go but I'm still here. And I have to do it again and again and again." He leaned back in his chair. "You think about that before you tell me I've got it easy." I stayed silent a while before speaking. "So why don't you end it?" "Suicide?" "If your life is such a hell," I asked, "why bother? Why go through it again and again and all those times?" "Because of..." He stopped and looked at the ceiling. After a moment he shrugged. "Because of children," he said, "because of smiles and sunshine and ice cream." "You've got to be kidding." "You don't like ice cream?" Elijah shook his head, "It's the best. Imagine how excited I was when someone finally invented it. " "Sunshine and smiles don't make all that other stuff go away." I said, "This isn't a fairy land." "No," he said. "It's the real world. And the real world is the most amazing thing any of us will ever experience. Have you ever climbed a mountain? Walked through a garden? Played with a child? This isn't exactly a revelation John. People have been praising the simple pleasures since even before I was born, and that's a very long time." "You don't do any of those things." "But I have my memories," Said Elijah. "And I have even simpler things. Music. Food. Everybody likes bacon." "I'm a vegetarian." "Asparagus then," said Elijah, "roasted in pan. A little olive oil and a little salt - you the get the most incredible flavor - almost like a nut. But deep and rich and the textures just perfect..." "I've tried it." "The world is more than sadness," said Elijah, "i have a hundred thousand memories in my head. I can't remember all of them, or maybe even most of them, but they are so much happier than sad. For every dead mother or brother or child there are a hundred breezes, a hundred sunsets, a hundred memories of falling in love. Have you ever kissed anyone, John?" "I don't see how that's any of your business." "A first kiss is important. Most people only get one. But I can remember a hundred thousand of them. How could I give that up?" he shook his dead, smiling for the first time. "The world never gets old, John.

She smiles like there’s sunshine inside her and walks like she’s ready to fly. I wish I had a fraction

Morning, September 6 [771]Go To Evening Reading "In the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world." Philippians 2:15 We use lights to make manifest. A Christian man should so shine in his life, that a person could not live with him a week without knowing the gospel. His conversation should be such that all who are about him should clearly perceive whose he is, and whom he serves; and should see the image of Jesus reflected in his daily actions. Lights are intended for guidance. We are to help those around us who are in the dark. We are to hold forth to them the Word of life. We are to point sinners to the Saviour, and the weary to a divine resting-place. Men sometimes read their Bibles, and fail to understand them; we should be ready, like Philip, to instruct the inquirer in the meaning of God's Word, the way of salvation, and the life of godliness. Lights are also used for warning. On our rocks and shoals a light-house is sure to be erected. Christian men should know that there are many false lights shown everywhere in the world, and therefore the right light is needed. The wreckers of Satan are always abroad, tempting the ungodly to sin under the name of pleasure; they hoist the wrong light, be it ours to put up the true light upon every dangerous rock, to point out every sin, and tell what it leads to, that so we may be clear of the blood of all men, shining as lights in the world. Lights also have a very cheering influence, and so have Christians. A Christian ought to be a comforter, with kind words on his lips, and sympathy in his heart; he should carry sunshine wherever he goes, and diffuse happiness around him. Gracious Spirit dwell with me; I myself would gracious be, And with words that help and heal Would thy life in mine reveal, And with actions bold and meek Would for Christ my Saviour speak.

It is a clear and dazzling summer’s day in Vienna. You are standing in a skewed pentangle of lemony sunshine at the sharp corner of Augustiner Strasse and Augustinerbastei, across from the opera house, indolently watching the world pass by you, waiting for someone or something to catch and hold your attention, to generate a tremor of interest. There’s a curious frisson in the city’s atmosphere today, almost spring-like, though spring is long gone, but you recognize that slight vernal restlessness in the people going by, that stirring of potential in the air, that possibility of audacity – though what audacities they might be, here in Vienna, who can say? Still, your eyes are open, you are unusually poised, ready for anything – any crumb, any flung coin – that the world might casually toss your way.

Consider the sun above you, centered in the middle of the sky, radiating upon you. That ray is your source of power, a place to grow and become. Receive those rays: let them flow from above over you, over your head, over your shoulders, over your arms and over your hands. Close your eyes, and be nourished by the sun's connection. In this moment all the powers of light are with you. They're here to reinforce you and remind you of your own competence and power. You have the knowledge and experience in your life that you need to step on confidently, make good choices and choices, and manifest what you are doing. •       By actively binding the Solar Plexus Chakra to your own personal power, you are also inspiring those around you to fulfill their potential. As each person finds his or her strength in this existence, the entire collective is motivated to grow in this way. Feel how your own inner sense of monarchy, your own inner sense of supremacy, is now becoming involved. You are so ready to unfold in the next chapter of your life. Feel that excitement before you, and step boldly through the door. It's your turn. Everything was giving you help here. •       Invite any elders or spirit guides who want to accompany you until you feel fully prepared to walk through this door of possibility. Feel their energy as they surround you, and believe they will give whatever advice you need to comfortably proceed to the next stage of your evolution. With universal blessing close your induction: Amen. SUMMARY • Where is it: Manipura chakra is found in the spine behind the navel. •       What is it: It's the seat of power and confidence. It's what pushes you through your life and is responsible for your personal and professional growth. The solar plexus in the physical body is the core which regulates digestion and the metabolism of food. •       When it’s blocked: A blockage in this chakra could make you feel anxious and insecure. Digestive problems can also be symptoms of an unbalanced chakra in the solar plexus. •       How to balance this chakra: If you want to combine this chakra with yoga, select asanas that reflect on the core strength. Warrior pose is the easiest asana to get this chakra open. Every morning, you can just hold it for a few minutes and your chakra will balance out. Since the chakra of the solar plexus is linked to the sun and flames, simply going outside can help. The therapeutic effects of your exercise can be maximized by meditating or doing yoga outdoors. Even going for a walk in the sunshine will still do the trick, though.

THE YOUTH IN MY LAND Citizens, brethrens, go to school on a daily, a number of them on a muddy road, bare footed on a scorching sunshine with an undying hope of a better tomorrow.. Every one well convinced by the education system that there is a wage for the daily walk, Self torture is the process one has to go through in my homeland.. The only key to success is education they all say.. They used to say, They say.. For the few that fend their way out come up with the deep developed thirst for the dreamt life.. Only to be asked later on what's your name?.. Who sent you? These questions become the last password to the highly dreamt world.. It takes great courage for one to get the answers for the seemingly little questions. Millions of the youth shy away in desperation back to their roots.. The dreamt life becomes the dreaded one.. They were taught that one day they Will walk on to the streets of the world as kings... Adorable kings.. They have to.. They have to find a life on the streets... They can't go back to the same life they despised.. They are now so full with hope.. They meet a number of alikes.. All seated wondering what next, how to sleep like kings they were trained to be.. Of course in the deserted ends of the town.. They are in hiding.. Hiding from the expectant world.. Not in pride but shame To live in shame is soaring and they need comfort.. They pass time by taking a puff... Not a mere puff but of the unknown substance... To find homage.. They are in numbers remember so frightened.. As times go on... Hope is gone.. But each day on its own They are the youth of my country I suppose I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon desperacy, who are frightened of life, who are desperate to reach out to their dreams . But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really... This is one more piece of advice I have for you: don't get impatient. Even if things are so tangled up you can't do anything, don't get desperate or blow a fuse and start yanking on one particular thread before it's ready to come undone. You have to realize it's going to be along process and that you'll work on things slowly, one at a time... Just keep the hopes alive, time matters.. BY DERRICK BARARA

You can’t just get rid of them when their actions or words don’t suit you, Edward. Don’t take a wife if you aren’t ready and willing to work with her to figure out difficult issues. It won’t always be sunshine and roses. There will be storms.

I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Sunshine, but I can’t get enough of you. You’ve been the only person there for me, the only person who truly cares.” “Blaise, I…” “I know you want me to take it back and act like the same guy I was toward you that first day in World History, but I can’t. I don’t want to take it back. I fucking love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. You’re the best damn thing that’s happened to me.” This wasn’t a character saying this in one of my stories. This was real. “You don’t have to say it back right now.” He took my hand in his and gently kissed my knuckles. “I promise I’ll wait until whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere. So, if you want to run out of here, scared shitless, then you have another thing—” My chest exploded with warmth. I turned onto my stomach, gently gripped his chin in my hand, and kissed him deeply, passion completely overtaking me. “I love you too.

Okay," I say as I straighten the material slightly. He turns around to face me, and a groan comes from him. "Fuck," he hisses in the moment before he takes off his jacket, shirt, shoes, and jeans, stripping until he's down to his boxers, which doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. "Are you going to be able to run with that thing?" I ask, pointing at his cock and the way it juts out from his body. "I'll manage, sunshine. Don't worry," he chuckles. "I'll give you a minute head start. Ready?

Every time you go through a stressful time, (for me that would be a relapse with MS), you will come back either bitter or stronger. The choice is yours. If you allow stimuli into your life that get you down and are bitter about it, then guess what happens to your mind? You guessed it, you come back a little darker and jaded in your outlook. But let’s say that instead, you decide to put on Mandisa’s song “Overcomer” on your iphone as you get ready for the day. You sit and read a passage out of God’s Word and say a prayer of thanksgiving. Do you think there is any way you cannot start the day with sunshine in your soul? Don’t get me wrong, the relapse will still be there, but you will now have fed your spiritual muscles the spiritual protein they need to come back bigger and stronger for the next battle against your chronic illness. But just like building muscles, you will have to be consistent in your training. When you don’t feel like it—pray. When you don’t want to—read the Bible. And when you don’t feel like it—smile. Because the God who made the universe is on your side and you cannot fail.

The second legend is about paradise. “They pulled it off. They did it. On the servers of one of the big studios in California they used ready-made scans to set up a whole world on the other side of the Uncanny Valley. Or at least a house, a garden, and some bodies. They created a foolproof filter, so that finally you could connect to the net – mind-to-mech and even mind-to-mind – without any risk of malware unstitching your memory or infecting your consciousness. So they log in, and there, on the other side, they have soft, warm, moist bodies again, miraculously fleshy to the touch. They can touch, smell, and taste again.” Dagenskyoll speeds up, and the hulking robots bunched around him in a spellbound circle press even closer, leaning in, sticking out microphone tongues and scanner tendrils. “They can drink and eat and drink.” He raises his glass of vodka and a long metallic grating sound rings out, krrrshaaahhrrr: the screeching interference of speakers and microphones, or maybe even the sighing of embarrassed machinery. “They drink, drink and sleep, even if they can’t dream, and they walk on the grass and bathe in the sunshine—” Krrrshaaahhrrr! “They have dogs, cats, birds, bugs. Mosquitoes bite them, dust and pollen get in their eyes, the sun blinds them, since the sun is always rising there, and they set up grills and burn their fingers—” Krrrshaaahhrrr! “—as they eat the steaming meat.” Now this is too much, and the robots press up against Dagenskyoll, almost crushing him. “Do you know the IP?” “Only the bosses of the alliances know it. They’re the ones who meet there. To discuss strategies for the future, exchange information, and resolve disputes.” A black medico mech roars from a distorted speaker straight into Dagenskyoll’s front display: “BUT WHERE! WHERE IS IT?!

So you came here.” “I didn’t think those responsibilities were mine for a long time. Mische disagreed. She forced my hand. Entered the Kejari first. Knew I wouldn’t let her do it alone.” “I was ready to fucking kill her myself. Stupidest thing she possibly could have done. And mark my words, I would have found a way to get her out. One way or another.” His face softened. “But that’s Mische. Impulsive as shit. But always, always well-intentioned. More than she has any right to be, after all she’s seen. Sometimes foolishly so. I love Mische like a sister, but… I worry about her. The world isn’t flowers and sunshine. She doesn’t realize—” —that you have to fight hard enough to leave a mark,” I finished. “That isn’t easy to clean.

So you came here.” “I didn’t think those responsibilities were mine for a long time. Mische disagreed. She forced my hand. Entered the Kejari first. Knew I wouldn’t let her do it alone.” “I was ready to fucking kill her myself. Stupidest thing she possibly could have done. And mark my words, I would have found a way to get her out. One way or another.” His face softened. “But that’s Mische. Impulsive as shit. But always, always well-intentioned. More than she has any right to be, after all she’s seen. Sometimes foolishly so. I love Mische like a sister, but… I worry about her. The world isn’t flowers and sunshine. She doesn’t realize—” "—that you have to fight hard enough to leave a mark,” I finished. “That isn’t easy to clean.

Ms. Buck, I feel like a corpse this morning. What do you advise?" Belva raised an eyebrow. "You might try putting down the bottle one of these nights." Lee was ready for this. "That might help long term, but I'm looking for something more immediate. As in, right now." Belva sighed. "I'm not sure you deserve it, but I don't like seeing you in pain." She dipped into the cooler and pulled out a vial of a bright green liquid. Lee had only been joking, but she was drawn to the vial now, her mouth watering. She took it from Belva, uncapped it, and shot it back. The taste was of plants picked too young--- sweet, raw, and nearly fizzing with life. She waited for something to happen. Nothing. Belva watched her intently, and Lee wondered at her curiosity. She'd probably given this hangover remedy thousands of times. And then Lee felt it. The smell of wet dust and the hum of the fluorescents and the staleness inside of her receded. In its place, the smell of dewy grass and the silent spill of sunshine and the feeling of a new day beginning spread through her. Like a phoenix, she was resurrected.

I’m not easy or simple or entirely light. My sunshine dances the tango with my tornado by the light of a blood-red moon. I am daisy chains and cauldron fire. I am the space where shame is shed. I like my desire fast and hard and my sacred so holy you’ll swear for the rest of your life that your body turned cathedral under my hands. If you come to me, come ready to be revealed. Offer me bare skin, not armor. Bring me the whole and holy of you and arrive ready for worship. I am a crystal-clear mirror. Beware, you will not leave me without bearing witness to your own beauty. I fear there’s a damn good chance you’re not ready for what happens next.

In the marshy swamps of Florida resided a large nation of disaffected natives and fugitive slaves, unified in their common interest and enemy, sympathetic to one another’s cause, and ready to resort to militant action if aggressed upon.

Praise is like sunlight to the warm human spirit; we cannot flower and grow without it. And yet, while most of us are only too ready to apply to others the cold wind of criticism, we are somehow reluctant to give our fellow the warm sunshine of praise.

Was there something you wanted?” she asked, shading her eyes from the bright sunshine. Matthews was taller than Lily by about six inches, and his blue eyes swept over her in a way that could only be called suggestive. “I reckon I want what the major was havin’ yesterday when the bedsprings was creakin’ fit to wake the dead,” he told her. Lily retreated a step, cheeks flaming. She clasped the hoe handle in white-knuckled fingers. The affront was so brazen and so unexpected that she had no ready idea how to deal with it. “Such a saucy little thing,” Private Matthews went on, reaching out to touch Lily’s hair. He only smiled when she flinched away, and after a moment he went on. “I’ll bet you’re a real wildcat.” Lily held up the hoe in both hands as a warrior might hold a shield. “You just stay back,” she warned, her heels sinking into the loose dirt as she retreated from him. “What’s the matter, pretty Lily?” the young soldier crooned. “Get out of here,” Lily managed to choke out. “Get off my land and stay off!” He advanced on her. “I figure riding you would be worth takin’ a horsewhip across my back. That’s what Judd’s tellin’ everybody. That it was worth all the trouble he got into.” Lily swallowed, then screamed out, “Wilbur! Help me!” Matthews spat contemptuously into the dirt and kept right on coming toward her. “You think I can’t handle the corporal, little lady?” He laughed. “Hell, you can just bet it’ll be him against the rest of us.” Lily felt the color seep out of her face. She swung the hoe at the soldier, meaning to scare him, but he smiled as he sidestepped the glistening blade. “You stay away from me,” she warned. Matthews

I wanted to kiss you,” she said as they waited for Sonnet to be brought out. “When I saw you this morning, whole and healthy. Did you want to kiss me?” In the bright morning sunshine, Louisa’s green eyes sparkled like spring grass wet with dew, and energy fairly crackled around her. And this magnificent, gorgeous woman—who was to be his wife—was confessing to a thwarted urge to kiss him. The grooms were busy in the stable, and the alley was deserted enough that Joseph could be honest. “I find, Louisa Windham-soon-to-be-Carrington, that I am constantly in readiness for your kisses. This state of affairs brings me back to boyhood Christmases, to the sense of excitement and… glee that hung over my holidays. As if delightful developments were always awaiting me.” He

Is that what other weres smell like to vampires?” I frowned. “I guess. They smelled like normal weres to me.” “But not like you,” Taylor said. “Your smell… you smell so good.” “You smell good to me too, baby,” I murmured, squeezing her hand lightly. I wanted to add that she smelled hot—like she was in need. All evening her scent had been driving me crazy—that warm feminine spice that let me know her pussy was wet and ready to be fucked—to be bred. But I held back—I wanted her to come to me, not the other way around. She blushed, her pale cheeks going pink. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I wonder why you smell and taste so different from other weres.” I shrugged. “Who knows? So you didn’t like that guy’s blood?” She made a face. “It was awful. Like tasting dirty motor oil and sweat mixed together.” “What’s mine like?” I asked curiously. She’d been drinking from me for almost a month but this was the first time we’d really had this conversation. Her face lit up. “It’s amazing. Like some kind of really rare, delicious liquor—it warms me up from the inside out. It’s kind of like drinking liquid sunshine.” I barked a laugh. “You’re making me think I should sell the stuff. If everybody liked it as much as you I’d be a millionaire inside a month.” “Don’t you dare,” she said with mock severity. “You’re mine—I don’t want anyone else drinking from you. Ever.” The possessiveness in her voice sent a thrill through me and made my cock even harder. God, I loved to hear her talk like that—like we belonged to each other. Like we would be together forever. “I’m all yours,” I promised her, squeezing her hand again. “As long as you remember you’re mine too.

I waited as Sorcha rose, and when she was ready we walked off toward the trees. No one else seemed to follow us, and the day was pleasant as we enjoyed each other’s company and soaked up the sunshine. I admired the way she carried herself – it was graceful; not in an intentional way, but a natural one. She seemed limber like a dancer, and she was lovely: from the shimmer of her long, dark hair to the liveliness in her eyes that not even uncertainty could drive away.

When I step out of the changing room, Doug says, “She’ll take a lot of shit by being with you, you know. People are already starting to talk.” “Listen, Douggie. I like that girl more than I can remember likin’ anything in my life. I’m not about to give her up. I’ll start carin’ about what other people think when I’m six feet under.” Doug smiles and holds out his arms. “Ah, Fuentes, I think we just had a male bonding moment. Wanna hug?” “Not on your life, white boy.” Doug slaps me on the back, then we walk to the hot tub. Despite everything, I think we do have, if not a bonding, then at least an understanding. Either way, I’m still not hugging him. “Very sexy, babe,” Sierra says, eyeing Doug’s Speedo. Doug is walking like a penguin, waddling while trying to get comfortable. “I swear to God I’m taking these off as soon as I get in the hot tub. They’re choking my balls.” “TMI,” Brittany chimes in, covering her ears with her palms. She’s wearing a yellow bikini, leaving very little to the imagination. Does she realize she looks like a sunflower, ready to rain sunshine on all who look down upon her? Doug and Sierra climb into the tub. I hop into the tub and sit beside Brittany. I’ve never been in a hot tub before, and am not sure about hot-tub protocol. Are we going to sit here and talk, or do we break off into couples and make out? I like the second option, but Brittany looks nervous. Especially when Doug tosses his Speedo out of the tub. I wince. “Come on, man.” “What? I want to be able to have kids one day, Fuentes. That thing was cutting off my circulation.

Very sexy, babe,” Sierra says, eyeing Doug’s Speedo. Doug is walking like a penguin, waddling while trying to get comfortable. “I swear to God I’m taking these off as soon as I get in the hot tub. They’re choking my balls.” “TMI,” Brittany chimes in, covering her ears with her palms. She’s wearing a yellow bikini, leaving very little to the imagination. Does she realize she looks like a sunflower, ready to rain sunshine on all who look down upon her? Doug and Sierra climb into the tub. I hop into the tub and sit beside Brittany. I’ve never been in a hot tub before, and am not sure about hot-tub protocol. Are we going to sit here and talk, or do we break off into couples and make out? I like the second option, but Brittany looks nervous. Especially when Doug tosses his Speedo out of the tub. I wince. “Come on, man.” “What? I want to be able to have kids one day, Fuentes. That thing was cutting off my circulation.” Brittany hops out of the tub and pulls a towel around her. “Let’s go inside, Alex.” “You guys can stay in here,” Sierra says. “I’ll make him put the marble bag back on.” “Forget it. You two enjoy the tub. We’ll be inside,” Brittany says. When I’m out of the tub, Brittany hands me an extra towel. I put my arm around her as we walk to the cabin. “You okay?” “Absolutely. I was thinking you were upset.” “I’m cool. But…” Inside, I pick up a blown-glass figurine and study it. “Seein’ this house, this life…I want to be here with you, but I look around and realize this will never be me.” “You’re thinking too much.” She kneels on the carpet and pats the floor. “Come here and lie on your stomach. I know how to give Swedish massages. It’ll relax you.” “You’re not Swedish,” I say. “Yeah, well, neither are you. So if I do it wrong you’ll never know the difference.” I lie next to her. “I thought we were gonna take this relationship slow.” “A back rub is harmless.” My eyes roam over her kick-ass bikini-covered bod. “I’ll have you know I’ve been intimate with girls wearin’ a lot more.” She slaps me on the butt. “Behave yourself.

But, Emmie”—Bothwell’s cultured tones drifted through the back doors of the hall—“you know I’ve missed you.” Emmie’s reply was murmured in low, unintelligible tones, causing St. Just to pause. The damned Kissing Vicar was about to strike again, but as a gentleman… As a gentleman, hell… St. Just did not pull the door shut loudly behind him, which would have afforded Bothwell a moment to protect the lady’s privacy. He charged into the hall, boots thumping on the wooden floor, jar of icing at the ready. “Now, Emmie…” Bothwell was kissing her, one of those teasing little kisses to the cheek that somehow wandered down to the corner of her mouth in anticipation of landing next on her lips. “Excuse me, Bothwell, didn’t realize you were about.” “Rosecroft.” Bothwell grinned at him, looking almost pleased to be caught at his flagrant flirting. “I’d heard you were back. My thanks for the use of your stables.” “And my thanks for keeping those juvenile hellions in shape. You need a horse, man, congregational politics be damned.” “Maybe someday.” Bothwell’s smile dimmed a little as his gaze turned to Emmie. “But for today, I’ve a wedding to perform.” And Bothwell had known, probably from experience, Emmie would be bringing her cake over. Absent a special license, the wedding would have to start in the next couple of hours, and St. Just suspected the vicar had been all but lying in wait for Emmie. “Em?” He brought her the icing. “Shall I go offer up a few for my immortal soul, or will we be going shortly?” “I won’t be long,” she said, brows knit as she positioned the second layer atop the little pedestals set on the first. “I just need to put the candied violets around the base when I’ve got the thing assembled, and maybe a few finishing touches.” “She’ll be hours.” The vicar smiled at her so indulgently that St. Just’s fist ached to put a different expression on the man’s face. “Come along, St. Just, and we can at least spend a few minutes in the sunshine.

Holding the microphone like he was the voice box of the Creator of All Things, he shouted, “We’re gonna try something that my boy Icarus did a few years back. Are you all ready for some sunshine?

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Here, I'll take her," her husband said. He scooped the baby from Juliet's arms and cradled her to his chest. Immediately the whimpering stopped. Charlotte stared at him in wide-eyed fascination. Juliet watched a passing carriage, too ashamed of herself, and her conflicting feelings, to meet Gareth's blue, blue eyes. "She's wet," she warned. "Ah, well, we've got more important things to worry about than that, don't we, Charlotte?" he said lightly, adjusting the baby's frilly bonnet around her tiny face. Juliet caught the double meaning and the tension in his words, knowing well what he meant. She threw him a quick, guilty glance, but Gareth didn't see it. He was too busy ignoring her, playing with the baby, swinging her high over his head and laughing as she broke out in a smile as bright as the sunshine blazing down from above. Juliet looked on a little wistfully. What she wouldn't give to be so happy, so carefree; what she wouldn't give to be able to take back that terrible moment in the church when he'd discovered Charles's ring still on her finger. Why hadn't she removed it once and for all this morning? She had hurt him — deeply. And she felt sick about it. "Like that, do you?" Charlotte chortled in glee. "Here, let's do it again," he said cheerfully, and out of the corner of her eye, Juliet saw that Perry was watching him with those cool gray eyes of his that didn't miss a trick. Perry knew that all was not right here, and Juliet suspected he knew Lord Gareth's sudden silliness with the baby was just a cover for the pain he had to be feeling. And now her husband was swinging Charlotte up and over his head once more, making foolish faces and even more foolish noises at her until he had her shrieking in delight. "Watch this — wheeeeeee!" Perry, observing, just shook his head. "If anyone knows how to act like a juvenile, it's you, Gareth." "Yes, and the day one forgets how to be young is the day one gets old. Let's do it again, Charlie-girl. Ready, now? Here ... we ... go!" Again he swung the infant — high, high, higher. Once more, Charlotte shrieked with glee, and even Juliet felt a reluctant smile creep over her face. Forced or not, her husband's good humor was infectious. The Den members were also grinning, elbowing each other and eyeing him as though he had lost his mind along with his bachelorhood. "I don't believe I'm seeing this," murmured Chilcot. "Yes, what would they say down at White's, Gareth?" Perry was shaking his head. "Well, all I can say is that I'm exceedingly grateful I don't know anyone on this side of town," he drawled. "I daresay you are making a complete arse of yourself, Gareth." "Yes, and enjoying it immensely. I tell you, dear fellow, someday you, too, shall make an arse of yourself over a little one, if not a woman, and then we shall all have the last laugh!" A

wailing entered my dream. Slowly, I shook off the warm breeze and sunshine from the catamaran and opened my eyes to my bedroom. It took a minute or two for me to determine the sound wasn’t from my dream, but coming from next door. From Maggie’s house. Her smoke detector was going off. From where he stood on

When God is ready to bring him or her into your life, you won't even have to try...it will just happen. Let God do the work for you.

Carter watched Avery weave her way through the crowds like a ninja—ready to battle at a moment’s notice, but invisible to the general crowd. The reception was in full swing, and he’d never felt so damn tired in his life. He’d been running around nonstop, taking care of endless tasks that popped up. Everything ached, from his head to his feet, and through it all, the woman never lost her cool or her charm. The idea she did this every weekend the entire spring and summer was more than impressive. And this was just “live time,” as she’d termed it. All the months of prep work led up to this one day. All her efforts and sweat and time were for the purpose of making one couple happy as they embarked on a life together

I love cold winters with lots of snow and ice! They remind me to stay inside, read great books, feast on hot soups and just be calm for a while,” I heard Leila say. “It’s a time when I get to dream without being interrupted by bright sunshine calling me to get outside and play.”Leila was in the process of reorganizing her closet to get her wardrobe ready for the winter season.

I’m a whore, Jackson. How can he trust me if I’m a whore?” “Whoring’s honest work, if an honest man does it,” Jackson had replied. “Why me? Why’d you send me to come help him?” “I don’t know. I figured you were ready to get out of the life, and he’d just been dumped in the hospital. I mean, hurt guy, pretty nurse—at the very least I thought you two could become friends.

Listen to me. I chose your parents out of more than a hundred couples, because I thought they would be best for you. I put you in their arms, literally. And it killed me. Part of me died that day. But if I could travel back in time, I’d do it again. They did a better job than I ever could have because they were adults. They wanted a child. They had jobs, a house, savings. I was seventeen. Seventeen! Not even old enough to vote! Do you feel ready to raise a child? Take care of an infant? Even if your parents would help? Do you?” He started to say something, then changed his mind. After a second, he shook his head. “No.

In this sunshine,” wrote Max Plowman in his memoir of the war, “it seems impossible to believe that at any minute we in this trench, and they in that, may be blown to bits by shells fired from guns at invisible distances by hearty fellows who would be quite ready to stand you a drink if you met them face to face.

However, toward the end of it, and on hearing some slight rustle behind me, I half-turned, discreetly, and caught a glimpse of another mourner, a woman, who must have slipped into the church after we of the funeral party had taken our places and who stood several rows behind and quite alone, very erect and still, and not holding a prayer book. She was dressed in deepest black, in the style of full mourning that had rather gone out of fashion except, I imagined, in court circles on the most formal of occasions. Indeed, it had clearly been dug out of some old trunk or wardrobe, for its blackness was a little rusty looking. A bonnet-type hat covered her head and shaded her face, but, although I did not stare, even the swift glance I took of the woman showed me enough to recognize that she was suffering from some terrible wasting disease, for not only was she extremely pale, even more than a contrast with the blackness of her garments could account for, but the skin and, it seemed, only the thinnest layer of flesh was tautly stretched and strained across her bones, so that it gleamed with a curious, blue-white sheen, and her eyes seemed sunken back into her head. Her hands that rested on the pew before her were in a similar state, as though she had been a victim of starvation. Though not any medical expert, I had heard of certain conditions which caused such terrible wasting, such ravages of the flesh, and knew that they were generally regarded as incurable, and it seemed poignant that a woman, who was perhaps only a short time away from her own death, should drag herself to the funeral of another. Nor did she look old. The effect of the illness made her age hard to guess, but she was quite possibly no more than thirty. Before I turned back, I vowed to speak to her and see if I could be of any assistance after the funeral was over, but just as we were making ready to move away, following the parson and the coffin out of the church, I heard the slight rustle of clothing once more and realized that the unknown woman had already slipped quickly away, and gone out to the waiting, open grave, though to stand some yards back, beside another headstone, that was overgrown with moss and upon which she leaned slightly. Her appearance, even in the limpid sunshine and comparative warmth and brightness outdoors, was so pathetically wasted, so pale and gaunt with disease, that it would not have been a kindness to gaze upon her; for there was still some faint trace on her features, some lingering hint, of a not inconsiderable former beauty, which must make her feel her present condition all the more keenly, as would the victim of a smallpox, or of some dreadful disfigurement of burning.

The sun shone warm, the air was balmy; everywhere, where it did not get scraped away, the grass revived and sprang up between the paving-stones as well as on the narrow strips of lawn on the boulevards. The birches, the poplars, and the wild cherry unfolded their gummy and fragrant leaves, the limes were expanding their opening buds; crows, sparrows, and pigeons, filled with the joy of spring, were getting their nests ready; the flies were buzzing along the walls, warmed by the sunshine. All were glad, the plants, the birds, the insects, and the children. But men, grown-up men and women, did not leave off cheating and tormenting themselves and each other.

Life is beautiful: a whole existence of old papers and office dust; the bed in my hotel room which often remained unmade from morn till night when I came home from the office, because of the dearth of hired help, the only maid being an aged hunchback who did the best she could. The rude awakenings in the morning; the mad rush to the office in the hope of still finding my time card; the joy at reaching the office on time so that I could sign it; the anger and frustration on those mornings when I reached the office thirty seconds after the card had been taken away - all that seemed to me to be enveloped in a kind of happiness that I had not previously noted, as all of a sudden I found a kind of beauty in the dust, the crowded street, the mass of people hurrying like me to work, the hundreds and hundreds of gray faces, faces which were but clouds doubtless concealing the sun that we all bear within us, if only we knew it. The past is always tender and beautiful, something to be looked upon with sorrow, whose qualities we notice only when they are gone. We need a certain perspective, and that goes for pen-pushers and statesmen alike, millionaires or tramps. It’s true, it’s true: we all contain within ourselves a world full of sunshine, a world in which joy is constantly ready and waiting to unfurl, if only we realized it, I mean if only we realized it in time. How lovely ugliness is, how happy sadness, and boredom is due only to our ignorance! The iciest cold cannot resist the warmth of the human heart. Assuming one knows which button to push in order to light it. In short, we look back nostalgically on everything, which proves without question that it was beautiful.

Complainers Some people don't want to die Because you can't complain when you're dead I hope heaven is just a bunch of men lying around Ready to do what I say Ready with dicks and some such When I'm dead I won't be looking for a partner As much as a heavenly creature After all I was promised virgins But I don't care about that as much As the eyes looking into me in abandon Like porn but better Because there will be no screen There will be no holy divider then Between me and my brethren And the smell of sunshine Will emit from every brow That's the kind of thing I expect from death That's the kind of thing I'm waiting for

Footsteps sounded on the porch, and she felt a twitter of excitement as Wyatt walked in, hat in hand. He stopped and stared. First at the table, then at her. “Well . . . this is sure a nice welcome.” She grew warm beneath his attention, and warmer still as he crossed the room toward her. He lifted a curl from her bodice and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “It smells good in here.” He smelled good too. She caught a whiff of fresh soap and sunshine, and his hair was still damp. “You bathed in the creek,” she said softly. “Yes, ma’am, I did.” “Well . . .” She gave a breathless laugh. “Breakfast is ready. I hope you’re hungry.” “Yes, ma’am.” His gaze captured hers and held. “I am.” If not for his self-declared patience, she might have been unnerved by the transparency of desire in his eyes. But Wyatt Caradon was her husband. She could stand on tiptoe right now and kiss him full on the mouth if she wanted to. That was her right. And the thing was—she slowly realized—she wanted to. Even more, he wanted her to. Yet he didn’t move. However, he did smile, ever so slightly, and it gave her the encouragement she needed. She rose on tiptoe, and could all but reach him. “You might want to meet me halfway, Mr. Caradon.” Wordless, he did, but stopped just short of completing the journey. Their breaths mingling, she sensed his growing lack of patience, which, oddly enough, only increased hers. She ran a finger along his stubbled jawline and saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly. She’d never been one to toy with a man, but then she’d never been married to one with whom she could toy. She kissed him on one corner of his mouth, then the other. On his cheek, and then gently on the lips, like he’d done with her yesterday at the ceremony. His arms didn’t come around her like she half expected, but not for a moment did she question his response. He was letting her take the lead . . . and she liked it.

Jesus Christ. I give you my fear that nothing will will work out. I give you my anxieties that I won't find a man and I will let You bring him to me when You feel I am ready.

ree-ree-reeeeee!” shouted Tim as he charged Broden, his teeth flashing and his tail wildly whipping along behind him, ready to smash his big toe. “Ahhhhhh!” he screamed, then Broden ran as fast as lightning as he dropped the gigantic bucket of food as he went squishy-squash through chicken caca all the way across the grass and toward the back door. His heart pounded and Broden thought he’d never been so scared in his life. He probably would have made it to the house and he probably would have been able to slam the door shut without Tim the Terrible catching him, but then a really awful thing happened. Broden’s right foot went slippery sliding in a humongous chicken-poopy mountain and he went flying through the air. “Ree-ree-reeeeeee!” screamed Tim as Broden landed on his back, his head landing on a dung hill pillow. Looking over, there was Tim, his mouth open and ready to bite his nose right off as he flew through the air right at him. “Nooo!” Broden cried out, trying to roll over and get out of the way of Tim’s attack. But he was too late. Tim the Terrible swooped down and landed right on his back as Broden was scrambling and crawling in an attempt to escape. Tim’s horsey-ride didn’t last long, though. When Broden looked back at Tim, wondering how he could escape the barbarian, a totally amazing thing happened right before his eyes. His chicken leapt into the air from her stump and spread out her glorious, shimmering black-feathered wings. For one moment, it seemed as if she were hovering in the sky with the sunshine glowing behind her and through her wings. But the next moment, it was as if she had a jetpack on as she came zooming through the air. Straight at Tim. His chicken came zipping down and Broden’s eyes got as big as

It was a day of sun and shadow. That rarest of monsoon days when sunshine could suddenly streak through the mass of dark clouds to dance on the hills and rivers below. A day for surprises. I told myself I was ready for them.

Are you ready?" Patty asked. "We can't wait," Ashley told her. I looked at the house. Even in the bright sunshine, it looked totally creepy. I can wait, I thought.

... Stuff doesn't happen till you're ready for it." She laughed, and it was a real laugh. "Only in theory. Tell me, what were your first cinnamon rolls like? And didn't the recipe look simple and pure and beautiful on the page? And the instructions your teacher gave you, before he left you to get on with it, were perfectly clear and covered everything?

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I cocked my head, studying her. She was still boiling, but it had gentled. “I might be as heartless as you thought, sweetheart.” That earned me a groan. “Don’t talk nice to me now, Remington. I’m not ready for that.” I laughed and let go of her wrists to hold my hands up in innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of being nice to you. Last thing I’d do.” She didn’t laugh with me. Instead, her gaze locked on my mouth, and her body tensed. That was the only warning I had before she crashed into me, her lips meeting mine in hot, wet anger. It was the underlying sweetness that had my mouth moving against hers before my brain caught up to what was happening. But even when it did, I kept kissing her because it felt too good to stop. It’d been a long time since I’d had a woman in my arms, and that was where she was. I wrapped her up, pulling her flush with my chest, one hand bracing the base of her skull, the other at the small of her back. She was warm and solid, smelling like sunshine and sweat. And she fit against me like she was made to be there. Tall enough I barely had to bend. Strong enough I could hold her tight without worry she’d break. The moan she unleashed when our tongues touched was both carnal and…pained. It was the pain that brought me up short as the reality of what was happening barreled back to the forefront. Caleb had warned me she was fragile. Told me how rough she’d had it, and I’d promised to be careful. I’d seen her grief, had practically felt it, sharp as a knife, when we’d stood in Graham’s room together. I couldn’t hurt her any more than I already had, yet here I was kissing this woman without any thought to the consequences. But fuck did she taste like the best dream I’d ever had. Wrenching my lips from hers wasn’t easy. It was picturing the tears I’d seen in her eyes that allowed me to pull myself away. Hands on her shoulders, I put some space between our bodies, and it was crazy how unnatural it felt when I hadn’t known what it felt like to hold her until minutes ago. “No, baby. We can’t do this.

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