Realizing You Deserve Better Quotes

I need you to know I never meant it. I said it because I thought that’s what you’re supposed to say, but it didn’t mean anything. And it’s different with you. This is the first time I’ve been scared. Scared you’ll change your mind. Scared I’ll screw it up. Aces, Cress, I’m terrified of you.” Her stomach fluttered. He didn’t look terrified. “Here’s the thing.” Thorne crawled over her legs and lay down beside her, boots and all. “You deserve better than some thief who’s going to end up in jail again. Everyone knows it. Even I know it. But you seem determined to believe I’m actually a decent guy who’s halfway worthy of you. So, what scares me most”—he twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers—“is that someday even you will realize that you can do better.

You deserve better than some thief who's going to end up in jail again. Everyone knows it. Even I know it. But you seem determined to believe I'm a actually a decent guy who's halfway worthy of you. So, what scares me most" - he twisted a lock of hair between his fingers - "is that someday even you will realize that you can do better." "Thorne..." "Not to worry." He kissed the lock of hair. "I am a criminal mastermind, I have a plan." Clearing his throat, he started to check things off in the air. "First, get a legitimate job - check. Legally buy my ship - in progress. Prove that I'm hero material by helping Cinder save the world - oh, wait, I did that already." He winked. "Oh, and I have to stop stealing things, but that's probably a given. So I figure, by the time you realize how much I don't deserve you... I might kind of deserve you

Watching the way he treats you made me realize that maybe I had set my sights too low. After chasing someone who didn’t give me the time of day… I just see how Vincent anticipates your every desire and tries to make it come true for you. How, when he sees you walk into a room, it’s like he’s transformed into this person who is bigger and better than the one he was just minutes before. I want to be that for someone. I think I deserve it. And I’m not going to pine away for a guy who feels that for someone else. So until my own chivalrous knight shows up, I’ve decided to live a full life and be happy with my lot.

I had a dream about you. It's been a while since I could remember any of my dreams, and still, this one has left me with such strong impression. Even now, when I am fully awake, your face flashes before my eyes. It's a face I can totally relate to, as if it wasn't any more yours than it is mine. Terrifying thing, you know? I can't say I've felt that sort of intimacy with anyone. For a moment you knew all my secrets, without me even having to tell them. For a moment I even knew them myself… While I was looking into your eyes, I suddenly started to realize things about myself that were unspoken for years, like fragments of my inner life that were deeply repressed. It’s hard to distinguish if they were buried inside because dealing with them was such a dirty work, or if leaving them unnamed meant that it was not possible to define them precisely enough, so they would keep their true meaning. Perhaps, all this life that I've known so far was in fact no more but a dream about living. The only thing that has kept me in touch with reality was you… I know it comes as a surprise, and you may be wondering why it took me so long to come clean. You also may be wondering how come you've never noticed before. I've tricked you on purpose, yes, and you must realize it really has nothing to do with you. It’s always been me. This is why, seeing you in my dream like that, came out as a shock. You also must forgive me. You must forgive me because I know how it looks like, that everything we ever shared was a lie, and it wasn't… I am more of an illusionist that a deceiver, but it all comes from being in fact, a very private person. Even if it was true that you knew me better than anyone, I’d never admit it. I’d rather dig my own heart out, with a rotten spoon, than admitting it. I may let people in my own little world occasionally, but I would never let them be aware of it. I don’t throw my intimacy in front of others, especially when I care. The more I care, the less I give away, and this is something for you to understand, and grant me your forgiveness. I didn't play my tricks on you in order to deceive you, but rather to save myself, and maybe even deceive myself as well. I’ve had hidden my feelings for you so deeply that I've learned to live with them, as if any other casualty. I have done wrong to myself as much as I did to you, and I don’t know if I can forgive myself. So now I wonder, could you forgive me without feeling sorry for me? I certainly don’t deserve your pity. Especially not now that I am awake.

TRANSFORMING You’ll eventually reach a point in your life where you start to realize your own worth, and you’ll find that you won’t take shit from anyone anymore because you’re strong enough to know that you deserve better.

You might not get the apology you deserve. You might not get answers to explain the actions of others. You might not get truth that makes sense to you. You might not get people to understand what you went through because of them. You might not get communication. You might not get maturity. You might not get mercy or even common decency. You might not get respect or the chance to explain your side of the story. However, you do get to choose how people treat you. God loves you enough to bring people into your life who won't hurt you, abuse you, betray you, lie and gossip about you, psycho analyse you, break your heart or make you an option or choice. He will bring people into your life that will love you, respect you, fight for you, show gratitude for your love and want to be a part of your life mission. The best part of this is you don't have to convince them of your worth. They want to be there. They know your value. They know your struggles. They are in touch with their own faults and understand you struggle just like everyone else. They won't hold you to a greater standard then they do themselves. They care about you and don't want to see you cry, feel discouraged or give up on this life. When you know the power of who you are and what you have to accomplish you will scratch your head in disbelief that you allowed other people to dictate who you are based on little knowledge of what God knows about you and your life purpose. Letting go isn't about accepting defeat or acknowledging you were wrong. Sometimes letting go is realizing that God has something better in store for you.

You won’t lose me. There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you. Absolutely nothing. You come first. Always. I love you. I don’t think you realize how much. Or how much I need you in my life. How whole and totally at peace I feel when you’re in my arms and I’m deep inside you. You’re the one, princess. The reason I wake up with a smile on my lips. The reason it stays on my face all fucking day. When I hurry home from work, I’m hurrying back to you. To you, Tate. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’ve made my choice. Don’t you ever say I deserve better.

Utterly spellbound, I’m beginning to realize I’ve never given grief the respect it deserves. Drawing no distinction between strong, weak, rich or poor, it plows through everyone’s lives the same, leaving identical mounds of emotional debris behind.

10 ways to raise a wild child. Not everyone wants to raise wild, free thinking children. But for those of you who do, here's my tips: 1. Create safe space for them to be outside for a least an hour a day. Preferable barefoot & muddy. 2. Provide them with toys made of natural materials. Silks, wood, wool, etc...Toys that encourage them to use their imagination. If you're looking for ideas, Google: 'Waldorf Toys'. Avoid noisy plastic toys. Yea, maybe they'll learn their alphabet from the talking toys, but at the expense of their own unique thoughts. Plastic toys that talk and iPads in cribs should be illegal. Seriously! 3. Limit screen time. If you think you can manage video game time and your kids will be the rare ones that don't get addicted, then go for it. I'm not that good so we just avoid them completely. There's no cable in our house and no video games. The result is that my kids like being outside cause it's boring inside...hah! Best plan ever! No kid is going to remember that great day of video games or TV. Send them outside! 4. Feed them foods that support life. Fluoride free water, GMO free organic foods, snacks free of harsh preservatives and refined sugars. Good oils that support healthy brain development. Eat to live! 5. Don't helicopter parent. Stay connected and tuned into their needs and safety, but don't hover. Kids like adults need space to roam and explore without the constant voice of an adult telling them what to do. Give them freedom! 6. Read to them. Kids don't do what they are told, they do what they see. If you're on your phone all the time, they will likely be doing the same thing some day. If you're reading, writing and creating your art (painting, cooking...whatever your art is) they will likely want to join you. It's like Emilie Buchwald said, "Children become readers in the laps of their parents (or guardians)." - it's so true! 7. Let them speak their truth. Don't assume that because they are young that you know more than them. They were born into a different time than you. Give them room to respectfully speak their mind and not feel like you're going to attack them. You'll be surprised what you might learn. 8. Freedom to learn. I realize that not everyone can homeschool, but damn, if you can, do it! Our current schools system is far from the best ever. Our kids deserve better. We simply can't expect our children to all learn the same things in the same way. Not every kid is the same. The current system does not support the unique gifts of our children. How can they with so many kids in one classroom. It's no fault of the teachers, they are doing the best they can. Too many kids and not enough parent involvement. If you send your kids to school and expect they are getting all they need, you are sadly mistaken. Don't let the public school system raise your kids, it's not their job, it's yours! 9. Skip the fear based parenting tactics. It may work short term. But the long term results will be devastating to the child's ability to be open and truthful with you. Children need guidance, but scaring them into listening is just lazy. Find new ways to get through to your kids. Be creative! 10. There's no perfect way to be a parent, but there's a million ways to be a good one. Just because every other parent is doing it, doesn't mean it's right for you and your child. Don't let other people's opinions and judgments influence how you're going to treat your kid. Be brave enough to question everything until you find what works for you. Don't be lazy! Fight your urge to be passive about the things that matter. Don't give up on your kid. This is the most important work you'll ever do. Give it everything you have.

Does it get better when you're older?" "It did for me," Connor said. "How?" Bolt asked. "Someone lese believed in me," Connor said. "All it took was one person's approval and suddenly I believed in myself, too. It gave me a shield to block out all the doubt and negativity. It made me realize I was just as capable and deserving as the people I compared myself to. But you know what? I was wrong." "You were?" Bolt asked. "Totally," Conner said. "I didn't NEED someone else. I had confidence in myself, deep down inside, the whole time. Approval is just a shortcut to self-worth, but sometimes we have to find things out on our own. Sometimes if we want something bad enough, we have to inspire ourselves to get it. Sometimes we have to be our own superhero.

When it comes to love, I realize that I am masochistic. They might consider me crazy for loving you despite everything that we have been through. You may not be worth the pain, but if it’s from you, I really don’t mind the devastation. I don’t want to ever let you go. I may deserve better than you, but you’re just the same, aren’t you? You are me. There is no difference. Tomorrow I will feel the same as I did the day before. You are the only one I could love this way, and that’s not something I ever want to give up.

Jack gave her a fierce look. “Your mother gave up the best thing she had in her life. I know you miss her, I know you’re confused and have all sorts of questions for her. But you’re better than her, Lola, you’re better than all of this. “She wronged you, not the other way around. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. She’s the one that needs to feel bad, not you. “Sometimes there are no answers. You have to accept that. Maybe you’ll never know what you think you need to know, but do you really need to know all the details, really? You know she wasn’t there when you needed her, she still isn’t here when you need her, but look around, Lola.” Jack opened his arms wide. “You got me. You got your aunt. Jared. Sebastian. Rachel. Even Isabelle. “You need to realize that and move on, as best you can. I had to realize that myself. When you let go of the pain and hurt and unanswered questions, Lola, then you’ll be okay. You’re safe now.” Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe now. Remember that. Believe that.

I am falling in love with you, Laney Keating.” “Don’t say that.” “It’s true.” “Don’t say it,” I said miserably, looking away. “Why?” Falling for someone is like pulling a loose thread. It happens stitch by stitch. You feel whole most of the time even while the seams pop, the knots loosen, everything that holds you together coming undone. It feels incredible, this opening of yourself to the world. Not like the unraveling it is. Only afterward do you glance down at the tangle of string around your feet that used to be a person who was whole and self-contained and realize that love is not a thing that we create. It’s an undoing. “Because you deserve better,” I whispered.

You deserve so much better, Summer. It’s like you’re so busy forcing yourself to smile and be happy all the time that you don’t even realize when you’re entitled to be pissed off.

Aye," the prince said. "I told the story to Ser Balon, but not all of it. As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. "There is your realm," she told her son and heir, "remember them, on everything you do." My own mother said those same words to me when I was old enough to leave the pools. It is an easy thing for a prince to call the spears, but in the end the children pay the price. For their sake, the wise prince will wage non war without good cause, nor any war he cannot hope to win. "I am not blind, nor deaf. I know that you all believe me weak, frightened, feeble. Your father knew me better. Oberyn was ever the viper. Deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dared tread on him. I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes. Your father and I worked more closely than you know...but now he is gone. The question is, can I trust his daughters to serve me in his place?

When despair has hooked them and dragged them deep into the depths of their own personal Hells,” he said as he clenched his fist and turned to face his nephew again, “not many are strong enough to climb back out. You gave her something to believe in. You made her do something she never knew how to do.” “What?” “You got her to love herself. You got her to realize she deserved better, and that, is the best thing one can do for someone.

Uh hum You made me MAD, motivated, less prideful, more intentional, disgusted, less arrogant, ready now, committed to helping more people, powerful beyond your wildest dreams, more humble, more kind, more open hearted, & realize I deserve better! Yes you made me!

Maybe it was hard before. Maybe you didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. Maybe you wished and prayed for better days. Maybe it seemed like it would never end. But you survived. You survived. You did what you needed to do, and you made it. You are so much more courageous and stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for. You are so much kinder and more compassionate than you realize. The fact that you even want to beat yourself up for how you handled your past shows that you believe you could have been a better person. Only good people feel that way. Only good people believe they could have been better. Only good people want to be better. So be good to yourself. Let it go and let yourself be better. It doesn’t start with you hurting yourself; it starts with you being good to yourself. You deserve it.

The biggest mistake you can make is holding on to people who has already let you go. Once you realize you deserve better, letting go will be the best decision. And truth is, you’re going to laugh again, love again, and trust again. God is going to restore everything you’ve lost.

I’ve always known Gigi was special. It only takes a second in her presence to realize that. But when I came home this time, I just couldn’t stay away. She has this pull. Makes you want to lean in and get as close to that light as possible. Makes you want to do better. Deserve her. I’m just lucky she gave me a shot.

The revulsion of feeling that Barrington experienced during the progress of the election was intensified by the final result. The blind, stupid, enthusiastic admiration displayed by the philanthropists for those who exploited and robbed them; their extraordinary apathy with regard to their own interests; the patient, broken-spirited way in which they endured their sufferings, tamely submitting to live in poverty in the midst of the wealth they had helped to create; their callous indifference to the fate of their children, and the savage hatred they exhibited towards anyone who dared to suggest the possibility of better things, forced upon him the thought that the hopes he cherished were impossible of realization. The words of the renegade Socialist recurred constantly to his mind: 'You can be a Jesus Christ if you like, but for my part I'm finished. For the future I intend to look after myself. As for these people, they vote for what they want, they get what they vote for, and, by God! they deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing, and if I had my way they should be chastised with scorpions. For them, the present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and premature death; and they vote for it and uphold it. Let them have what they vote for! Let them drudge and let them starve!

For what it's worth, I know how you feel," Conner told him. "I used to doubt myself a lot. When people told me I wasn't good enough, I believed them. It's hard not to when you're young." "Tell me about it," Bold said. "Does it get better when you're older?" "It did for me," Conner said. "How?" Bolt asked. "Someone else believed in me," Conner said. "All it took was one person's approval and suddenly I believed myself, too. It gave me a shield to block out all the doubt and negativity. It made me realize I was just as capable and deserving as the people I compared myself to. But you know what? I was wrong." "You were?" Bolt asked. "Totally," Conner said. "I didn't need someone else. I had confidence in myself, deep down inside, the whole time. Approval is just a shortcut to self-worth, but sometimes we have to find things out on your own. Sometimes if we want something bad enough, we have to inspire ourselves to get it. Sometimes we have to be our own superhero." Out of everything Conner said, he could tell this resonated with the boy the most. If he wanted to help people, maybe he had to start with himself. "But what if I fail?" Bolt asked. "What if the Snake Lord wins and I don't save anyone? Then I'll never be a superhero." "A very wise man once told me that 'courage is what makes a superhero super,'" Conner said. "He never sad anything about succeeding.

Wallingford vaulted up from his chair. “You’ve come here so that I can mollify you and share in your belittling of Anais? Well, you’ve knocked on the wrong bloody door, Raeburn, because I will not join you in disparaging Anais. I will not! Not when I know what sort of woman she is—she is better than either of us deserves. Damn you, I know what she means to you. I know how you’ve suffered. You want her and you’re going to let a mistake ruin what you told me only months ago you would die for. Ask yourself if it is worth it. Is your pride worth all the pain you will make your heart suffer through? Christ,” Wallingford growled, “if I had a woman who was willing to overlook everything I’d done in my life, every wrong deed I had done to her or others, I would be choking back my pride so damn fast I wouldn’t even taste it.” Lindsay glared at Wallingford, galled by the fact his friend— the one person on earth he believed would understand his feelings—kept chastising him for his anger, which, he believed, was natural and just. “If I had someone like Anais in my life,” Wallingford continued, blithely ignoring Lindsay’s glares, “I would ride back to Bewdley with my tail between my legs and I would do whatever I had to do in order to get her back.” “You’re a goddamned liar! You’ve never been anything but a selfish prick!” Lindsay thundered. “What woman would you deign to lower yourself in front of? What woman could you imagine doing anything more to than fucking?” Wallingford’s right eye twitched and Lindsay wondered if his friend would plant his large fist into his face. He was mad enough for it, Lindsay realized, but so, too, was he. He was mad, angry—all but consumed with rage, but the bluster went out of him when Wallingford spoke. “I’ve never bothered to get to know the women I’ve been with. Perhaps if I had, I would have found one I could have loved—one I could have allowed myself to be open with. But out of the scores of women I’ve pleasured, I’ve only ever been the notorious, unfeeling and callous libertine—that is my shame.Your shame is finding that woman who would love you no matter what and letting her slip through your fingers because she is not the woman your mind made her out to be. You have found something most men only dream of. Things that I have dreamed of and coveted for myself. The angel is dead. It is time to embrace the sinner, for if you do not, I shall expect to see you in hell with me. And let me inform you, it’s a burning, lonely place that once it has its hold on you, will never let you go. Think twice before you allow pride to rule your heart.” “What do you know about love and souls?” Lindsay growled as he stalked to the study door. “I know that a soul is something I don’t have, and love,” Wallingford said softly before he downed the contents of his brandy, “love is like ghosts, something that everyone talks of but few have seen. You are one of the few who have seen it and sometimes I hate you for it. If I were you, I’d think twice about throwing something like that away, but of course, I’m a selfish prick and do as I damn well please.” “You do indeed.” Wallingford’s only response was to raise his crystal glass in a mock salute.“To hell,” he muttered,“make certain you bring your pride. It is the only thing that makes the monotony bearable.

It wasn’t until I got to the law firm that things started hitting me. First, the people around me seemed pretty unhappy. You can go to any corporate law firm and see dozens of people whose satisfaction with their jobs is below average. The work was entirely uninspiring. We were for the most part grease on a wheel, helping shepherd transactions along; it was detail-intensive and often quite dull. Only years later did I realize what our economic purpose was: if a transaction was large enough, you had to pay a team of people to pore over documents into the wee hours to make sure nothing went wrong. I had zero attachment to my clients—not unusual, given that I was the last rung down on the ladder, and most of the time I only had a faint idea of who my clients were. Someone above me at the firm would give me a task, and I’d do it. I also kind of thought that being a corporate lawyer would help me with the ladies. Not so much, just so you know. It was true that I was getting paid a lot for a twenty-four-year-old with almost no experience. I made more than my father, who has a PhD in physics and had generated dozens of patents for IBM over the years. It seemed kind of ridiculous to me; what the heck had I done to deserve that kind of money? As you can tell, not a whole lot. That didn’t keep my colleagues from pitching a fit if the lawyers across the street were making one dollar more than we were. Most worrisome of all, my brain started to rewire itself after only the first few months. I was adapting. I started spotting issues in offering memoranda. My ten-thousand-yard unblinking document review stare got better and better. Holy cow, I thought—if I don’t leave soon, I’m going to become good at this and wind up doing it for a long time. My experience is a tiny data point in a much bigger problem.

I turn on my heel, which is no easy feat in a gravel parking lot. Not losing eye contact with Galen, I stare him down until I get to the door he's opened for me. He seems unconcerned. In fact, he seems downright emotionless. "This better be good," I tell him as I plop down. "You should have returned my calls. Or my texts," he says, his voice tight. As he backs out of the parking space, I yank my cell out of my purse, perusing the texts. "Well, doesn't look like anyone died, so why the hell did you ruin my date?" It's the first time I've ever cursed at royalty and it's liberating. "Or is this a kidnapping? Is Grom in the trunk? Are you taking us on our honeymoon?" You're supposed to be hurting him, not yourself, moron. My lip trembles like the traitor it is. Even though I'm looking away, I can tell Galen's impassive expression has softened because of the way he says, "Emma." "Leave me alone, Galen." He pulls my chin to face him. I knock his hand away. "You can't go forty miles an hour on the interstate, Galen. You need to speed up.” He sighs and presses the gas. By the time we reach a less-embarrassing speed, I’ve abandoned my hurt for rage-o-plenty, struck by the realization that I’ve turned into “that girl.” Not the one who exchanges her doctorate for some kids and a three-bedroom two-bath, but the other kind. That girl who exchanges her dignity and chances for happiness for some possessive loser who beats her when she makes eye contact with some random guy working the hot dog stand. Not that Galen beats me, but after his little show, what will people think? He acted like a lunatic tonight, stalking me to Atlantic City, blowing up my phone, and threatening my date with physical violence. He made serial-killer eyes, for crying out loud. That might be acceptable in the watery grave, but by dry-land standards, it’s the ingredients for a restraining order. And why are we getting off the interstate? “Where are you taking me? I told you I want to go home.” “We need to talk,” he says quietly, taking a dark road just off the exit. “I’ll take you home after I feel you understand.” “I don’t want to talk. You might have realized that when I didn’t answer your calls.” He pulls over on the shoulder of Where-Freaking-Are-We Street. Shutting off the engine, he turns to me, putting his arm around the back of my seat. “I don’t want to break up.” One Mississippi…two Mississippi…”You followed me like a crazy person to tell me that? You ruined my date for that? Mark is a nice guy. I deserve a nice guy, don’t I, Galen?” “Absolutely. But I happen to be a nice guy, too.” Three Mississippi…four Mississippi…”Don’t you mean Grom? And you’re not a nice guy. You threatened Mark with physical pain.” “You threw Rayna through a window. Call it even?” “When are you going to get over that? Besides, she provoked me!” “Mark provoked me, too. He put his hand on your leg. We won’t even talk about the kiss on your cheek. Don’t think I didn’t hear you give him permission either.” “Oh, now that’s rich,” I snort, getting out of the car. Slamming the door, I scream at him. “Now you’re acting jealous on behalf of your brother,” I say, spinning in place. “Can Grom do anything without the almighty Galen helping him?

He knew he was in love with her the moment he realized what love was. It was just like what you read in books, what you see in Shakespeare, what you hear in Beatles songs. Honestly, it was even better than all that. It was perfection; she was. There wasn't a moment he didn't think of her. Every time she spoke to him, he tried to replay her voice in his head over and over again. He wouldn't stop smiling. It was all he needed to be happy. She, was all he needed. He fell asleep at night thinking of her. He saw her in his dreams, her jet black hair and her brown eyes. Her long eyelashes. And that smile, oh that smile. She was all the motivation he needed. He didn’t understand how it was possible for someone to be so obsessed with another person. How could anyone possibly care for someone else the way he did for her? But it was all happening, it was real. He would do anything for her, absolutely anything. He knew he wouldn't ever force her to be with him. He would never put her on the spot; he would never risk losing her. In fact, he will give himself time, to become a better person, to grow into a more mature human being, the kind of man she deserves. He hoped, with all his heart, that someday, someday she'll love him the way he loves her. Let it be ten or twenty years from now, he didn’t care, he will wait for her. Until then he will love her, more and more, every day.

You deserve so much better” are the words of advice I give you as we enjoy a meal together, hoping you realize I am the better choice of whom I speak of. I don’t understand why you even entertain these clowns who don’t understand your worth as I sit here loving you until it hurts. Being this close to you is a curse because you only view me as a friend and nothing more, but I figured if I play the part then maybe we could one day be something more. “Friend Zone” from Crucified for 33 Thoughts

How do you remain an individual when you are also part of so powerfully driven a pair?” “Irrational or justified, it is what it is.” Gideon was realizing the logic of that for himself even as he spoke the words. “Perhaps, in time, it will be less acute. I have no desire to rob you of your individuality, nor do I wish to lose my own. It is difficult for me as well . . . I have been so solitary throughout my lifetime, and now, to be suddenly given such riveting company . . . I fear I cannot do you the justice you deserve. And for you it will be worse; with the influx of power you are beginning to experience it will be taxing, to say the least.” “I know.” Legna reached up and splayed her palms over the dark silk covering his chest. “I suppose at some point, if I start to go crazy, you are going to have to knock me out or tie me up or something.” “Hmm. The latter has possibilities,” he mused with a growling smile that erased the tension in his face. Legna laughed, giving him a shove. “Gideon, you are nothing but an ancient pervert,” she teased him. “And this is an issue because . . . ?” “You are horrible!” She pushed away from him, gaining her feet. He reached to take her hand, pulling her closer once more and continuing to do so until she had nowhere else to go but his lap. She took the seat, her voluminous skirts spreading over them both. “I will forgive you, this time,” she conceded. “Thank you,” he said with honest graciousness. “Now, my beauty, tell me what you would like to do to get to know me better. I find myself looking forward to your discoveries.” “Well, I did not think of anything specific. I imagined time would fill itself.” “That is dangerously liberal, sweet. If you leave it up to the natural course of things, I can tell you exactly what we will end up doing.” Legna giggled, blushing because she realized he was right. Even just sitting in his lap and talking as she was, she could feel the mutual awareness that sparked between them, constantly simmering and waiting for just a little more heat to bring them up to the boiling point. “Very well, I am open to suggestions,” she invited. “Again, too liberal,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischievous starlight. “You are incorrigible. I never realized you were a sex fiend, Gideon.” “I am now,” he amended, drawing a finger down the slope of her nose.

I reached down and squeezed his hand. "You are a good brother." He nodded. I could see in the gray light that he was crying a little. "Thanks", he said. "i kind of just want to stay here in this particular instant for a really long time." "Yeah", I said. We settled into silence and I felt the sky's bigness above me, the unimaginable vastness of it all - looking at Polaris and realizing the light I was seeing was 425 years old, and then looking at Jupiter, less than a light-hour from us. In the moonless darkness, we were just witnesses to light, and I felt a sliver of what must have driven Davis to astronomy. There was a kind of relief in having your own smallness laid bare before you, and I realized something Davis must have already known: Spirals grow infinitely small the farther you follow them inward, but they also grow infinitely large the farther you follow them out. And I knew I would remember that feeling, underneath the split-up sky, back before the machinery of fate ground us into one thing or another, back when we could still be everything. I thought, lying there, that I might love him for the rest of my life. We did love each other - maybe we never said it, and maybe love was never something we were in, but it was something I felt. I loved him, and I thought, maybe I will never see him again and I will be stuck missing him, and isn't that so terrible. But it turn out not to be terrible, because i know the secret that the me lying beneath that sky could not imagine: I know that girl would go on, that she would grow up, have children and love them, that despite loving them she would get too sick to care for them, be hospitalized, get better, and then get sick again. I know a shrink would say, write it down, how you got here. So you would, and in writing it down you realize, love is not a tragedy or a failure, but a gift. You remember your first love because they show you, prove to you, that you can love and be loved, that nothing in this world is deserved except for love, that love is both how you become a person, and why. - But underneath those skies, your hand - no, my hand, no - our hand - in his, you don't know yet. You don't know that the spiral painting is in that box on your dining room table, with a Post-it note stuck to the back of the frame. You don't know that you will make a life, see it unbuilt and rebuilt.

The enemy is not the blunt adult perseverating on applied behavioral analysis (ABA) research, the enemy is not the parent wearing a puzzle piece t-shirt (but please don’t), the enemy is the system that makes it so exhausting for families to get in-home supports, it is the bias that creates inequity in IEPs, it is the administrative burden that makes county services or social security a multi-year battle. If we fight these systems from the perspective of the community as a whole then we can create a better outcome for everyone. So it’s time—I challenge everyone reading this, both parents and advocates, to put down our swords and hold ourselves accountable for what has happened in the past, but also move forward with forgiveness and humbleness. There is no shame in realizing that you were previously speaking from a less informed place, there is no shame in accepting that we have room to learn and grow still.

The problem, Augustine came to believe, is that if you think you can organize your own salvation you are magnifying the very sin that keeps you from it. To believe that you can be captain of your own life is to suffer the sin of pride. What is pride? These days the word “pride” has positive connotations. It means feeling good about yourself and the things associated with you. When we use it negatively, we think of the arrogant person, someone who is puffed up and egotistical, boasting and strutting about. But that is not really the core of pride. That is just one way the disease of pride presents itself. By another definition, pride is building your happiness around your accomplishments, using your work as the measure of your worth. It is believing that you can arrive at fulfillment on your own, driven by your own individual efforts. Pride can come in bloated form. This is the puffed-up Donald Trump style of pride. This person wants people to see visible proof of his superiority. He wants to be on the VIP list. In conversation, he boasts, he brags. He needs to see his superiority reflected in other people’s eyes. He believes that this feeling of superiority will eventually bring him peace. That version is familiar. But there are other proud people who have low self-esteem. They feel they haven’t lived up to their potential. They feel unworthy. They want to hide and disappear, to fade into the background and nurse their own hurts. We don’t associate them with pride, but they are still, at root, suffering from the same disease. They are still yoking happiness to accomplishment; it’s just that they are giving themselves a D– rather than an A+. They tend to be just as solipsistic, and in their own way as self-centered, only in a self-pitying and isolating way rather than in an assertive and bragging way. One key paradox of pride is that it often combines extreme self-confidence with extreme anxiety. The proud person often appears self-sufficient and egotistical but is really touchy and unstable. The proud person tries to establish self-worth by winning a great reputation, but of course this makes him utterly dependent on the gossipy and unstable crowd for his own identity. The proud person is competitive. But there are always other people who might do better. The most ruthlessly competitive person in the contest sets the standard that all else must meet or get left behind. Everybody else has to be just as monomaniacally driven to success. One can never be secure. As Dante put it, the “ardor to outshine / Burned in my bosom with a kind of rage.” Hungry for exaltation, the proud person has a tendency to make himself ridiculous. Proud people have an amazing tendency to turn themselves into buffoons, with a comb-over that fools nobody, with golden bathroom fixtures that impress nobody, with name-dropping stories that inspire nobody. Every proud man, Augustine writes, “heeds himself, and he who pleases himself seems great to himself. But he who pleases himself pleases a fool, for he himself is a fool when he is pleasing himself.”16 Pride, the minister and writer Tim Keller has observed, is unstable because other people are absentmindedly or intentionally treating the proud man’s ego with less reverence than he thinks it deserves. He continually finds that his feelings are hurt. He is perpetually putting up a front. The self-cultivator spends more energy trying to display the fact that he is happy—posting highlight reel Facebook photos and all the rest—than he does actually being happy. Augustine suddenly came to realize that the solution to his problem would come only after a transformation more fundamental than any he had previously entertained, a renunciation of the very idea that he could be the source of his own solution.

You think this is a game?” I snap, pointing at Stanwin’s body. “A puzzle, with disposable pieces. Solve it and we get to go home.” He frowns at me, as if I’m a stranger who’s asked directions to a place that doesn’t exist. “I don’t understand your concern.” “If we solve Evelyn’s murder in the manner you’re suggesting, we don’t deserve to go home! Can’t you see? These masks we wear betray us. They reveal us.” “You’re babbling,” he says, searching Stanwin’s pockets. “We are never more ourselves than when we think people aren’t watching. Don’t you realize that? It doesn’t matter if Stanwin’s alive tomorrow; you murdered him today. You murdered a man in cold blood, and that will blot your soul for the rest of your life. I don’t know why we’re here, Daniel, or why this is happening to us, but we should be proving that it’s an injustice, not making ourselves worthy of it.” “You’re misguided,” he says, contempt creeping into his voice. “We can no more mistreat these people than we could their shadow cast upon the wall. I don’t understand what you’re asking of me.” “That we hold ourselves to a higher standard,” I say, my voice rising. “That we be better men than our hosts! Murdering Stanwin was Daniel Coleridge’s solution, but it shouldn’t be yours. You’re a good man. You can’t lose sight of that.” “A good man,” he scoffs. “Avoiding unpleasant acts doesn’t make a man good. Look at where we are, what’s been done to us. Escaping this place requires that we do what is necessary, even if our nature compels us otherwise. I know this makes you squeamish, that you don’t have the stomach for it. I was the same, but I no longer have the time to tiptoe around my ethics. I can end this tonight and I mean to, so don’t measure me by how tightly I cling to my goodness, measure me by what I’m willing to sacrifice that you might cling to yours. If I fail, you can always try another way.” “And how will you live with yourself when you’re done?” I demand. “I’ll look at the faces of my family and know that what I lost in this place was not nearly as important as my reward for leaving it.” “You can’t believe that,” I say. “I do, and so will you after a few more days in this place,

Anna: Right. I can only imagine. Etienne: And what, exactly, ist hat supposed to mean? Anna: Forget it. Etienne: No. Let’s not forget it. I’m sick and tired of forgetting it, Anna. Anna: You’re tired of forgetting it? I’ve had to do nothing BUT forget it. Do you think it’s easy sitting in my room every night, thinking about you and Ellie? Do you think any of this has been easy for me? Etienne: I’m sorry. Anna: You tell me I’m beautiful, and that you like my hair and you like my smile. You rest your leg against mine in darkened theatres, and then you acta s if nothing happened when the lights go up. You slept in my bed for three nights straight, and then you jsut … blew me off for the next month. What am I supposed to do with that, St. Clair? You said on my birthday that you were afraid of being alone, but I’ve been here this whole time. This whole time. Etienne: Anna. I am so sorry that I’ve hur you. I’ve made terrible decisions. And I realize it’s possible that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, because it’s taken me this long to get here. But I don’t understand why you’re not giving me the chance. You didn’t even let me explain myself lad weekend. You just tore into me, expected the worst of me. But the only truth I know is what i feel when we’re together. I thought you trusted those feelings, too. I thought you trusted me, I thought you knew me … Anna: But that’s just it! I don’t know you. I tell you everything, St. Clair. About my dad, about Bridgette and Toph, about Matt and Cherrie. I told you about being a virgin. And what have you told me? Nothing! I know nothing about you. Not about your father, not about Ellie … Etienne: You know me better than anyone. Andi f you ever bothered to pay attention, you’d understand that things with my father are beyond shite right now. And I can’t believe you think so poorly of me that you’d assume I’d wait the entire year to kiss you, and then the moment it happened, I’d … I’d be done with you. OF COURSE I was with Ellie that night. I WAS BLODDY BREAKING UP WITH HER! You say that I’m afraid of being alone, and it’s true. I am And I’m not proud o fit. But you need to take a good look at yourself, Anna, because I am not the only one in this room who suffers this problem.

You deserve someone so much better." "You will find someone better so soon that you wont even know." "I told you, he/she wasn't good enough for you." "Oh c'mon! He/she wasn't the ONE for you." "Things will soon be fine. It's just a phase." "He/she will never find anyone better than you. Let him/her rot in hell." Gradually, you realize that all these are STANDARD statements that everybody makes to everyone. Because they don't have anything else to say. But, only your heart knows what you actually want to hear is something else. Entirely different. How you actually want and need to be handled is different. But, you don't say. Because you are scared to lose what's now left with you, and that's completely fine. To be protective of what's left. Because you can't bring back the dead! However, you also realize, that out of all these people there was only one who had the courage to show you a mirror and not be shattered by your wrath. You realize that there was only one set of arms, that were your sanctuary even though you twisted them in an outburst of anger. Not suddenly, but really slowly it settles within you, that it was only one person who knew you inside out and had the bravery to handle you at your worst. Even more slowly it settles you let that person drift away when you wanted them to run back to you and hold onto you. And so you are left with people telling you, "life moves on" and no one telling you, "Let's just pause it here!

It was the same as I remembered it,” she whispered, sounding defeated and puzzled and shattered. It was better than he remembered. Stronger, wilder…And the only reason she didn’t know it was because he hadn’t succumbed to temptation yet and kissed her once more. He had just rejected that idea as complete insanity when a male voice suddenly erupted behind them: “Good God! What’s going on here!” Elizabeth jerked free in mindless panic, her gaze flying to a middle-aged elderly man wearing a clerical collar who was dashing across the yard. Ian put a steadying hand on her waist, and she stood there rigid with shock. “I heart shooting-“ The gray-haired man gasped, sagging against a nearby tree, his hand over his heart, his chest heaving. “I heard it all the way up the valley, and I thought0” He broke off, his alert gaze moving from Elizabeth’s flushed face and tousled hair to Ian’s hand at her waist. “You thought what?” Ian asked in a voice that struck Elizabeth as being amazingly calm, considering they’d just been caught in a lustful embrace by nothing less daunting than a Scottish vicar. The thought had scarcely crossed her battered mind when the man’s expression hardened with understanding. “I thought,” he said ironically, straightening from the tree and coming forward, brushing pieces of bark from his black sleeve, “that you were trying to kill each other. Which,” he continued more mildly as he stopped in front of Elizabeth, “Miss Throckmorton-Jones seemed to think was a distinct possibility when she dispatched me here.” “Lucinda?” Elizabeth gasped, feeling as if the world was turning upside down. “Lucinda sent you here?” “Indeed,” said the vicar, bending a reproachful glance on Ian’s hand, which was resting on Elizabeth’s waist. Mortified to the very depths of her being by the realization she’d remained standing in this near-embrace, Elizabeth hastily shoved Ian’s hand away and stepped sideways. She braced herself for a richly deserved, thundering tirade on the sinfulness of their behavior, but the vicar continued to regard Ian with his bushy gray eyebrows lifted, waiting. Feeling as if she were going to break from the strain of the silence, Elizabeth cast a pleading look at Ian and found him regarding the vicar not with shame or apology, but with irritated amusement. “Well?” demanded the vicar at last, looking at Ian. “What do you have to say to me?” “Good afternoon?” Ian suggested drolly. And then he added, “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, Uncle.” “Obviously,” retorted the vicar with unconcealed irony. “Uncle!” blurted Elizabeth, gaping incredulously at Ian Thornton, who’d been flagrantly defying rules of morality with his passionate kisses and seeking hands from the first night she met him. As if the vicar read her thoughts, he looked at her, his brown eyes amused. “Amazing, is it not, my dear? It quite convinces me that God has a sense of humor.

Obama!” the President said, shaking my hand. “Come here and meet Laura. Laura, you remember Obama. We saw him on TV during election night. Beautiful family. And that wife of yours—that’s one impressive lady.” “We both got better than we deserve, Mr. President,” I said, shaking the First Lady’s hand and hoping that I’d wiped any crumbs off my face. The President turned to an aide nearby, who squirted a big dollop of hand sanitizer in the President’s hand. “Want some?” the President asked. “Good stuff. Keeps you from getting colds.” Not wanting to seem unhygienic, I took a squirt. “Come over here for a second,” he said, leading me off to one side of the room. “You know,” he said quietly, “I hope you don’t mind me giving you a piece of advice.” “Not at all, Mr. President.” “He nodded. “You’ve got a bright future,” he said. “Very bright. But I’ve been in this town awhile and, let me tell you, it can be tough. When you get a lot of attention like you’ve been getting, people start gunnin’ for ya. And it won’t necessarily just be coming from my side, you understand. From yours, too. Everybody’ll be waiting for you to slip, know what I mean? So watch yourself.” “Thanks for the advice, Mr. President.” “All right. I gotta get going. You know, me and you got something in common.” “What’s that?” “We both had to debate Alan Keyes. That guy’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” I laughed, and as we walked to the door I told him a few stories from the campaign. It wasn’t until he had left the room that I realized I had briefly put my arm over his shoulder as we talked—an unconscious habit of mine, but one that I suspected might have made many of my friends, not to mention the Secret Service agents in the room, more than a little uneasy.

The thick ropes of his control began to unravel. When she curled both arms around his neck, it seemed natural to place his around her waist and pick her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips, bringing herself in direct contact with his hard-on. It was paradise. It was pure torture. He swore. She broke the kiss and smiled at him. “So you find me annoying, but you still want me,” she whispered. “I don’t find you annoying.” He pushed against her crotch. “I don’t find you annoying, either.” He read the passion in her eyes and knew she was more than willing to take things to the next level. He glanced around, searching for a soft, private spot, only to realize they were out in the open and likely to be discovered any second. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t smart, and he didn’t have a condom with him. Phoebe deserved a whole lot better. “I want you,” he told her. She tightened her legs around him. “Me, too.” Color stained her cheeks. “I’ve never said that to a man before.” Zane realized he hadn’t told a woman, either. He’d shown her, but he’d never actually spoken the words. Phoebe was changing him in all kinds of ways. He wanted her with a desperation he’d never felt before. And yet… “We can’t,” he said gently, ignoring the hardness and the pain in his groin. “You deserve better than something hot and fast up against a tree.” She swallowed. “I’m not so sure about that.” “I am.” “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Had she been anyone else, he would have said the hell with it and taken what she offered. But she was Phoebe. From behind them came the sound of a car horn honking, and then another. They couldn’t see anything through the trees, but they heard laughter drifting toward them as at least a couple of off-road vehicles drove slowly past. “Sounds like we have company,” he said. “We’re close to Stryker land. Guess they decided to say hi. You go on ahead. I need a few minutes.” When he pointed at the front of his jeans, she blushed. “Oh. I see your problem. Well, you could walk right behind me and no one would notice.” He chuckled. “I’ll wait it out. Go on.” “Okay.” She headed toward camp. Zane watched her go, taking in the sway of her hips and the wave she gave him right before she disappeared.

You look like a goddess,” he murmured as he raked his eyes down her form. And she melted into a puddle. “Thank you.” She tried to sound cool and sophisticated. “I much prefer wearing a gown that’s not too tight.” “Except where it should be.” He dropped his gaze pointedly to her bosom. The frank admiration in his eyes made her glad that she’d let Betty guide her choice for tonight. After that other scandalous gown, she’d been reluctant to wear anything low cut, but this one did look beautiful on her, even with its décolletage. Salmon had always been a good color for her, and the satin rouleaux trim made her feel pretty and elegant. “So it’s presentable enough for dinner with your family?” she asked. “They don’t even deserve to see you in it.” The low rumble of his voice made her breath catch in her throat. “I only wish that you and I could-“ “You do look lovely,” said another voice. Lord Gabriel came up from behind Oliver, dressed all in black as usual. A look of pure mischief crossed his face. “Sorry I’m late, Miss Butterfield, but thank you, brother, for keeping her company until I arrived.” Oliver glared at him. “What the devil do you mean?” “I’m taking the young lady down to dinner.” “That office should be left to her fiancé, don’t you think?” Oliver bit out. “Pretend fiancé. You have no real claim on her. And since you had her to yourself all day…” Lord Gabriel offered his arm. “Shall we, Miss Butterfield?” Maria hesitated, unsure what to do. But Oliver was a danger to her sanity, and his brother wasn’t. So she was better off with Lord Gabriel. “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking his arm. “Now just wait one blasted minute. You can’t-“ “What? Be friendly to our guest?” Lord Gabriel asked, his face a mask of innocence. “Really, old boy, I didn’t realize it mattered that much. But if it upsets you to see Miss Butterfield on the arm of another man, I’ll certainly yield the field.” Lord Gabriel’s words seemed to give Oliver pause. Glancing from Maria to his brother, he smiled, though it didn’t nearly reach his eyes. “No, it’s fine,” he said tightly. “Perfectly fine.” When they headed down the hall with Oliver following behind, Lord Gabriel flashed her a conspiratorial glance. She wasn’t sure what the conspiracy was, but since it seemed to irritate Oliver, she went along. The incident was only the first in a series that continued throughout the week. Whenever she and Oliver found themselves alone, even for a moment, one of his siblings popped up to offer some entertainment-a stroll in the gardens, a ride into Ealing, a game of loo. With each instance, Oliver grew more annoyed, for no reason that she could see. Unless… No, that was crazy.

Almost a decade ago, I was browsing in a Barnes & Noble when I came across a book called Route 666: On the Road to Nirvana. It was a music book about a band I liked, so I started paging through it immediately. What I remember are two sentences on the fourth page which discussed how awesome it was that 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' was on the radio, and how this was almost akin to America electing a new president: 'It's not that everything will change at once,' wrote the author, 'it's that at least the people have voted for better principles. Nirvana's being on the radio means my own values are winning: I'm no longer in the opposition.' I have never forgotten those two sentences, and there are two reasons why this memory has stuck with me. The first reason is that this was just about the craziest, scariest idea I'd ever stumbled across. The second reason, however, is way worse; what I have slowly come to realize is that most people think this way all the time. They don't merely want to hold their values; they want their values to win. And I suspect this is why people so often feel 'betrayed' by art and consumerism, and by the way the world works. I'm sure the author of Route 666 felt completely 'betrayed' when Limp Bizkit and Matchbox 20 became superfamous five years after Cobain's death and she was forced to return to 'the opposition' ...If you feel betrayed by culture, it's not because you're right and the universe is fucked; it's only because you're not like most other people. But this should make you happy, because—in all likelihood—you hate those other people, anyway. You are being betrayed by a culture that has no relationship to who you are or how you live... Do you want to be happy? I suspect that you do. Well, here’s the first step to happiness: Don’t get pissed off that people who aren’t you happen to think Paris Hilton is interesting and deserves to be on TV every other day; the fame surrounding Paris Hilton is not a reflection on your life (unless you want it to be). Don’t get pissed off because the Yeah Yeah Yeahs aren’t on the radio enough; you can buy the goddamn record and play “Maps” all goddamn day (if that’s what you want). Don’t get pissed off because people didn’t vote the way you voted. You knew that the country was polarized, and you knew that half of America is more upset by gay people getting married than it is about starting a war under false pretenses. You always knew that many Americans worry more about God than they worry about the economy, and you always knew those same Americans assume you’re insane for feeling otherwise (just as you find them insane for supporting a theocracy). You knew this was a democracy when you agreed to participate, so you knew this was how things might work out. So don’t get pissed off over the fact that the way you feel about culture isn’t some kind of universal consensus. Because if you do, you will end up feeling betrayed. And it will be your own fault. You will feel bad, and you will deserve it. Now it’s quite possible you disagree with me on this issue. And if you do, I know what your argument is: you’re thinking, But I’m idealistic. This is what people who want to inflict their values on other people always think; they think that there is some kind of romantic, respectable aura that insulates the inflexible, and that their disappointment with culture latently proves that they’re tragically trapped by their own intellect and good taste. Somehow, they think their sense of betrayal gives them integrity. It does not. If you really have integrity—if you truly live by your ideals, and those ideals dictate how you engage with the world at large—you will never feel betrayed by culture. You will simply enjoy culture more.

I realized it’s you that makes me my best,” he continues. “It’s you who challenges me to be a better man. You who makes me want to be the kind of man you deserve. And if I can be those things and find happiness for myself, that’ll only reflect positively on who I am as a parent.

Seeing the ugliness, whatever form it takes - malice, misery, aggression, negativity - constantly defeating the happiness of the people around me and seeing how much useless misery is born in the world and how much useful happiness is wasted, I grabbed in my hand the most eager "why" I could find and started writing, in the chance that I can defeat ugliness by explaining it. I wanted to understand how we've become so good at being sad, how we've become so good at not only at abandoning the beauty of our soul but asking its ugliness to show the world around us who we are. Every time I struggled with the question of who gives birth to my misery, I stumbled upon my own weaknesses. By writing for others, I learned myself. Nothing is accidental, not even anything that seems to happen by accident. It is no coincidence that there is so much sadness in the world. It exists because, by choosing to do what is easy and not what is right, we don't try to learn our weaknesses as well as we should to prevent them from producing misery or magnifying the misery someone else's weaknesses have produced. The more I wrote, the more I realized the value of the truth we should tell ourselves in achieving our happiness. Maybe it's time to say no to the lies we tell ourselves and finally tell the truth. This way, we will build self-knowledge, become as self-sufficient as we need to disarm our weaknesses and become happy. Every time we tell the truth to ourselves, we create self-knowledge and every time we lie, we tear it down. We all want to be happy, but we aren’t willing to do everything needed to deserve our happiness. Happiness is the disarming of misery. How can we feel happy though, when we aren't willing to defend our happiness from the onslaught of the ugliness of the world around us? How do we want to live a happy life when we fill it with ugliness? That's what we need to change. CALILO. Create a life you can fall in love with. However, the more we praise change, the more we remain the same, because we know that change often has more truth in it than we can bear. That's why we love to hide in the routine so much. Life doesn't come with an instruction book. We have to write it ourselves, one mistake at a time. Self-knowledge is the mother of happiness. When we get to know ourselves, we will feel as strong as we need to be to disarm our weaknesses and therefore be able to create beauty by neutralizing the ugliness within us and the ugliness around us. In this way, we will be able to change our lives for the better. When we learn ourselves well enough to disarm our weaknesses, we will allow our strengths to make us as successful and happy as they can. We will therefore create a life that has as little ugliness as possible, a life that has so much beauty that we will want to fall in love with. Let's tell ourselves the truth in order to drive away the ugliness we have been producing for so many years with our lies. The lies we tell ourselves create ugliness, which in turn, leads to misery. On the contrary, truth creates beauty that leads to happiness. We all have beauty in our souls, as long as we aren't afraid of the truth from which it is made. Let's live by translating the beauty of our soul into happiness, and not by translating its ugliness into the pain and misery of the people around us. We will then be able to create a world that is as real as it needs to be to feel so beautiful that it overflows with happiness.

This is real," he whispered, sitting up. "Yes," I said. "You're real. I thought-- I started to think--" He was shaking now. Shame burned through my body, but I pulled him into my arms, and still holding on we rolled back down to lie on the grass. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so sorry." For an answer, he only buried his face in the crook of my neck, and we lay still together for a long time, until at last he whispered in my ear, "At least you're not as shy as when we met." I was about to say, Do I need to remind you how much I am used to you?-- and then I bolted upright, skin burning. Because I remembered everything we had done together, remembered being this woman at ease in his embrace, yet I knew bone-deep that I had never even held hands with a man, let alone kissed one. Memories tangled in my throat and I couldn't breathe. Then I realized I had thrown him to the ground. "I'm sorry," I blurted, hoping I had not hurt him. But he was sitting up now too, leaned back with his hands behind him, his head tilted to one side. It was exactly the sort of posture that Ignifex might have sat in. "You saved me," he said quietly. The cadences of his voice were uncanny: entirely familiar, but not exactly like either Ignifex or Shade. "You saved me, and I think that covers almost half your sins." I snorted. "I was more than a little late." "Better than never," he said. "Besides, I did deserve it. I wronged you. Both of me." His mouth tightened, and then he said, whisper-soft, "I'm sorry too. Please forgive me." Neither one of them would ever have apologized so desperately. It was a new person staring back at me with blue eyes-- but I was a new person too. And if he, so long divided, could gather himself together and remember how to love me, then I could do the same for him. "Well, you were at least both handsome, too." I took his hand again; our thumbs rubbed together, and then suddenly we were kissing.

You’ll learn to stand up for yourself and feel sorry for those who can’t see all the light you bring into this world. You’ll realize that you deserve better than the way they make you feel about yourself, and you’ll find more strength in that simple fact than you ever will with them.

Penny deserved better than a guy like him. And he felt guilty for praying to God she never realized it, because he didn’t know what he’d do if she left. She’d put the color back into his life. The depth. She was his anchor. And if she were here right now, she’d tell him to stop dwelling. He grinned and looked at his feet. She’d be right, too. Life felt better when you enjoyed the positive instead of lingering on the negative.

Adam deserves so much better than you and I can only hope one day he realizes that. Touch my boyfriend without his consent again, sic one more unsuspecting female on him, and see what happens. It’ll be an entirely different conversation.

Iwalked home from the office and found Meg sitting on the stairs. She was sobbing. Uncontrollably. My love, what’s happened? I thought for sure we’d lost the baby. I went to her on my knees. She choked out that she didn’t want to do this anymore. Do what? Live. I didn’t catch her meaning at first. I didn’t understand, maybe didn’t want to understand. My mind just didn’t want to process the words. It’s all so painful, she was saying. What is? To be hated like this—for what? What had she done? she asked. She really wanted to know. What sin had she committed to deserve this kind of treatment? She just wanted to make the pain stop, she said. Not only for her, for everyone. For me, for her mother. But she couldn’t make it stop, so she’d decided to disappear. Disappear? Without her, she said, all the press would go away, and then I wouldn’t have to live like this. Our unborn child would never have to live like this. It’s so clear, she kept saying, it’s so clear. Just stop breathing. Stop being. This exists because I exist. I begged her not to talk like that. I promised her we’d get through it, we’d find a way. In the meantime, we’d find her the help she needed. I asked her to be strong, hang on. Incredibly, while reassuring her, and hugging her, I couldn’t entirely stop thinking like a fucking royal. We had a Sentebale engagement that night, at the Royal Albert Hall, and I kept telling myself: We can’t be late. We cannot be late. They’ll skin us alive! And they’ll blame her. Slowly—too slowly—I realized that tardiness was the least of our problems. I said she should skip the engagement, of course. I needed to go, make a quick appearance, but I’d be home fast. No, she insisted, she didn’t trust herself to be at home alone for even an hour with such dark feelings. So we put on our best kit, and she applied dark, dark lipstick to draw attention away from her bloodshot eyes, and out of the door we went. The car pulled up outside the Royal Albert Hall, and as we stepped into the blue flashing lights of the police escort and the whiteout lights of the press’s flashbulbs, Meg reached for my hand. She gripped it tightly. As we went inside, she gripped it even tighter. I was buoyed by the tightness of that grip. She’s hanging on, I thought. Better than letting go. But when we settled into the royal box, and the lights dimmed, she let go of her emotions. She couldn’t hold back the tears. She wept silently. The music struck up, we turned and faced the front. We spent the entire length of the performance (Cirque du Soleil) squeezing each other’s hands, me promising her in a whisper: Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.

Because I love you,” he said, the words coming out of him in a rush. “Because you were brave yesterday, and I was an ass, and you deserve better. Because I was afraid to tell you how I felt, I was afraid I couldn’t be the person you think you see in me—but you deserve someone who isn’t afraid. Because I’ve spent the past six years trying not to think about David, about all the ways that I’m not measuring up to him, about all the ways I’m still angry with him—and you’ve made me realize it’s all right. I feel like… like Jeremy again when I’m around you. And it feels like that’s enough.

there’s an abundance of great guys who can make you laugh, who find you attractive, intelligent and fun to talk to. There’s no need to flirt with these men, to seek their approval of course, but what this will do is lower the value of the guy you’re in a relationship with. You’ll start to realize that you do have options, and that you’re guy better start treating you with the respect you deserve, or that you have 101 other guys to pick from.

Flynn shrugged. “They deserved what happened during the Ordeal.” “Which was what, exactly?” Bryce asked. “Humiliation,” Declan said with relish. “A few weeks into our visit, King Morven—Cormac’s dad—ordered Ruhn to go see if he could retrieve the Starsword from the caves.” “Tell the whole story, Dec. Why did he order me to do that?” Ruhn growled. Dec sheepishly grinned. “Because I bragged that you could.” Ruhn cracked open another beer. “And?” “And I made fun of Cormac for not having gone to retrieve it yet.” “And?” “And I said that one Valbaran Fae warrior was better than ten from Avallen.” Bryce laughed. “So Uncle Morven sent you off to teach you a lesson?” “Yep,” Flynn said. “All three of us. We didn’t realize until we were in the mist—the caves are literally full of it—that he also sent Cormac and the asshole twins to hunt us in there.” “Starting blood feuds,” Bryce said to Declan, raising her hand for a high five. “Nice work.” Declan clapped her hand, but Ithan asked, “So your Ordeals happened then?” “Yeah,” Ruhn said, face darkening. “We all got lost in the caves. There was some … scary shit in there. Ghouls and wraiths—they were old and wicked. The six of us went from trying to kill each other to trying to stay alive. Long story short, Flynn and Dec and I wound up in these catacombs deep beneath the cave—” “Surrounded by bloodsucking spirits who were going to eat our bodies, then our souls,” Flynn added. “Or was it our souls, then our bodies?” Ruhn shook his head. “I got disarmed. So I looked in the sarcophagus in the center of the chamber where we were trapped, and … there it was. The Starsword. It was either die at the hands of those creatures or die trying to pull that sword from its sheath.” He shrugged. “Thankfully, it worked.” Declan said, “Bastards ran screaming from the cave when Ruhn drew the sword. Right to where Cormac and the twins were hunting us.” He grinned again. “The three of them had no choice but to flee back to their castle. King Morven was not happy. Especially when Ruhn returned with the Starsword and told him to go fuck himself.

Dad lets out a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Well, did you ask Billy to explain what’s going on?” “He said it’s not what I think it is. That he would never cheat on me. But he was so cagey and weird, and when I asked him to prove it by showing me the messages on his phone, he looked like a deer in headlights. It was like dating Ezra all over again.” I freeze when my father’s eyes snap to mine. Oh, shit. I slap my hand over my mouth and frantically shake my head. “No. Forget I said that last part.” He braces his arms on the table and looks down. We sit in silence for several minutes. “I wondered if Ezra was Marley’s father. She has his dark hair. And Billy punched him in the face. The better I got to know Billy, the more I realized he wasn’t just a loose cannon, that he must’ve had a good reason for doing that, but I didn’t want to believe the kid I treated like my own son would get you pregnant and then bail on you.” Finally, he looks at me. “I’m assuming you told Ezra the truth?” It’s a sad day when my father wonders whether I told the father of my baby I was pregnant. After how I behaved back then, I guess I deserve that doubt. “Of course.” “And he didn’t want to be involved?” “His response was basically, ‘Fuck no, I don’t want a baby.’” I take a deep breath. “Swear to me you won’t say anything. Because I promised Ezra I wouldn’t tell you the truth if he dropped the charges against Billy.

shoulder. “If your young man is innocent he’ll be all right. British justice is deservedly respected all the world over.” “But the p’lice, they’re something chronic; they’ll worm anything out of you,” blubbered Nellie. “Don’t get any wrong ideas about our excellent police force into your head,” Mr. Slocomb admonished her. “They are the friends of the innocent. Of course this is very unfortunate for your young man, but surely——” “There ’e is, my poor Bob, in a nasty cell! Oh, sir, d’you think they’ll let me see ’im?” “Well, really——” began Mr. Slocomb; but the conversation was interrupted by a strident call. “Nellie! Nellie! What are you about? Pull yourself together, girl! We have to dine even if...” Mrs. Bliss, the proprietress of the Frampton, flowingly clothed in black satin, paused in the doorway. “Dear me, Mr. Slocomb; you must be wondering what’s come to me, shouting all over the house like this! But really, my poor nerves are so jangled I hardly know where I am! To think of dear Miss Pongleton, always so particular, poor soul, lying there on the stairs—dear, dear, dear!” Nellie had slipped past Mrs. Bliss and scuttled back to the kitchen. Mr. Slocomb noticed that Mrs. Bliss’s black satin was unrelieved by the usual loops of gold chain and pearls, and concluded that this restraint was in token of respect to the deceased. “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Bliss, you must be distraught. Indeed a terrible affair! And this poor girl is in great distress about young Bob Thurlow, but I would advise you to keep her mind on her work, Mrs. Bliss; work is a wonderful balm for harassed nerves. A dreadful business! I only know, of course, the sparse details which I have just read in the evening Press.” “You’ve heard nothing more, Mr. Slocomb? Nellie’s Bob is a good-for-nothing, we all know”—Mrs. Bliss’s tone held sinister meaning—“but I’m sure none of us thought him capable of this!” “We must not think him so now, Mrs. Bliss, until—and unless—we are reluctantly compelled to do so,” Mr. Slocomb told her in his most pompous manner. “And Bob was always so good to poor Miss Pongleton’s Tuppy. The little creature is very restless; mark my words, he’s beginning to pine! Now I wonder, Mr. Slocomb, what I ought to do with him? What would you advise? Perhaps poor Miss Pongleton’s nephew, young Mr. Basil, would take him—though in lodgings, of course, I hardly know. There’s many a landlady would think a dog nothing but a nuisance, and little return for it, but of course what I have done for the poor dear lady I did gladly——” “Indeed, Mrs. Bliss, we have always counted you as one of Tuppy’s best friends. And as you say, Bob Thurlow was good to him, too; he took him for walks, I believe?” “He always seemed so fond of the poor little fellow; who could believe ... Well! well! And they say dogs know! What was that saying Mr. Blend was so fond of at one time—before your day, I daresay it would be: True humanity shows itself first in kindness to dumb animals. Out of one of his scrap-books. Well, the truest sayings sometimes go astray! But I must see after that girl; and cook’s not much better, she’s so flustered she’s making Nellie ten times worse. She can’t keep her tongue still a moment!” Mrs. Bliss bustled away, and Mr. Slocomb, apparently rather exasperated by her chatter, made his escape as soon as she had removed herself from the doorway. As Mrs. Bliss returned to the kitchen she thought: “Well, I’m glad he’s here; that’s some comfort; always so helpful—but goodness knows what the dinner will be like!” CHAPTER TWO THE FRUMPS DINNER at the Frampton that evening was eaten to the accompaniment of livelier conversation than usual, and now and again from one of the little tables an excited voice would rise to a pitch that dominated the surrounding talk until the owner of the voice, realizing her unseemly assertiveness on this solemn evening, would fall into lowered tones or awkward silence. The boarders discussed the murder callously. One’s

I'm not him. No one is and I wish you could realize that you deserve better than someone who isn't sure about you.

What? Did you say, you made me? Uh hum You made me MAD, motivated, less prideful, more intentional, disgusted, less arrogant, ready now, committed to helping more people, powerful beyond your wildest dreams, more humble, more kind, more open hearted, & realize I deserve better! Yes you made me!

I understand, lieutenant. I share your feelings, your anger.” Jim read in Jürgen’s eyes that he truly did. Against his better judgment, Jim drew a deep breath, then continued. “What I wanted to say is that I believe we’re going to uncover a plot so devastating it would put a Greek tragedy to shame. I think we’re on the verge of unearthing a genocidal scheme that will cast a shadow over German society for generations. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to throw spears at you, sir.” “But maybe I deserve them. Perhaps all of us who never swore allegiance to the Party deserve them for not standing up to the man we let commandeer our nation.” “The trouble is, you realize such things only in hindsight, never as they’re happening, never as you’re going down the road.” “Maybe,” Jürgen said, his words almost a whisper, “the road was just too dark.” “It had to have been,” Jim said softly, though he couldn’t really imagine, couldn’t really envision, living in a police state where the ideology of a despot was the only credo acceptable, and dissenting beliefs and actions were deemed punishable by imprisonment . . . or worse.

I can’t fall in love with you,” I whisper. He catches my wrist and turns his head, pressing his lips to my palm. When he releases me, I retract it. I keep my kissed palm safe against my chest, like he’s going to try something else. “I won’t,” I clarify. “Because—” “You will,” he replies. “You don’t have a choice. There’s never been a choice with us, wild girl. You’ll fall in love with me, and it’s going to be a hundred times better than any love you held for Knox. Because I deserve you and you deserve me.” His gaze intensifies. “And when you do realize that you’re madly in love with me, you’re going to know in your bones that I won’t leave you. I haven’t left you, and I won’t ever. It’s you and me until the end of time.

You will,” he replies. “You don’t have a choice. There’s never been a choice with us, wild girl. You’ll fall in love with me, and it’s going to be a hundred times better than any love you held for Knox. Because I deserve you and you deserve me.” His gaze intensifies. “And when you do realize that you’re madly in love with me, you’re going to know in your bones that I won’t leave you. I haven’t left you, and I won’t ever. It’s you and me until the end of time.

You deserve everything good in your life. It's funny, isn’t it? A lifetime of people walking away and never looking back left me scrambling for validation, for connection. Left me desperately chasing a version of me I’d never be able to attain. It took nearly sixteen years to realize the reason I’d never been able to be better was because there was nothing wrong with who I was in the first place. I’m still working on it, struggling every day to accept that I truly am deserving of all the good things in my life, a struggle that gets easier every day with my family by my side. And a handful of carefully selected words, spilled out like the tears cascading down their faces and mine, wipes the slate clean with a single sweep of the hand. Because life is too short to hold grudges, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that hurt people are desperate enough that they’ll do whatever they think they need to do to ease the pain, that we’re all just out here doing the best that we can, wherever we are in life.

For the better part of ten years I’ve been involved with a man who didn’t even like me. He just liked the sex. Because seriously, the sex was great. But now, as I sit here and listen to Simon talk about not settling for less than you deserve, I realize that this is exactly what I’ve been doing all of my adult life. It’s

Once she and Edwin were alone, she shifted away from his curiously possessive hand. This would be hard. What could she say? How could she break it to him gently? Then Edwin glanced at her with the accusing gray eyes that made her feel like a schoolgirl being taken to task by her papa, and she squirmed guiltily. “I take it that you are not really heading to the duke and duchess’s town house from here,” he said coolly. Sweet Lord, but he was astute. “No.” “And I suppose that means that you and Rathmoor have renewed your…er…friendship.” Blunt, too. Not that she was surprised. Edwin had always been blunt. But he’d never taken that hard tone with her, and it rankled a bit. “Yes.” She tipped up her chin. “I’m afraid we have.” Edwin strolled over to the fireplace and stood with his back to her, rigid as the pokers next to him. “You and I had a deal.” A long sigh escaped her. “I realize that. And I feel bad about reneging on it. I was looking forward to helping Yvette in society. She deserves a good marriage.” She squared her shoulders. “But I think I deserve one, too. With a man who wants me to be more than just a companion to his sister.” He muttered something under his breath. “I did intend our marriage to be a real one, you know.” That was a shock. Edwin had always been cynical about the institution. “Surely you’re not serious.” She wished he would look at her again so she could better guess what he was thinking. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give me some nonsense about how you’ve fallen in love with me.” “No.” As if realizing how sharply he’d answered, he shot her a rueful glance. “I suppose I could eventually come to love you. I’d at least make the attempt.” Poor man. “There’s no attempting with love. You either love someone or you don’t. Trust me on that.” He searched her face. “Are you in love with Rathmoor, then?” “Yes.” The answer came without her even thinking about it. Because she was. She probably always had been. She’d told Dom that he’d killed her love for him, but the truth was, it was unkillable. Though she’d thought to root him out of her heart, he’d merely lain dormant in the wintry ground, waiting until spring when he could grow over her heart like the pernicious honeysuckle in Uncle’s arbor. She should have told Dom last night how she felt, but she’d been too afraid that loving him might mean forgiving him for what he’d done. And she hadn’t been quite ready for that. She wasn’t sure she was now, either. All she knew was she loved him. Whether she could live with him was another matter entirely.

To transition from one phase of your life to another takes hard work. Most people give up when they hit their first speed bump. Most of the time those speed bumps are people who have been keeping them from transitioning all along or people from their past. If someone you care about doesn't support you in improving yourself, that is a great indicator it's time move on. Learning to walk away from a toxic relationship takes courage, determination, and a realization that there is a better life waiting for you! Maybe it's time to step outside of your comfort zone, let go, have faith, and surround yourself with people who will support you in your transition to a better life! You deserve to be treated with respect, you are worth it! I am posting this because I see this happen frequently and I want the best for everyone who is struggling!

She was a beautiful, kind woman, one I didn't deserve, but I swore to myself to be a better husband, a better man for her. "I should have made love to you before," I rasped, and my heart lurched realizing this was exactly that. Lovemaking. I was falling for Valentina. My body and heart were unable to resist her, and I'd fought this useless battle for far too long.

I have always come in a poor third with the people whose affection I most craved. Well, you know what? I'll be damned if I'll settle for that from you, too. I deserve better. Its taken me a while to realize it, but I do.

Lauren began to cry again, and Ashley reached out to grab her hand, grasping it tightly. “And maybe when I realized how bad things were for you, I thought, I can’t help myself, but I can help her. You didn’t have kids . . .” Her voice caught, but she pressed forward. “And I couldn’t let you live with that fear any longer. I didn’t want you to feel small. You deserve better. We both do.” Ashley finished and stared at Lauren, her eyes wide. She had laid her heart open, much like Ashley envisioned the warriors who’d once been sacrificed in this temple had. It was just for a moment, but she felt empowered. The truth was out there now, for better or for worse.

If I could tell my colleagues in the media four things, they would be: 1.Everyone hates you. 2.No one is afraid of you. 3.No one believes what you say. 4.Nobody owes you anything. If every journalist in America realized those four things, their behavior would transform overnight, immeasurably for the better, and the US might finally get the fourth estate it deserves.

help meet. But who said anything about what he deserves? You can only realize your womanhood when you are functioning according to your created nature. To covet his role of leadership is to covet something that will not make God, you, or him happy. It is not a question of whether or not you can do a better job than he; it is a matter of doing what you were “designed” to do. If you successfully do the job of leading the family, you will not find satisfaction in it. It is far better that the job be done poorly by your husband than to be done well by you. Your excellence as a help meet to him may very well be God’s plan for improving his leadership role in the family. Your female nature cannot be retrofitted to the male role without permanent damage to the original design.

Grabbing the bowl with both hands, I stepped right up behind him, reached my arms up high, and tipped it over. The sense of glee I got as I watched his entire body stiffen and all that batter fall onto his head was kind of alarming. No wonder he’d been so proud of his suction-cup hickey. I was damn proud of this mess. When only a little dribble was falling from the bowl, I brought the bowl away from his head, set it on the counter, and had only taken two steps when he grabbed me around my waist and hauled me back to him. The movement made him lose his footing on the now-slippery tile and we both crashed down to the floor. Quickly getting up on my hands and knees, I slip-crawled a few feet before my legs went out and I fell back to the floor. Kash dragged me back by my legs and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even attempt to try to crawl away as he flipped me over on my back and slipped toward me until he was covering my body. I laughed harder and wiped at his cheek, which was completely covered. “You, uh, got a little something there.” His eyes were silver as he growled, “Now do you feel better?” “Much!” “I probably deserved that.” “A little bit.” My laughter finally quieted and I smiled widely at him. “Rachel . . .” His voice dropped and the huskiness alone caused my breathing to deepen. When I realized that our bodies were flush, mine started warming again, and my eyelids fluttered shut when he brought one hand up to cup my cheek. When he repeated my name, I could feel his breath against my lips and they parted in anticipation. His hand left my cheek and he leaned closer to whisper in my ear, “Your hickey looks really lonely.” Wait. What?! My eyes flew open just as he wiped a hand covered in batter across my face. “You son of a bitch!” Kash laughed loudly and attempted to move some of the batter so it wasn’t in my eyes. “I will end you,” I said, making him laugh harder. “I hate you.” “Don’t lie, Sour Patch, you love me.” He was joking, I knew he was joking—but my heart still took off at his assumption. Kash must have noticed the change somehow, because he immediately stopped laughing and his gray eyes turned silver. “Rachel?” “I, uh—we should clean this up.” I attempted to slide out from under him, but he kept his weight on me and brought his hand up to my cheek again. I stopped moving beneath him and locked up my body as his gaze held mine. His silver eyes fell over my face as his head inched down, and in the torturous seconds where his lips hovered over mine again, I told myself a dozen times I needed to push him away. But needing and wanting are two completely different things. Kash closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine, and in that instant, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged and my body relaxed between him and the tile floor.

Ideology was a religion too, in the sense that it wasn't based on reason and its disciples defended it with the same fervor as religious fanatics. Nothing was new under the sun. Ideology, same as religion, provided its followers with a sense of superiority. Each group and subgroup, and each subgroup of the subgroup, thought it was better than everyone else, smarter, more deserving, and had the right to dictate to others what they should and shouldn't think. Even in the West, freedom of speech was becoming a joke. Unless you toed the line, you were not allowed to express your opinion in public. Speaking to oneself in the shower didn't qualify as freedom of expression. It was elitism, and humans, as well as immortals, were suckers for it. Those who were smart enough to realize that were also smart enough to exploit it. Manipulating the human masses was ridiculously easy, even without the help of mind control.

How could you be so toxic and think you'd win against logic? I fought the war of trying to keep us together, not realizing my enemy was you. You used and abused me. You really deeply and permanently bruised me. I gave you my all and it was never enough. Instead of making my life easy, you made it even more tough. Why didn't you have the decency to stop doing the atrocities you did to my soul? How is it that when I was surrounded by darkness, you never tried to console? What did I do to deserve all of this? Seems you never were the road ahead, just a soon-to-be memory causing a fall on the abyss. You're supposed to help me up when I'm down, not break me down when I'm falling. Your way of trying to control me , by trying to lower me down never worked. All you received is a fight to make you see, that I loved you too much and that you should better use your influence on me. But being stuck-up gauged your eyes out. Although I was blinded by love , finally I see... I gave it my all but it seems you didn't deserve this side of me. I never requested much of you, just a bit of love to keep us going... while your superficial nonsense destroyed it all. You want nothing of what's within. Just fame and glory. Instead of striving and sacrificing for family, you say "fuck it"... but not with me. Your warped sense of reality, cut nearly all the strings attached. Now it's just reflexes and my broken soul that turn my mind-view toward you. Nothing have you become, and again have I allowed myself to become numb by someone. But it's better to feel the hurt brewing inside the deepest pit of my soul, than to continue having my soul devoured by superficial and superfluous nothingness. Money is made to serve you, not you to be a slave of money. Money, fame and power is all you seek. I just want love, empathy and peace. Family will always be my priority.

For eight years, whenever anyone did not give President Barack Obama the respect he earned and deserved as Commander in Chief, as leader of these United States of America, elected by the Democratic process we should hold dear, I would become incensed. Love him or hate him; agree or disagree with his policies or leadership the President of our country is owed our deference. Those who could not see beyond whatever "issues" made them HATE President Obama so much saddened me and reminded me there is more work to do in America. I knew in my heart I could never be that ignorant. Democracy, being an American meant something more to me. As much as I am disappointed with the outcome of this election, and have doubts, I will (By the Grace of God) practice what I preached for eight years. As an adult whose immigrant parents raised her to carry herself with grace and dignity, as an educated woman who understands we still have our voice and can show discontent in progressive ways and as a woman who can disagree with you, but is still mature enough to respect you, I will use my power (a power we all have) to be the change I want to see in this world and pray that this President-elect fully understands this is not a game. Pray he realizes in no uncertain terms he is responsible for what happens to ALL people. I am not naive. I've seen and heard what we are dealing with. But, here we are. Can't change the outcome of the election but we can change how we take back our voices, act against injustice and stand up for our rights. This country has served up greater injustices to women and people of color and immigrants and we endured and continue to overcome (however slow the process). I pray for anyone, everyone who is buckling under the weight of injustice (of any kind) will channel the strength of past heros and believe with God and a willingness to speak up stand up for ourselves we will get through this. Don't become who "they" were for eight years. Be better. We have work to do. Love to all. Hate is to dam stressful and counterproductive.