Reload Quotes

Be leery of silence. It doesn't mean you won the argument. Often, people are just busy reloading their guns.

1. Organize before they rise! 2. They feel no fear, why should you? 3. Use your head: cut off theirs. 4. Blades don't need reloading. 5. Ideal protection = tight clothes, short hair. 6. Get up the staircase, then destroy it. 7. Get out of the car, get onto the bike. 8. Keep moving, keep low, keep quiet, keep alert! 9. No place is safe, only safer. 10. The zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on.

There was a momentary lull in the shooting and spellslinging, and the kid started scrambling to his feet. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “In my family that’s not silence; it’s reloading.

yeah, i'm a rocket ship on my way to mars on a collision course i am a satellite i'm out of control i am a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh oh explode i'm burnin' through the sky yeah two hundred degrees that's why they call me mister fahrenheit i'm trav'ling at the speed of light i wanna make a supersonic woman of you

Maxim 37: There is no "overkill." There is only "open fire" and "reload." -The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries

There is always a price to pay for badassery. Neo was a badass in the Matrix and the Matrix Reloaded, but the price he had to pay was The Matrix Revolutions.

Peace, that glorious moment in time when everyone stops and reloads.

My life is over. My one forever love has been snatched away, condemned by my own father's rules to die, just because he loved me. I am without a home, without a single person to love. And after having discovered love, lived for a short while surrounded by love, that is to much to bear. I am a pariah, at church, at school. The few people I once called friends have betrayed me and caused the death of my husband, our innocent child. And so they should die too. All of them. Dad. Bishop Crandall. Trevor, Becca, Emily. With the pull of a 10mm hair trigger, their lives will end at sacrament meeting. Such lovely irony! And when I finish there, I'll hide in the desert, reload, and go in search of Carmen and Tiffany, who started the rumors. And Derek, just because.

Storm gave the gun to Elora so that she could practice the reload. He moved behind her to make sure her form was correct. The first two shots missed altogether. One hit a target in the crotch-two targets away from where she was aiming. By the fourth round she was managing to hit her target...in the crotch. Ram said, "I'm beginnin' to sense a very disturbin' pattern here.

Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everyone is standing around reloading

I needed a book in case of emergencies." "You mean like being attacked by foul-mouthed highwaymen?" "No, I mean those moments when nothing important is happening, such as during travel. After supper. Before sleeping. Or whilst one's opponent reloads their gun.

How many times did you shoot my father?” Tester asked. “I felt in danger for my life,” Mr. Howard said. “I emptied my revolver. Then I reloaded and did it again.

Please?” asked the girl. “I AM BUSY. I AM TRYING TO FIX CONTINENTAL DRIFT.” “I…didn’t know it was broken.” Uriel’s face became more animated, his speech faster. “IT HAS BEEN BROKEN FOR FIVE WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS. I THINK IT BROKE WHEN I RELOADED NEW ZEALAND FROM A BACKUP COPY, BUT I DO NOT KNOW WHY. MY SYNCHRONIZATION WAS IMPECCABLE AND THE CHANGE PROPAGATED SIMULTANEOUSLY ACROSS ALL SEPHIROT. I THINK SOMEBODY BOILED A GOAT IN ITS MOTHER’S MILK. IT IS ALWAYS THAT. I KEEP TELLING PEOPLE NOT TO DO IT, BUT NOBODY LISTENS.

When the going gets tough, the tough reload." Nick DH

Sen beni öpersen belki de aşkımız pratik karşılık bulur Ne ikna edici bir intihar girişimidir şimdi göz göze gelmak Elbette ata binmek gibidir seni sevmek sevgilim Elbette gayet rasyoneldir attan atlamak -Freud diye bir şey yoktur. Sen beni öpersen belki de ben gangsterleşirim Belki de şair olurum seni de aldırırım yanıma Bilesin; göğsümde hangi yöne açmış tek gülsün Yani ya bu eller öpülür, ya sen öldürülürsün. -Haydi iç de çay koyayım.

Ah aşk! Bir topluluğun fotoğraf çekildikten sonra Dağıldığı An.

Gojyo: That no good holy man's been rubbing off on you! Goku: Me? Like Sanzo?! What a rotten thing to say!

Swallow future Spit out hope Burn your face Upon the chrome

Sen beni öpersen belki de ben Fransız olurum Şehre inerim bir sinema yağmura çalar Otomobil icad olunur Zarifoğlu ölür Dünyadaki tüm zenciler kırk yaşından büyüktür. -Senegalliler dahil değil. Sen beni öpersen belki de bulvarlar iltihablanır Çağdaş coğrafyalarda üretir cesetlerini siyaset bilimi O vakit bir sufiyi tül darplarla gebertebilirsin Hayat bir yanıyla güzeldir canım, sen de güzelsin -Yoksa seni rahatsız mı ettim?

Şu çıplak çocuk şu tüyük bürk şairi ben -Ve emir ‘kûn’ diyor, doğruluyorum- ‘bu ülke’den daha bıçkın tamlama bilmiyorum. AYAKKABILARINI KAPIMIN ÖNÜNDE GÖRMEYİ İSTİYORUM! Çünkü bu, Seni seviyorumun içine nal salmak demektir. Ve hareketinin bana durduğunu akla uydurur. Oysa seni sevmem toplumu meşru kılar Ve gitmen beni dile indirger sevgilim. …

Seni öyle seviyorum ki Condeleeza, bebeğim Ağzına veresim geliyor Ağzımdaki dişleri!

Hakkai: Your footwork is lacking. Gojyo: It's hard to control such long, sexy gams.

ah! ben bundan sonra bir karı sevmek! başkasını sevmek” * işte sen gülüyorsun ve beni daha geniş bir salona almış oluyorlar …

Hey, dickhead!" one of the other drivers yelled. "Get off the road!" "This here is a Falcon Seven," the rider told him. "I can put a bolt through your windshield and pin you to your seat like a bug." A direct threat, huh? Okay. I pulled down my sunglasses a bit so the rider would see my eyes. "That's a nice crossbow." He glanced in my direction. He saw a friendly blond girl with a big smile and a light Texas accent and didn't get alarmed. "You've got what, a seventy-five-pound draw on it? Takes you about four seconds to reload?" "Three," he said. I gave him my Order smile: sweet grin, hard eyes, reached over to my passenger seat, and pulled out my submachine gun. About twenty-seven inches long, the HK was my favorite toy for close-quarters combat. The rider's eyes went wide. "This is an HK UMP submachine gun. Renowned for its stopping power and reliability. Cyclic rate of fire: eight hundred rounds per minute. That means I can empty this thirty-round clip into you in less than three seconds. At this range, I'll cut you in half." It wasn't strictly true but it sounded good. "You see what it says on the barrel?" On the barrel, pretty white letters spelled out PARTY STARTER. "You open your mouth again, and I'll get the party started." The rider clamped his jaws shut.

In a fight with Comanches, dismounting on open ground was like signing your own death warrant. Men on foot against mounted men moving 20-30 miles per hour who could shoot twelve arrows in the time it took to reload a rifle and fire it once was not a fair fight.

I would let you ride shotgun, but first I’ll need to reload.

I was lounging in the kitchen, enjoying the small fermata between emptying the dishwasher and reloading it. It's a glamorous life.

Hope. It is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and greatest weakness.

Love always finds its way, but if you love someone just say...

… Aşk çok kanlı bir çiçektir: Turgut, karınca… … Ağlıyorum mintanımı yandı zannedin Terliyorum bombaya Kudüsler düşsün Kapatıyorum söyleyin Sabbah’a pussun Bana ellerini ver anne karıma.

I must have made a noise, but the next thing I remember is being on my knees with my head low and a big, warm hand on the back of my neck. Adam’s scent, rich and exotic, was all around me, giving me his strength to calm my queasy stomach. I don’t think I lost consciousness completely, but it was a near thing. When I lifted my head, the red wolf stuck his nose in my face and ran a long tongue over my cheek before Adam cuffed him lightly. I got to my feet with Adam’s help, but stood on my own. Adam reloaded the automatic when I handed him a fresh clip—though he grinned when I took it out of my bra. I think I was glad I couldn’t hear well enough to decipher what he said.

All teenagers are drama queens inside their minds, even the mousiest of us. We load and reload movies of ourselves in heroic postures and outlandish triumphs, movies that if they were ever to be played in front of an audience of people we know and love, would cause us to shrivel in shame

It's like escaping a hot, bright room for the serenity of a city at night, covered in snow. People eliminated. A carpet of silence for taxis to whisper across. The world becoming a pleasant dream of itself. The itch of want smoldering to life on skin. Memory sends a chill vanishing between vertebrae. It's New Year's Eve. Hail the Calendar! As if clocks will pause for a moment before reloading their long rifles. Years are tiny freckles on the face of a century. Where is the constellation we gazed at each night Through a bill rolled so tight the first President lost his breath, as our eyeballs literally unraveled? I am alone in the rectangular borough in the observatory, where even fire trucks can't rescue the arsonist stretching his calves in my brain.

Annemi üzdüm Böylece hep bana tirenler çarpsın Çirkin olduğum için aynaya bakmazsam; güzelim. Aklıma yeni fikirler boca olunca Bazen çok terliyorum, bazen ise kan! Yahya Kemal Madrid’teyken…- yeni öğrendim- Maalesef seni çok özlüyorum ben! …

Edebiyattan nefret ediyorum ama Bu sana ne tür bir tabanca sağlar ki?

Yeni Başlayanlar İçin Hallac-ı Mansûr “Öğrenciydi. Bir kıza aşıktı Ve aynı zamanda başka bir senaryo üzerinde çalışıyordu.

Look alive, Greencloaks,” Abeke said, reloading her bow. “We’re under attack.

I felt in danger for my life,” Mr. Howard said. “I emptied my revolver. Then I reloaded and did it again.” Tester’s

A poster hangs next to another door and reads: STAY CALM AND RELOAD. There are also guns, lots of them.

I doubt there is even a word in Afghani for peace. Nearest to it is probably a phrase that translates as “just getting my break back and reloading

That was foolish of me," she said coldly while she reloaded the gun. "I don't need a gun. If I had to kill him, I could do it with my bare hands." "I love you, too," Jason smiled at her.

Emmy said Kent and June didn’t use weapons, just mouths, both parties packing serious heat in that department. Kent was a yeller, but mouthwise, June was an AR-15. Instant reload, engineered to kill.

He seemed to consider that as he set down his can. “You do the job long enough, gets harder to tell. We’re all liars,” he said, taking the gun and reloading the magazine with a snap. “Some of us are just better at hiding it.

This was what Ditlev loved: ceaseless gunfire, ceaseless killing, flapping specks in the sky terminated in an orgy of color. The slow drizzle of birds' bodies falling from above. The eagerness of the men to reload their weapons.

he knew all my caches and clichés—and pulled out an extra box of shells. “What other weapons do we have?” I started the Bullet and pulled the gear selector down into drive. “Steadfast resolution.” I turned and looked at him, not as if he would take the option, but it had to be said. “If you want out, now would be the time.” He actually laughed as he reloaded the round. “I try never to miss an episode of Steadfast Resolution—it is my favorite program.” •

Since this used to be a Martian ship, I thought maybe you’d have reloads that would fit our racks.” “Sure,” Captain Tseng said without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll have the destroyer Sally Ride pull alongside for munitions transfer.

It's her! Selene! Your Majesty!" Cinder took a step back and felt her serenity slough away, leaving behind the same tension she'd lived with for two long years. That feeling of being in the spotlight, of having responsibilities, of needing to meet expectations... "Why did you abdicate the throne?" someone yelled. And another: "How does it feel to be back on Earth?" And "Will you attend the Commonwealth ball again this year?" And "Is the upcoming Lunar-Earthen wedding a political statement? Do you want to say anything about the union? A loud gunshot blared across the gravel driveway. The journalists screamed and dispersed, some cowering behind the Rampion's landing gear, others rushing back to the safety of their own hovers. "I'll give you a statement," said Scarlet, reloading the shotgun in her arms as she marched toward them. She sent a piercing glare at the journalists who dared to peek out at her. "And the statement is, Leave my guests alone, you pitiful, news-starved vultures." With a frustrated huff, she looked up at Cinder, who had been joined by the others at the top of the ramp. Scarlet looked much the same as Cinder remembered her, only more frenzied. Her eyes had an annoyed, bewildered look to them as she gestured haplessly at the farmland behind her. "Welcome to France. Let's get you inside before they send out the android journalists -they're not as easy to scare off.

Why, Mr. Anderson?, Why, why?. Why do you do it? Why, why get up?. Why keep fighting?. Do you believe you're fighting...for something?. For more than your survival?. Can you tell me what it is?. Do you even know?; Is it freedom?, Or truth?. Perhaps peace?. Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although... only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now, You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson?. Why?, Why do you persist?. Agent Smith ( Matrix Revolutions Movie, 2003 ).

With the gun which was too big for him, the breech-loader which did not even belong to him but to Major de Spain and which he had fired only once, at a stump on the first day to learn the recoil and how to reload it with the paper shells, he stood against a big gum tree beside a little bayou whose black still water crept without motion out of a cane-brake, across a small clearing and into the cane again, where, invisible, a bird, the big woodpecker called Lord-to-God by negroes, clattered at a dead trunk. It was a stand like any other stand, dissimilar only in incidentals to the one where he had stood each morning for two weeks; a territory new to him yet no less familiar than that other one which after two weeks he had come to believe he knew a little--the same solitude, the same loneliness through which frail and timorous man had merely passed without altering it, leaving no mark nor scar, which looked exactly as it must have looked when the first ancestor of Sam fathers' Chickasaw predecessors crept into it and looked about him, club or stone axe or bone arrow drawn and ready, different only because, squatting at the edge of the kitchen, he had smelled the dogs huddled and cringing beneath it and saw the raked ear and side of the bitch that, as Sam had said, had to be brave once in order to keep on calling herself a dog, and saw yesterday in the earth beside the gutted log, the print of the living foot. He heard no dogs at all. He never did certainly hear them. He only heard the drumming of the woodpecker stop short off, and knew that the bear was looking at him. he did not move, holding the useless gun which he knew now he would never fire at it, now or ever, tasting in his saliva that taint of brass which he had smelled in the huddled dogs when he peered under the kitchen.

For untaught soldiers it was rough, and men fought blindly, not knowing what they were doing; an officer came on one man who was loading his musket feverishly, firing straight up into the air, reloading and firing again, an automaton acting entirely by blind instinct.

Rooster here has missed Ned a few times himself, horse and all,' said the captain. 'I reckon his is on his way now to missing him again.' Rooster was holding a bottle with a little whiskey in it. He said, 'You keep on thinking that.' He drained off the whiskey in about three swallows and tapped the cork back in and tossed the bottle up in the air. He pulled his revolver and fired at it twice and missed. The bottle fell and rolled and Rooster shot at it two or three more times and broke it on the ground. He got out his sack of cartridges and reloaded his pistol. He said, 'The Chinaman is running them cheap shells in on me again.' LaBoeuf said, 'I thought maybe the sun was in your eyes. That is to say, your eye.' Rooster swung the cylinder back in his revolver and said, 'Eyes, is it? I'll show you eyes!' He jerked the sack of corn dodgers free from his saddle baggage. He got one of the dodgers out and flung it in the air and fired at it and missed. Then he flung another one up and he hit it. The corn dodger exploded. He was pleased with himself and he got a fresh bottle of whiskey from his baggage and treated himself to a drink. LaBoeuf pulled one of his revolvers and got two dodgers out of the sack and tossed them both up. He fired very rapidly but he only hit one. Captain Finch tried it with two and missed both of them. Then he tried with one and made a successful shot. Rooster shot at two and hit one. They drank whiskey and used up about sixty corn dodgers like that. None of them ever hit two at one throw with a revolver but Captain Finch finally did it with his Winchester repeating rifle, with somebody else throwing. It was entertaining for a while but there was nothing educational about it. I grew more and more impatient with them. I said, 'Come on, I have had my bait of this. I am ready to go. Shooting cornbread out here on this prairie is not taking us anywhere.' By then Rooster was using his rifle and the captain was throwing for him. 'Chunk high and not so far out this time,' said he.

torpedo, too, either missed the target or failed to explode. Undaunted, Prien then headed southward, away from the Royal Oak, to reload his bow tubes. An hour later, just past 1:00 a.m., with the crew of the battleship still no wiser about his presence, he returned to fire three more torpedoes.

… Kuş patladı, Allah vardır, bisiklet söylüyorum Fotoğrafı ve’l asr ile açıkla derdi babam Kuyulardır, derindir, içinde adam vardır Yusuf bile düşmüştür aleyhisselam! … Ve nihayet göğe düşsem bengitay işte Annemi daha içeriden açıklayabilirim Şol cinnete pasaj dersen sevgilim beni sıkma Sevgilim beni sıkma ben okuma bilirim.

Life is a never ending struggle sometimes overloaded with ego s sometimes reloaded with a power of humble sweetness .sometimes lifes brings around of beautiful hope like the paintings of life by an imaginating artist . Life is a beautiful odessey of a writers paradise o life there is beauty in it priceless and colourless as the blue skies

Bekir niye sustun alnımda Hiç kurşun yok diye mi? Hamza'ya kan sattım diye mi sarardın İsmet? Halbuki kırdığım aynadan kum fışkırınca Al bu ipi sen çek, bu ipi sen çek!

SENİN BIRAKTIĞIN YERDEN ALLAHÛ EKBER

SENİ ŞU DÜNYA GÖZLERİMLE NE DE SEYREK GÖRÜYORUM ADIYLA ANILIR BİR BEYGİR VARDIR Kİ TAM TAMINA ÜÇ AYDIR İNMİYORUM SIRTINDAN!

What's in the bag?" Plath asked. "Laptops and phones. And guns." "Laptops and phones and guns, oh my!" Burnofsky parodied.

The movies make being crazy look wild and imaginative, filled with fantastic delusions and intricate camerawork. But the truth is, mental illness is like a dull job you can't quit.

Louie grabbed the flare gun, loaded it, and fired. The flare shot straight at the bomber; for a moment, the men thought that it would hit the plane. But the flare missed, passing alongside the plane, making a fountain of red that looked huge from the raft. Louie reloaded and fired again. The plane turned sharply right. Louie fired two more flares, past the tail.

Holy shit!” he shouted. “You were nearly incinerated!” “Merlin?” Gwen said as Mercer weapons began to reload. Merlin snapped his fingers and every living on the moon, apart from the three of them, froze. “Note to self, the moment they need me is a tad too literal. Next time I’ll try for an hour before the moment they need me. Although, let’s not hope for a next time.

İnanmışım kaybetmek esrarıdır esrarın Çıldırmış bir vaşak gibi kaybediyorum İpimden kurtulmuşum kaybediyorum Birleşmiyor ellerimiz haykırıyor trapez ... AYAKKABILARINI KAPIMIN ÖNÜNDE GÖRMEYİ İSTİYORUM! Çünkü bu, Seni seviyorumun içine nal salmak demektir Ve hareketinin bana durduğunu akla uydurur. Oysa seni sevmem toplumu meşru kılar Ve gitmen beni dile indirger sevgilim.

It is ironic, in the manner of a dystopian nightmare, that an advanced capitalist empire which is founded on genocide and slavery, which still functions as the global police, which has an armed population, which routinely violates international human rights, which has the largest known military industrial complex in the world, which is the world’s largest producer of pornography, has also produced a saccharine ideology in which ‘positive thinking’ functions as a form of psychological gentrification. And it is not insignificant that the neoliberal lie that one is 110% responsible for one’s life—first powerfully encapsulated by the ‘alternative’ conservative thinker Louise Hay, and more recently echoed by Eckhart Tolle, author of The Power of Now (1997/2005)—is directed at women. Today, gendered victim-blaming has become a form of upwardly mobile common sense ‘wisdom’. Now victimblaming is expressed by voices that sound soothing, wise, calm, above all, loving.

Yaşasın! Ne kadar da ideolojik yaklaşıyoruz birbirimize” … Bunun için kent nesnesi o bıçakla bakunin‘di deştiğim Ki ben devletin taş kestiğini en başından bilirdim İsa‘yı polise doğru Lttuğum zaman. Ellerini el olarak tutmak istiyor ellerim De ki bunun kaburgamdaki kiliseyle ilgisi yok değildir Zaten en az on iki kişiden biri haindir Ama gözlerimi öyle yırtma annem ilkokul öğretmeniydi benim! …

When Pa went into the Big Woods, he always made sure that the bullet pouch was full of bullets, and that the tin patch box and the box of caps were with it in his pockets. The powder horn and a small sharp hatchet hung at his belt and he carried the gun ready loaded on his shoulder. He always reloaded the gun as soon as he had fired it, for, he said, he did not want to meet trouble with an empty gun.

We don't all make it out the other side, not all of us. But somewhere, there's the click of a pen, a proud signature, a father's hand on a young man's shoulder, and we reload. That's the sound of our collective gun cocking, the click of a pen. That's us racking another round in the chamber. Fire that boy out, hope you hit something. If he gets three before he goes home in his own bag, then the numbers look good. That father gets his medal. No one else to wear it.

I have become acutely conscious of the way my brain degrades when I strap it in to receive the full barrage of the internet—these unlimited channels, all constantly reloading with new information: births, deaths, boasts, bombings, jokes, job announcements, ads, warnings, complaints, confessions, and political disasters blitzing our frayed neurons in huge waves of information that pummel us and then are instantly replaced. This is an awful way to live, and it is wearing us down quickly.

Ah laikse aşkımız elbet biter bir kışbaharyaz günü Gözlerin uçurumlar kaydeder avuçlarıma Bir çınar gövdesini bir hamle daha yayar Üç içbükey komodin silah çeker vurulur Sen gidersin denklem düşer ben aşk olduğumu ağlarım … Modern bir alışkanlıktır ölmek, seni doğasıya seviyorum. BEN SANA DÜZENLİ OLARAK TELEFON EDİYORUM! Vincit omnia veritas! Belki inanmayacaksın ama ben bu şiiri ellerimle yazıyorum sevgilim Çünkü benim gömdüğüm kızlar ara sıra boğulur Ve laik aşk çarpık toplumlaştırır, doğurma ne olur Sirk deseler tek hırkam var, çatışmada bıraktım Şimdi gidip Beckett okuyacağım, beni de seyret Tanrım Öfkemi devletle bir toprağa gömüyorum Aklımsa çamura saplandı saplanacak Şems çeker çıkarır kitabı havuzdan, kuru Ertan, alsana şu tüfeği duvardan benim ellerim ıslak.

V frowned. There was only a hissing sound coming from the voice mail. But then a clatter had him yanking the phone away from his ear. Now Butch's voice, hard, loud: "Dematerialize. Dematerialize now." A scared male: "But-but-" "Now! For fuck's sake, get your ass out of here..." Sounds of muffled flapping. "Why are you doing this? You're just a human-" "I am so sick of hearing that. Leave!" There was a metallic shifting, a gun being reloaded. Butch's voice: "Oh,shit..." Then all hell broke loose. Gunshots, grunts, thuds. V leaped up from his desk so fast he knocked his chair over.

For a long while I could find no game; finally, a landrail flew out of an extensive oak thicket which was completely overgrown with wormwood. I fired: the bird turned over in the air and fell. Hearing the shot, Kasyan quickly covered his face with his hand and remained stock-still until I had reloaded my gun and picked up the shot bird. Just as I was preparing to move farther on, he came up to the place where the bird had fallen, bent down to the grass which had been sprinkled with several drops of blood, gave a shake of the head and looked at me in fright. Afterwards I heard him whispering: ‘A sin! ’Tis a sin, it is, a sin!

Ah sen bana bakma tiyatrolarımı taşra tertibler Benim anlattıklarımla biraz heterodoks kaçabilir sevgilim Yani hükmetsene aksine ki, bir bin yıl sırtımızda paklanmayacak Ve Allah’ın İsa isminde bir sevgilisi yok! Evet bugünlerde biraz siyaset ehli çocuklar olduk Mesela bundan böyle senin adın Petrus olsun sevgilim… …

V frowned. There was only a hissing sound coming from the voice mail. But then a clatter had him yanking the phone away from his ear. Now Butch's voice, hard, loud: "Dematerialize. Dematerialize now." A scared male: "But-but-" "Now! For fuck's sake, get your ass out of here..." Sounds of muffled flapping. "Why are you doing this? You're just a human-" "I am so sick of hearing that. Leave!" There was a metallic shifting, a gun being reloaded. Butch's voice: "Oh,shit..." Then all hell broke loose. Gunshots, grunts, thuds. V leaped up from his desk so fast he knocked his chair over. Only to realize that he was trapped inside by daylight.

The last shot wasn’t bad,” he said, dropping the subject of the duel. “However, the target is the twig, not the leaves. The end of the twig,” he added. “You must have missed the twig yourself,” she pointed out, lifting the gun and aiming it carefully, “since it’s still there.” “True, but it’s shorter than it was when I started.” Elizabeth momentarily forgot what she was doing as she stared at him in disbelief and amazement. “Do you mean you’ve been clipping the end off it?” “A bit at a time,” he said, concentrating on her next shot. She hit another leaf on the twig and handed the gun back to him. “You’re not bad,” he complimented. She was an outstanding shot, and his smile said he knew it as he handed her a freshly loaded gun. Elizabeth shook her head. “I’d rather see you try it.” “You doubt my word?” “Let’s merely say I’m a little skeptical.” Taking the gun, Ian raised it in a swift arc, and without pausing to aim, he fired. Two inches of twig spun away and fell to the ground. Elizabeth was so impressed she laughed aloud. “Do you know,” she exclaimed with an admiring smile, “I didn’t entirely believe until this moment that you really meant to shoot the tassel off Robert’s boot!” He sent her an amused glance as he reloaded and handed her the gun. “At the time I was sorely tempted to aim for something more vulnerable.

Why don’t you take a turn now,” she suggested. “I want to see an expert in action.” A flush climbed his cheeks, but he took the Colt from her, reloaded, and stepped over to the steer. With an effortless lift of his arm, he rapidly shot five rounds dead center into the heart area. He lowered the gun, turned, and, lifting an eyebrow, waited for her reaction. Impressed by his quiet confidence, Elizabeth mirrored his raised eyebrow. “You make it look so easy.” Nick laughed. “Been shootin’ since I was Mark’s age.” She teased back. “That’s not so long ago.” “A man grows up fast in these parts. When you need to survive,” he spun the words into a drawl, “you learn to hit what ya aim for.

His friends liked to hunt. Sometimes I went along.” “And here I thought you only fired at people,” Celia called over from the other side of him. “I rarely need to shoot in the course of performing my duties. But I do have to use my pistol occasionally.” He slanted a glance at her. “Unlike you, my lady, I don’t carry mine for show.” Her cheeks pinked, but she merely sniffed and halted to reload again. So did he. He probably should stop tormenting her about her damned pocket pistol, but it still shook him. Powder or no powder, such a weapon could easily provoke a man to attack her. Still, Jackson admitted that it probably wouldn’t have that effect on this lot. They didn’t seem the bullying sort, just the coax-a-woman-into-their-bed sort.

Once again this unspeakable man had caused her to make a complete fool of herself, and the realization made her eyes blaze with renewed fury as she turned her head and looked at him. Despite Ian’s apparent nonchalance he had been watching her closely, and he stiffened, sensing instinctively that she was suddenly and inexplicably angrier than before. He nodded to the gun, and when he spoke there was no more mockery in his voice; instead it was carefully neutral. “I think there are a few things you ought to consider before you use that.” Though she had no intention of using it, Elizabeth listened attentively as he continued in that same helpful voice. “First of all, you’ll have to be very fast and very calm if you intend to shoot me and reload before Jake there gets to you. Second, I think it’s only fair to warn you that there’s going to be a great deal of blood all over the place. I’m not complaining, you understand, but I think it’s only right to warn you that you’re never again going to be able to wear that charming gown you have on.” Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch. “You’ll hang, of course,” he continued conversationally, “but that won’t be nearly as distressing as the scandal you’ll have to face first.” Too disgusted with herself and with him to react to that last mocking remark, Elizabeth put her chin up and managed to say with great dignity, “I’ve had enough of this, Mr. Thornton. I did not think anything could equal your swinish behavior at our prior meetings, but you’ve managed to do it. Unfortunately, I am not so ill-bred as you and therefore have scruples against assaulting someone who is weaker than I, which is what I would be doing if I were to shoot an unarmed man. Lucinda, we are leaving,” she said, then she glanced back at her silent adversary, who’d taken a threatening step, and she shook her head, saying with extreme, mocking civility, “No, please-do not bother to see us out, sir, there’s no need. Besides, I wish to remember you just as you are at this moment-helpless and thwarted.” It was odd, but now, at the low point of her life, Elizabeth felt almost exhilarated because she was finally doing something to avenge her pride instead of meekly accepting her fate. Lucinda had marched out onto the porch already, and Elizabeth tried to think of something to dissuade him from retrieving his gun when she threw it away outside. She decided to repeat his own advice, which she began to do as she backed away toward the door. “I know you’re loath to see us leave like this,” she said, her voice and her hand betraying a slight, fearful tremor. “However, before you consider coming after us, I beg you will take your own excellent advice and pause to consider if killing me is worth hanging for.” Whirling on her heel, Elizabeth took one running step, then cried out in pained surprise as she was jerked off her feet and a hard blow to her forearm sent the gun flying to the floor at the same time her arm was yanked up and twisted behind her back. “Yes,” he said in an awful voice near her ear, “I actually think it would be worth it.” Just when she thought her arm would surely snap, her captor gave her a hard shove that sent her stumbling headlong out into the yard, and the door slammed shut behind her. “Well! I never,” Lucinda said, her bosom heaving with rage as she glowered at the closed door. “Neither have I,” said Elizabeth, shaking dirt off her hem and deciding to retreat with as much dignity as possible. “We can talk about what a madman he is once we’re down the path, out of sight of the house. So if you’ll please take that end of the trunk?” With a black look Lucinda complied, and they marched down the path, both of them concentrating on keeping their backs as straight as possible.

me fired up.’ ‘Thought you said you were trying to avoid this kind of thing in retirement.’ ‘I was. Doesn’t seem to be working out at all. I was adamant that this was the day I would put it all behind me. It’s why I was in such a hurry to leave Corsica. The old me would have razed half the island to the ground to sort out the mercenary situation.’ ‘That seems to be what you’re doing now.

There are strange red depths in the soul of the most commonplace man. I am tenderhearted by nature, and have found my eyes moist many a time over the scream of a wounded hare. Yet the blood lust was on me now. I found myself on my feet emptying one magazine, then the other, clicking open the breech to re-load, snapping it to again, while cheering and yelling with pure ferocity and joy of slaughter as I did so.

We have snacks, everybody!” “Where’d you get them from, Delaware?” Ben asked. He was glaring behind me, where Sage leaned casually against the wall. “Practically,” I said. “My fault-I was dying for Red Hots. Pretty much impossible to find. So what movie are we watching?” Back in the cave, Sage had told me I wasn’t much of an actress, and apparently he was right. I thought I put on a brilliant show, but Ben’s eyes were filled with suspicion, Rayna looked like she was ready to pounce, and Sage seemed to be working very hard to stifle his laughter. Rayna yawned. “Can’t do it. I’m so tired. I’m sorry, but I have to kick you guys out and get some sleep.” She wasn’t much better at acting than I was. I knew she wanted to talk, but the idea of being away from Sage killed me. “No worries,” I said. “I can bring he snacks to the guys’ room. We can watch there and let you sleep.” “Great!” Ben said. Rayna gaped, and in the space of ten seconds, she and I had a full conversation with only our eyes. Rayna: “What the hell?” Me: “I know! But I want to hang out with Sage.” Rayna: “Are you insane?! You’ll be with him for the rest of your life. I’m only with you until morning!” I couldn’t fight that one. She was right. “Actually, I’m pretty tired too,” I said. I even forced a yawn, though judging from Sage’s smirk, it wasn’t terribly convincing. “You sure?” Ben asked. He was staring at me in a way that made me feel X-rayed. “Positive. Take some snacks, though. I got dark chocolate M&Ms and Fritos.” “Sounds like a slumber party!” Rayna said. “Absolutely,” Sage deadpanned. “Look out, Ben-I do a mean French braid.” Ben paid no attention. He had moved closer and was looking at me suspiciously, like a dog whose owner comes from after playing with someone else’s pet. I almost thought he was going to smell me. “G’night,” he said. He had to brush past Sage to get to the door, but he didn’t say a word to him. Sage raised an amused eyebrow to me. “Good night, ladies,” he said, then turned and followed Ben out. It hurt to see him go, like someone had run an ice cream scoop through my core, but I knew that was melodramatic. I’d see him in the morning. We had our whole lives to be together. Tonight he could spend with Ben. I laughed out loud, imagining the two of them actually cheating, snacking, and French braiding each other’s hair as they sat cross-legged on the bed. Then a pillow smacked me in the side of the head. “’We can watch there and let you sleep’?” Rayna wailed. “Are you crazy?” “I know! I’m sorry. I took it back, though, right?” “You have two seconds to start talking, or I reload.” Before now, if anyone had told me that I could have a night like tonight and not want to tell Rayna everything, I’d have thought they were crazy. But being with Sage was different. It felt perfectly round and complete. If I said anything about it, I felt like I’d be giving away a giant scoop of it that I couldn’t ever get back. “It was really nice,” I said. “Thanks.” Rayna picked up another pillow, then let it drop. She wasn’t happy, but she understood. She also knew I wasn’t thanking her just for asking, but for everything. “Ready for bed?” she asked. “We have to eat the guys to breakfast so they don’t steal all the cinnamon rolls.” I loved her like crazy.

Zaten kırılmış bir kızsın şimdi dövülmüş bir av Yanmış ırmaklar öneriyorsun toy bedenine Kavmin yanlış tufanlardan geçip duruyor Gözlerime baka baka ağlayıp aşk diyorsun Bir tekkenin ortasına sirk treni devriliyor Ki hâlâ çocuk övmeye duruyorsam bu Şehrin en uzak yerinden gelen onunla Ve Izmitle ve Fargo yla ve Horasan la Ve Hafıs ın beni eve götürdüğü kınla ılgili bir matkabı Girdiği çenemden kemiğiyle birlikte söküp Şu karşıki düğün salonuna ilave edemememdendir Yoksa orospular ve ortaokul öğretmenleri girmesinler diye Babam ve bilhassa dedem Mahallemize yeterince toplum polisi gönderilmemesi konusunda Gerekli telefonları etmiş durumdadırlar sevgilim! Ama yine de sırf sen sürdürülebil diye aynı alnında melekçe Ve şüpheye düşmeden kelebek besleyebilsin diye bir padişah açıkça Benim alıp kını Öte yana geçmem gerektir Içinden memleketi çekeyim diye Hem düşünsene; Bu bizi nasıl da imparatorluklaştırır! Yoo,hayır! Omzunu açma,.omzun ideoloji taşır. Ve fakat 'dil'e rağmen bütün bunlar sevgilim Ayaklarına beyaz çoraplar giydirmek istemediğim anlamına gelmeyebilir !!!!

Part of it is personal. It’s the same way for athletes: an athlete wants to be in a big game, wants to compete on the field or in the ring. But another part, a bigger part I think, is patriotism. It’s the sort of thing that if it has to be explained, you’re not going to understand. But maybe this will help: One night a little later on, we were in an exhausting firefight. Ten of us spent roughly forty-eight hours in the second story of an old, abandoned brick building, fighting in hundred-degree-plus heat wearing full armor. Bullets flew in, demolishing the walls around us practically nonstop. The only break we took was to reload. Finally, as the sun came up in the morning, the sound of gunfire and bullets hitting brick stopped. The fight was over. It became eerily quiet. When the Marines came in to relieve us, they found every man in the room either slumped against a wall or collapsed on the floor, dressing wounds or just soaking in the situation. One of the Marines outside took an American flag and hoisted it over the position. Someone else played the National Anthem—I have no idea where the music came from, but the symbolism and the way it spoke to the soul was overwhelming; it remains one of my most powerful memories.

Kruchina was an archaic word for grief, found mostly in the old folk songs and poems. Kruchina grief was not regular sadness or disappointment with everyday troubles, but rather the existential sorrow about a woman’s lot that never goes away, not even at the happiest of moments.    Masha remembered this song from one of the movies of her youth, when all the movies and books were about the war and patriotism, about the great sacrifice for the future. German soldiers were burning a Russian village. The children screamed, the helpless grandmas and grandpas shrieked, the animals and fowl scattered for their lives. A young German soldier broke into the last izba standing and found two women huddled on a bench. Except for a single candle, the house was dark and it was hard to see what was in the shadowy corner: a trunk or a cradle.    Before the soldiers could reload their guns, the women began to sing “Kruchina.” In the middle of this chaos, time stopped. The soldiers listened as the voices washed over their round helmets and tense shoulders, crept into their machine guns, and spread through their stiffened veins and cold stomachs, like mother’s milk.    Sveta might not have even seen the movie, but she and Masha always sang “Kruchina” when their hearts, one or both, were in the wrong place.

Apparently, Stoneville meant to gain his amusement solely from watching Jackson bait Celia. Jackson wasn’t entirely sure why, but neither did he care. He cared only about making sure he shot well enough to beat Celia’s three suitors, to prevent them from gaining the kiss. So you can gain it yourself. He scowled as they halted in their new spot to reload. Nonsense. But if he did happen to win it, he would treat her like the lady she was. Devonmont was just the kind of joking fellow to be impudent with her in front of everyone. Lyons had already had a taste of her lips, so he might very well think to make his second taste more intimate. And Basto, who already had a fondness for holding her hand, confound the insolent devil- Jackson swore under his breath. He was acting like some jealous idiot. All right, so he was jealous, but this wasn’t about that. He merely wanted to keep Celia from making an enormous mistake. When she’d tried to get out of shooting, Jackson had realized she was serious about choosing one of these idiots as a husband. Clearly, she thought if she pretended to be some milk-and-water miss, it would help her chances. So he’d made sure she didn’t do any such thing. If they were worthy of her, they had to be worthy of the real her, not the pretend one she presented. Personally, he thought them all fools for not seeing she was putting on an act. And couldn’t she see that a marriage built on such deceptions would fail? No, she was too blinded by her determination to prove her grandmother wrong about her. Well, he couldn’t let her stumble into some idiotic engagement with gentlemen who didn’t deserve her. Especially not after what he’d learned about them.

I got back into my car and followed the trucks; at the end of the road, the Polizei unloaded the women and children, who rejoined the men arriving on foot. A number of Jews, as they walked, were singing religious songs; few tried to run away; the ones who did were soon stopped by the cordon or shot down. From the top, you could hear the gun bursts clearly, and the women especially were starting to panic. But there was nothing they could do. The condemned were divided into little groups and a noncom sitting at a table counted them; then our Askaris took them and led them over the brink of the ravine. After each volley, another group left, it went very quickly. I walked around the ravine by the west to join the other officers, who had taken up positions above the north slope. From there, the ravine stretched out in front of me: it must have been some fifty meters wide and maybe thirty meters deep, and went on for several kilometers; the little stream at the bottom ran into the Syrets, which gave its name to the neighborhood. Boards had been placed over this stream so the Jews and their shooters could cross easily; beyond, scattered pretty much everywhere on the bare sides of the ravine, the little white clusters were multiplying. The Ukrainian “packers” dragged their charges to these piles and forced them to lie down over them or next to them; the men from the firing squad then advanced and passed along the rows of people lying down almost naked, shooting each one with a submachine bullet in the neck; there were three firing squads in all. Between the executions some officers inspected the bodies and finished them off with a pistol. To one side, on a hill overlooking the scene, stood groups of officers from the SS and the Wehrmacht. Jeckeln was there with his entourage, flanked by Dr. Rasch; I also recognized some high-ranking officers of the Sixth Army. I saw Thomas, who noticed me but didn’t return my greeting. On the other side, the little groups tumbled down the flank of the ravine and joined the clusters of bodies that stretched farther and farther out. The cold was becoming biting, but some rum was being passed around, and I drank a little. Blobel emerged suddenly from a car on our side of the ravine, he must have driven around it; he was drinking from a little flask and shouting, complaining that things weren’t going fast enough. But the pace of the operations had been stepped up as much as possible. The shooters were relieved every hour, and those who weren’t shooting supplied them with rum and reloaded the clips. The officers weren’t talking much; some were trying to hide their distress. The Ortskommandantur had set up a field kitchen, and a military pastor was preparing some tea to warm up the Orpos and the members of the Sonderkommando. At lunchtime, the superior officers returned to the city, but the subalterns stayed to eat with the men. Since the executions had to continue without pause, the canteen had been set up farther down, in a hollow from which you couldn’t see the ravine. The Group was responsible for the food supplies; when the cases were broken open, the men, seeing rations of blood pudding, started raging and shouting violently. Häfner, who had just spent an hour administering deathshots, was yelling and throwing the open cans onto the ground: “What the hell is this shit?” Behind me, a Waffen-SS was noisily vomiting. I myself was livid, the sight of the pudding made my stomach turn. I went up to Hartl, the Group’s Verwaltungsführer, and asked him how he could have done that. But Hartl, standing there in his ridiculously wide riding breeches, remained indifferent. Then I shouted at him that it was a disgrace: “In this situation, we can do without such food!

Perhaps we could practice together at Marsbury House sometime,” he said. “I would enjoy that.” She ignored the niggle that said encouraging the duke’s suit was wrong when she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry him. “Yes, Lady Celia always enjoys showing a man how to use his gun,” Mr. Pinter put in. “You couldn’t ask for a better tutor, Your Grace.” When the duke stiffened understandably, she glared at Mr. Pinter. “His Grace needs no tutoring. He shoots quite well. And manages to remain civil at the same time, which is more than I can say for you, sir.” Why was Mr. Pinter being so difficult? Bad enough that he’d goaded her into this competition-must he also make her suitors resent her? So far they’d taken her participation in this competition in stride, but if he kept provoking them… Mr. Pinter scowled as they all halted to reload. “Civility is for you aristocrats.” His voice was sullen. “We mere mortals have no sense of it.” “Then it’s a miracle anyone ever hires you to do anything,” she retorted. “Civility is the bedrock of a polite society, no matter what a man’s station.” “I thought money was the bedrock,” eh countered. “Why else does your grandmother’s ultimatum have all of you dashing about trying to find spouses?” It was a nasty thing to say and he knew it, for he cast her a belligerent look as soon as the words left her mouth. “I don’t know why you should complain about that,” she said archly. “Our predicament has afforded you quite a good chance to plump your own pockets.” “Celia,” Oliver said in a low voice, “sheathe your claws.” “Why? He’s being rude.” The beater’s flushed the grouse. Mr. Pinter brought down another bird, a muscle ticking in his jaw as they all fired. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Sometimes my tongue runs away with my good sense.” “I’ve noticed.” She caught the gentlemen watching them with interest and forced a smile. “But since you were good enough to apologize, let us forget the matter, shall we?” With a taut nod, he acknowledged her request for a truce. After that, they both concentrated on shooting. She was determined to beat him, and he seemed equally determined to beat the other gentlemen. She tried not to dwell on why, but the possibility of another kiss from him made her nervous and excited.

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For instance, being ‘confident’, ‘carefree’ and ‘unconcerned about one’s appearance’ are now central aspects of femininity in their own right—even as they sit alongside injunctions to meet standards of beauty that ‘only a mannequin could achieve’ (Kilbourne, 1999 cited in Gill, 2008, p. 440).

The main prize is access to patriarchal wealth—not revolutionary social change: feminism is framed as a symbolic ‘cock block’ that reduces girls’ chances of upward social mobility. Ageism is mobilised in an opportunistic contempt for feminism in the hope that conforming to the new girly normative femininity will be rewarded by greater access to the patriarchal pie.

Oddly, having sex with men is meant to dispel fear of being raped, as though women who have an accurate assessment of the dangers of rape culture are hysterics who just need sex.

Laughing at the oppression of women is the best medicine for those who fear being laughed at.

Indeed, beneath the accusation of ‘moral panic’ that has been flung at feminism since the 1970s, lurks the accusation that feminists lack a sense of humour and are unable to appreciate the subtle inter-textual irony that is meant to pervade postmodern consumer culture and which all consumers and readers (no matter how young) are assumed to be hip to. Everyone, it seems, is in on the joke except for feminists, and the joke, as they say, is on them. Yet, the real irony is that a postmodern reading that would, predictably, claim Benny Hill rape jokes as subversive deconstructions of post-war white British lower-middle-class heterosexual masculinity, and perhaps re-signify the whole thing in a display of self-consciously elitist textual performances bloated with gate-keeping postmodern jargon, remains obedient to the old ruling bourgeois disgust with compassion.

Many in the Left have called this a class war, and while it clearly is, it is also a sex war. Women and their children, always the poorest of the poor, have come under a calculated, often invisibilised, attack by austerity fascism. In an era in which the criminal global patriarchal corporate elite is destroying millions of women’s lives, mainstreamed hip feminist pornified protests such as SlutWalk seem like diversionary spectacles. Indeed, the tragedy (if it could be dignified as such) of mainstream western feminism is the pervasive betrayal of poor women, and most brutally, single mothers.