Ro Quotes

Although I cannot move and I have to speak through a computer, in my mind I am free.

Keefe tried to break the tension, pumping his fist and shouting, “LORD HUNKYHAIR LIVES! Say it now, Ro. Say it!

Nights were the worst. I'd try to get some sleep, only to be thrown out of bed and dragged out into the compound for another game of "Let's whack Bobby in the dark!" - Bobby Pendragon, RoZ

You’re in this, like, Ultra Knight in Shining Armor mode-“ “Aw, you hear that, Ro? Foster thinks I’m her hero!

It’s amazing he made it through without me bashing his pretty face.” “Aw, did you hear that? Ro thinks I’m pretty! I mean- I usually go for more of a roguish handsome, but...” He tosses his hair and fluttered his eyelashes. Sophie’s lips curled into a smile-without her permission.

It's HE-RO," the boy argued. "No," the girl insisted, "it's HER-O.

Won't you need my help with the cache?' Fitz asked her. It felt very good to tell him, 'I don't see why.' Ro snickered.

Thank you,” she said as he walked her back to the Healing Center and she tried to make a note of the route so she could find the secret cafeteria again. “Tonight would’ve been... pretty rough if you hadn’t stopped by.” “I know,” he told her. “For me too.” “Awwwwwww, you guys are SO adorable,” Ro jumped in.

Quien con­tro­la el pa­sa­do —decía la con­sig­na del Par­ti­do— con­tro­la el fu­tu­ro. Quien con­tro­la el pre­sen­te con­tro­la el pa­sa­do

Ohhh, a lovers’ quarrel!” Ro clapped her hands. “Those are my favorite. Anyone have snacks? I feel like we should have snacks for this.” “That’s not what this is,” Sophie told her. “We’re not...never mind.” Ro grinned, flashing pointed teeth. “If you say so.” “Fosters not ready to face her feelings,” Keefe stage-whispered. “I’m ready to strangle you,” Sophie countered.

Well, if you like honestly,” Ro said, following him over to Keefe, “it stinks here, too. Everything smells like...” “Fresh air?” Sophie guessed. “Awww, my girl keeps getting snarkier and snarkier,” Keefe said proudly. “I’m not your girl,” Sophie snapped back. “And don’t think I’m done being mad at you!

Well, if you like honesty," Ro said, following him over to Keefe, "it stinks here, too. Everything smells like . . . " "Fresh air?" Sophie guessed. "Awww, my girl keeps getting snarkier and snarkier," Keefe said proudly. "I'm not your girl," Sophie snapped back. "And don't think I'm done being mad at you!" "Ohhh, a lovers' quarrel!" Ro clapped her hands. "Those are my favorite. Anyone have snacks? I feel like we should have snacks for this." "That's not what this is," Sophie told her. "We're not . . . never mind." Ro grinned, flashing pointed teeth. "If you say so." "Foster's not ready to face her feelings," Keefe stage-whispered. "I'm ready to strangle you," Sophie countered.

Change. Adapt. Bend so as not to be broken. Let opportunity guide your actions.

It's time to listen to your girl. No arguing—she's smarter than you.

Tử tế gồm hai phần: rộng rãi, kể cả khi tốn kém và tin tưởng, kể cả khi rủi ro.

He would’ve run off even faster,” Ro finished for him. “Probably left a Keefe-shaped hole in one of the walls.

Fear sees, even when eyes are closed.

And it was hilarious,” Ro added. “One night he got out of bed and started doing a wiggle dance in his sleep and singing about Prattles pins. And another time he decided he was a baby alicorn and dropped to his hands and knees and galloped all over the house, whinnying. Greatest thing I’ve ever seen.

Okay, I’m done liking Captain Perfectpants,” Ro announced.

To try is to invite uncertainty. Where confidence goes, success usually follows.

Ro trails his hands against the wall as he walks. The archivists look at him as he passes. Ro is good at irritating people; he'll find the one thing you don't want him to do, and do it every time. It's one of his many gifts.

Ohhhh, does this mean I get to stab Keefe?” Ro asked

and of course Miss Foster’s Telepath-Polyglot-Teleporter-Inflictor-Enhancer combination.” Ro blinked. “Wow. Now I get why everyone’s always trying to kill her.

And I… damn, I love being boring with Ro. Does that sound mad? I love arguing with her about sofas and pets. She’s my everyday. The whole… world.

Ro blinked. “Wow! Okay—I officially take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about your Councillors! They’re my heroes! All hail the sparkle-fied twelve for breaking up the Great Fitzphie!

Burying your head in the sand does not make you invisible it only leads to suffocation.

Growth of consciousness does not depend on the might of the intellect but on the conviction of the heart.

Verily, a man without fear is either dead or happy to die.

Since I didn't have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. "Agent... Agent Carson," I said, panting into the phone. "Yes, Charley." She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn't about to stop now. "I--I know who the kshshshshshsh are." "I'm a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?" "I'm sorry. My kshshsh... is kshshsh... ing." I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?" She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crakled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. "You aren't listeni--kshshsh." "You're really bad at this." "Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh." "Charley, if you don't cut this crap out." I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not to tell her and call back.

Be careful who you tell your secrets to because when situations change... sometimes, so do people.

Everyone deserved the chance to be redeemed, and Michael had gone his whole life never having it. He never got to redeem himself with his father. He never got to redeem himself with his brother. And if he was trying to redeem himself now for what he'd done ro her, then she was going to let him, even if it left her vulnerable.

How can you think that? Don’t you see it, Ro? The blood that runs through my veins, the air that fills my lungs, it belongs to you. It’s only ever be you for me.

She blew out a breath. “It’s really annoying when you’re right.” “Don’t worry,” Ro told her. “It doesn’t happen very often.” Keefe smirked.

Intact families sat in the blue wash of television light, tranquil, like drowned statues.

But at least this place has dinosaurs.

Death whispers your name to me.

Is it, now?” Ro patted the chaise next to her. “Well then, why don’t you sit right here and tell Auntie Ro all about it?” “Auntie Ro?” Sophie, Sandor, and Keefe all asked in unison. Ro shrugged. “What? I can be nurturing when I want to be.” That would’ve been a lot easier to believe if she weren’t using a dagger to clean beneath her claws.

Optimists are usually inexperienced.

They promised me you wouldn’t be hurt,” he said. “And you haven’t been, really. I mean, suppose you’d had a baby and lost it; wouldn’t it be the same? And we’re getting so much in return, Ro.

Sophie ignored the insult—but might’ve allowed herself half a smile when Ro coughed something that sounded like “awfully smug for a tiny hairless dude” from wherever the ogre princess had tucked herself away in the shadows.

Words are important. They let you know it’s real, you’re fine, more people like you exist. They let you know you’re not alone.

She was a pious Buddhist and every day in her prayers asked Buddha not ro reincarnate her as a woman. "Let me become a cat or dog, but not a woman," was her constant murmur as she shuffled around the house, oozing apology with every step.

Furo Costas. The Rager. You, my friend, are an imbecile. You could have killed me twenty times, on the Tracks. I'm surprised you're not dead." Ro shrugs, happily. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and nothing he doesn't see as a compliment.

Foster?” he asked, jolting upright—which only drew more attention to the fact that he was currently shirtless. He crossed his arms, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink when his ice blue eyes focused on her. “I… um… what are you doing here?” Ro snickered from the corner, where she lounged on a cushioned chaise, painting her claws the same purple she must have recently dyed the ends of her choppy pink pigtails. “Smooth, Lord Hunkyhair. Smooooooooooooooooooth

You crave winning and fear losing instead of just doing. To succeed you must remove your self-imposed limitations.

The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each ro themselves.

Dude, enough with the cutesy pin names," Ro told him. "Never!" Keefe said, adding a verminion he called Cheeky.

Der kom en vederkvægende ro, en dyb fred og fryd over mig, det var som når en feber ophører. "Her," tænkte jeg, "kan jeg blive.

Keefe?' Amy repeated, her lips curling into a grin. 'He's the supercute blonde guy you picked up cookies for, right? The one who keeps staring at you all intense when I met him, like you were the only person that mattered to him in the entire universe?' Someone coughed near the doorway. It was probably Grady, maybe Edaline too, but Sophie decided she would rather not know who was eavesdropping. 'He doesn't stare at me like that,' she said, hoping her cheeks weren't blushing too badly. It didn't help that Ro kept cackling beside her. ... 'I swear, you have no idea how lucky you are, getting to be around so many gorgeous boys all the time. I don't know how you haven't dated any of them--or have you?' 'She tried with Fitzy,' Ro answered for her. 'But then she realized he was too boring, so they broke up.' 'That's not what happened!' Sophie argued--over lots more coughing from the doorway. 'We didn't really date. We just sort of... liked each other... openly. But then it got super complicated, so we decided to focus on being friends. ... Why are we talking about this?' Sophie asked ... 'Because it's fun watching you get all red and fidgety!' Amy told her. 'Plus, there's a chance our boy is somewhere nearby, listening to this conversation,' Ro added before she raised her voice to a shout. 'Hear that, Hunkyhair? Get your overdramatic butt back here! Your girl is single--and the great Foster Oblivion is over! This is what you've been waiting for!' 'Hunkyhair?' Amy asked, raising one eyebrow as Sophie contemplated smothering herself with her blankets. 'Great Foster Oblivion?' 'Never mind,' Sophie mumbled, sinking deeper into her blankets.

Your thoughts are transparent.

I swear, watching boys try to communicate is like watching amoebas,” Ro told Sophie during the long silence that followed. “You just stare at their blobby little bodies and think, ‘How do these things even function?

Thinking about working out burns 0 calories, 0 percentage of fat and accomplishes 0 goals!

Oh joy, it’s going to be a long night of sulky-boy angst,” Ro groaned as she shoved Keefe aside and stomped into the room. “Quick, who wants to trade jobs with me?

Ro held his gaze as she shredded the robe with her claws,

the group of incest survivors had abnormalities in their CD45 RA-to-RO ratio, compared with their nontraumatized peers. CD45 cells are the “memory cells” of the immune system.

THANK ALL THE SPARKLES FOR THAT! Now you just need to tell her you’re helplessly in love with her so she can be like”—Ro shifted her voice up an octave and clasped her hands against her heart—“ ‘Oh, Hunkyhair, I never realized you felt that way, even though it was ridiculously obvious to everyone else. And I’ve been in love with you forever—I just didn’t know it because I’m super oblivious. I’m sorry I wasted so much time crushing on Captain Perfect—come here, let’s do all the smooching ever!

A place without meaning is no place to be.

Levamos para o casamento uma infinidade de expectativas ro- mânticas. As vezes, também visões de míticos êxtases sexuais. E impomos à nossa vida sexual muitas outras expectativas, muitos outros "devia ser", que o ato quotidiano do amor não consegue realizar. A terra devia tremer. Nossos ossos deviam cantar. Fogos de artifício deviam explodir. O ser consciente — o eu — devia ser queimado na pira do amor. Devíamos alcançar o paraíso, ou um fac-símile razoável. Nós nos desapontamos.

I’ll let that go,” Ro told him, “if you tell me what it was like in my father’s head.” Fitz let out a relieved breath. “Fluffy.” “Like sinking into a giant marshmallow covered in feathers,” Sophie agreed. Ro choked on her laugh. “Okay, I need to figure out how to blackmail him with that.

Asleep you can experience many hours whilst only a few waking moments have passed. This is why dreams are an ideal platform for training.

Si no sabes lo que quieres —continuó el porte­ro—, terminas teniendo un montón de cosas que no necesitas.

The Ballad of Bo and Ro.

Keefe tried to break the tension, pumping his fist and shouting, “LORD HUNKYHAIR LIVES! Say it now, Ro. Say it!” Ro said it, all right. Along with several ogre words that weren’t very nice.

Meanwhile, in the throne room, Rhea threw an Oscar-worthy tantrum. She screamed and stomped her feet and called Kronos all kinds of unflattering names. “RO-O-CCCKY!” she wailed. “NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!

Lucas motions to Ro’s ears, where the blood is spattering down to his shoulders. “Let’s just get this done before our heads explode.” Ro considers him for a long moment, then hands him Tima’s map.

On this planet are every kind of deadly animal from across the stars. The only people that come here are hunters looking for the most dangerous of trophies. No rescue. You either get your prize or you die.

You changed Iggy’s color?” she asked, heading over to his cage, where, sure enough, the tiny imp had yet another new look. His neatly trimmed, gold, sparkly fur was now a much poofier ice blue with tiny crimps. “Huh, I figured he’d be pink and purple,” Sophie admitted, pointing to Ro’s colorful pigtails. Ro tossed her head, swishing her hair in the process. “Uh, no, I’m not sharing my fabulous style with anyone—much less a creature who spent the last hour eating his own toenails.

What you gain another will lose, for What is there is all there is. What you share another will have, for What is there is enough for all.

Verily, a man should not cling to those who have passed, for he will likely neglect service to the living.

I believe that we, in the attempt to live, invented Him. But if I could, I'd ask Him to give you everything.

They'll use guns and they'll use words, and the worst part of all is that you might listen when they say you're a freak or a monster, and you might start to believe it. But they are lying.

It is the nature of men to build walls around themselves. They think it will protect them from hurt. It does the opposite. The hurt still gets in, but now it rattles around the walls, unable to get out. So you build more walls. You are now seeing the world without walls. You are free, Ro. Free to hurt and free to heal.

Rakyat berasal dari kata ro'iyah artinya kepemimpinan, maka rakyat hakekatnya pemimpin tertinggi diatas presiden, gubernur dan lain sebagainya. Umat dari kata umm artinya ibu yaitu serumpun, sekelompok, segolongan, dan masyarakat dari kata syirkah artinya berserikat yaitu beberapa kelompok yang mempunyai tujuan yang sama.

Non puoi passare - disse. Gli Orchi tacquero, e si fece un silenzio di morte - Sono un servitore del Fuoco Segreto, e reggo la fiamma di Anor. Non puoi passare. A nulla ti servirà il fuoco oscu­ro, fiamma di Udùn. Torna nell'Ombra! Non puoi passare

Okay,” Mr. Forkle said, clapping his hands, “that leaves us with a group of two goblins, an ogre, a Telepath, an Empath, a Vanisher, a Shade, a Hydrokinetic, a Technopath, a Mesmer, and a Pyrokinetic—and of course Miss Foster’s Telepath-Polyglot-Teleporter-Inflictor-Enhancer combination.” Ro blinked. “Wow. Now I get why everyone’s always trying to kill her.

The only pushup you won't be able to do is the one you never do.

A true master will not deceive an able disciple. You are hampered by the limits you set and no limit can be set on skill.

The only time it's hopeless is when you're dead! Long as you're alive, you can get better - you can make it better.

She was thinking about everything Ro had told her that night, the incomprehensible cruelties that terrible people are capable of inflicting on each other, and the utter insanity of war. Then she thought of how Ro, after all that, had somehow managed to grow up to be the sort of person who made other people laugh. Because her parents had taught her during their flight through the mountains that humor is the soul's last line of defense, and as long as we're laughing we're alive, so bad puns and fart jokes were their way of expressing their defiance against despair.

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Mede Farz Fareezay, Hajj, Zakataan Soum Salaat Azaan Vi Toon Meri Zohd Ibadat Ta’at Taqwa Ilm Vi Toon Irfan Vi Toon Mera Zikr Vi Toon Meda Fikr Vi Toon Mera Zouq Vi Toon Wajdan Vi Toon Meda Sanwal Mithra Shaam Saloona Mun Mohan Janaan Vi Toon Meda Murshid Haadi Peer Tareeqat Shaikh Haqaa’iq Daan Vi Toon Meda Aas Ummed Te Khattaya Wattaya Takia Maan Taran Vi Toon Mera Dharam Vi Toon Meda Bharam Vi Toon Meda Sharam Vi Toon Meda Shaan Vi Toon Meda Dukh Sukh Ro’wan Khilan Vi Toon Meda Dard Vi Toon Darmaan Vi Toon Meda Khushiyan Da Asbaab Vi Toon Mede Soolaan Da Samaan Vi Toon Mera Husn Te Bhaag Suhaag Vi Toon Meda Bakht Te Naam Nishaan Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon

You changed Iggy’s color?” she asked, heading over to his cage, where, sure enough, the tiny imp had yet another new look. His neatly trimmed, gold, sparkly fur was now a much poofier ice blue with tiny crimps. “Huh, I figured he’d be pink and purple,” Sophie admitted, pointing to Ro’s colorful pigtails. Ro tossed her head, swishing her hair in the process. “Uh, no, I’m not sharing my fabulous style with anyone—much less a creature who spent the last hour eating his own toenails. But I thought it was only right to save your imp from being sparkle-fied—and I was going to be nice and turn him your favorite color. But apparently your favorite color is teal—and yeah, yeah, we all know why. But, um, do you realize how many of the nastiest little microbes are in that color?" She shuddered. "I couldn't do that to you—or the little dude. So I went with a nice ice blue. The kind of color you can't help but love. Classic. Reliable—

From Rosie Ro Alex Subject Job Promotion Nothing is impossible, Alex. It was there all the time. I just wasn't reaching out far enough, that's all. Nothing is impossible. Not a bad statement to come from the pen (or rather keyboard!) of a cynic. Thank you for your faith in me, Alex. I would love to return that hug and kisses to you now! but then again, perhaps some things just might be beyond our reach after all.

Fairness is an illusion. Neither effort nor intention holds title to the nature or form of either the present or the future. And if the sincere effort has no title, what interest can the bellow or the lamentation hold?" - Davigde. "The humans on Amadeen have a different way of saying it... Tough shit." - Yazi Ro

I think it's best if I don't let you finish that sentence," Ro jumped in. "The probability of you making things worse is muuuuuuuuuuch too high. And since I'm being more helpful than you deserve, I'll also add that now might be a good time for you to tell us how you're feeling -- and spoiler alert: 'Fine' is not the correct answer.

Most folks got Id and Ego living on different floors in their head’s house, in different rooms, and they’ve locked all the doors between them, and nailed sheets of plywood over that, because they think they’re, like, sworn enemies that can’t hang together. Ro thought the whole subconscious/conscious issue had something to do with why I am the way I am. She said I have the neurological condition synesthesia out the ass, with all kinds of cross regions of my brain talking to each other. Old witch was always psychoanalyzing me (as in she was the psycho and I was being analyzed). She said my Id and Ego are best buds, they don’t just live on the same floor, they share a bed. I’m cool with that. Frees up space for other stuff. I take off, tune out, and do what I do best. Kill.

We work very hard to have what Buddha gave up to become enlightened. Does that mean we are benighted?

Where there is great love there is great harmony of thought.

رغما عنا لابد أن نحمل معنا جزء من اماكن مررنا بها ولم يتبقى منها شئ سوى بقايا ذكرى هكذا أنت أيضا لم يبقى منك شئ سوى بعض حبات كالرمال طاحت في الهواء كأنها ل تكن عالقة بي..

Phoebe, you’re a capable girl, but I’m afraid being alone isn’t a skill. It’s a disposition.

I ate pain. I swilled tears. If I could take enough in, I'd have no space left to fit my own.

Khi ta mỉm cười và nói – không sao là riêng mình ta biết đang đau xé lòng chứ không ít Khi ai đó khuyên ta cố gắng sống đi đừng mỏi mệt ta chỉ biết lắc đầu – giá như là trẻ con… Trong suốt cuộc đời ta nhiều lần đã nhìn thấy những vết thương những giọt nước mắt rơi không thành tiếng những lần gượng cười mà nỗi đau nổi lên theo từng đường gân thớ thịt những người sống mà không hề biết rằng mình đã chết mãi đến tận cuối đời… Từ lúc nào đó ta không còn ước mong gì nữa khi ngước nhìn bầu trời tự mình xoa tay để cho mình hơi ấm xếp lại những cuối tuần vào một chiếc hộp rồi buộc lên nó những ánh nhìn vô cảm biết đến bao giờ mới mở ra? Khi ta mỉm cười và nói – có gì đâu phải xót xa? là riêng mình ta biết bờ môi đang lem đầy đắng chát Khi ai đó choàng người ta bằng một cái ôm thật chặt ta không hề muốn đánh rơi hơi ấm kia chút nào ! Giá như có thể trả lại được con đường mà ta từng bước đi bên cạnh nhau trả lại những dỗi hờn vào thời gian chờ đợi trả lại những nghi ngờ vào một câu hỏi trả lại bàn tay cho bàn tay, bờ vai cho bờ vai và con người cho con người lần đầu tập nói dối ta có thật lòng yêu? Cuộc đời giành giật từng ngày nắng và tặng cho ta hết những đêm thâu thêm giấc ngủ khóa cửa bỏ trái tim tự co ro ngoài hiên vắng ta đã đi hết mùa đông mà vẫn tin rằng mùa đông chưa bao giờ về đến lầm lũi như một người nhìn thấy cuối đường là ánh lửa mà cứ lo vụt tắt ta kiệt sức vì lo toan… Khi ta mỉm cười và nói – cảm ơn là riêng mình ta biết không chút nào muốn thế Khi ai đó bày cho ta cách xóa đi một phần trí nhớ sao ta không chọn lựa để quên? Nếu bão tố có thật sự đi qua cuộc đời này chỉ trong một đêm chẳng phải khoảnh khắc bình minh trong suy nghĩ của ta là đẹp nhất? Nếu bão tố có thật sự đi qua cuộc đời này chỉ trong một giây phút chẳng phải những gì ta cần chỉ là được xiết tay nhau? Khi ta mỉm cười và nói – thật sự rất đau là riêng mình ta biết ta cần bắt đầu lại… ” - Khi ta mỉm cười và nói...

Chuyện qúa khứ là quá khứ. Lúc nhỏ người ta có thể học kém, nhưng sau này, cả quá trịnh đào tạo của họ, mình đâu có biết. Để có được số tiền đó, người ta đã phải thức khuya dậy sớm thế nào, bạc tóc tính toán ra sao, chết bao nhiêu nơ ron thần kinh, sẵn sằng chịu n cái rủi ro, mình đâu có biết. Để có được giải thưởng nào đó, người ta đã phải hy sinh những thú vui cá nhân, đã phải dùi mài kinh sử tập luyện quần quật thế nào, mình cũng đâu có biết; chỉ thấy thành quả và thay vì cố gắng đạt được, lại sinh ra lòng ghen ghét một cách rất Chu Du.

The black bird cocked its head to one side, and then said, in a voice like stones being struck, 'You shadow man.' 'I'm Shadow,' said Shadow. The bird hopped up onto the fawn's rump, raised its head, ruffled its crown and neck feathers. It was enormous and its eyes were black beads. There was something intimidating about a bird that size, this close. 'Says he will see you in Kay-ro.' tokked the raven. Shadow wondered which of Odin's ravens this was: Huginn or Munnin, Memory or Thought. 'Kay-ro?' he asked. 'In Egypt.' 'How am I going to go to Egypt?' 'Follow Mississippi. Go south. Find Jackal.' 'Look,' said Shadow, 'I don't want to seem like I'm-- Jesus, look...' he paused. Regrouped. He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi. 'Okay. What I'm trying to say is I don't want mysteries.' 'Mysteries,' agreed the bird helpfully. 'What I want is explanations. Jackal in Kay-ro. This does not help me. It's a line from a bad spy thriller.

SOPHIE WASN’T SURE HOW LONG she sat there staring blankly at her empty doorway. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours. It didn’t matter. No amount of time was going to quiet the chaos in her head. All it did was raise a whole lot of terrifying questions. Because even if Ro was right about Keefe’s feelings—and Sophie decided she wanted to see what would happen—this was so much bigger than just the two of them. Like… What would Grady and Edaline think? Sophie still didn’t know if she was actually allowed to date—much less date That Boy. And even if she was, there would surely be all kinds of annoying new rules and restrictions to deal with. Plus, Edaline would probably follow them around with a sappy, embarrassing smile, and Grady would make them sit through a series of horrifying Dad Talks. And what would her friends say when they found out? There’d been a time when Sophie had wondered if Biana had a crush on Keefe—and even though it seemed like Biana had gotten over it… what if she hadn’t? Better question: How would Fitz react? Keefe was Fitz’s best friend—and Fitz’s temper could be… challenging. The possibilities for drama were endless. Sophie’s insides twisted into knots on top of knots as she imagined the awkward conversations. And the stares. And the gossip. There would be So. Much. Gossip. She wanted to hide just thinking about it—and Keefe would probably love the attention. Did that prove they weren’t compatible? Or was she just looking for an excuse because she was scared? And why was she so scared? Keefe would honestly be… … … …a really awesome boyfriend. He was thoughtful. And supportive. And he could be incredibly sweet—when he was actually being serious instead of joking around with everybody. Though… maybe some of his jokes with her hadn’t just been teasing. Had some of it also been… flirting? If Ro were still there, she probably would’ve been nodding and shouting about the Great Foster Oblivion. And maybe she was right. Maybe Sophie had been too insecure to let herself see what was right in front of her. Or too distracted by her crush on Fitz. The last thought made her inner knots twist so much tighter. She’d liked Fitz for so long that she’d never even thought about liking someone else—and she was still trying to get over all of that. But… Did she want to risk missing out on something that might be… really great? Keefe’s face filled her mind, flashing his trademark smirk.

Uh . . . you’ve seen how cute she is, right?” Keefe asked. Sophie flung a pillow at his head. Or, she tried to. Throwing with her left arm was much harder than she’d expected, and . . . She ended up nailing Magnate Leto in the face. Keefe doubled over, clutching his sides and gasping between choking laughs: “THAT . . . WAS . . . THE . . . GREATEST . . . THING . . . I’VE . . . EVER . . . SEEN!” “IT WAS!” Ro agreed, nearly collapsing to the floor in a fit of giggles. Fitz and Elwin were cracking up too—though they at least tried to cover it with coughs. Sophie slunk down under her covers. “Sorry.” “It’s all right, Miss Foster,” Magnate Leto said, handing her back her pillow. “It’s good to see you regaining some strength.” Keefe wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to call you Principal Pillowhead from now on, right?

Anticipating their calamity and fright when deportation day came (August 6, 1942) he [Henryk Goldszmit, pen name: Janusz Korczak] joined them aboard the train bound for Treblinka, because, he said, he knew his presence would calm them—“You do not leave a sick child in the night, and you do not leave children at a time like this.” A photograph taken at the Umschlagplatz (Transshipment Square) shows him marching, hatless, in military boots, hand in hand with several children, while 192 other children and ten staff members follow, four abreast, escorted by German soldiers. Korczak and the children boarded red boxcars not much larger than chicken coops, usually stuffed with seventy-five vertical adults, though all the children easily fit. In Joshua Perle’s eyewitness account in The Destruction of the Warsaw Ghetto, he describes the scene: “A miracle occurred, two hundred pure souls, condemned to death, did not weep. Not one of them ran away. None tried to hide. Like stricken swallows they clung to their teacher and mentor, to their father and brother, Janusz Korczak.” In 1971, the Russians named a newly discovered asteroid after him, 2163 Korczak, but maybe they should have named it Ro, the planet he dreamed of. The Poles claim Korczak as a martyr, and the Israelis revere him as one of the Thirty-Six Just Men, whose pure souls make possible the world’s salvation. According to Jewish legend, these few, through their good hearts and good deeds, keep the too-wicked world from being destroyed. For their sake alone, all of humanity is spared. The legend tells that they are ordinary people, not flawless or magical, and that most of them remain unrecognized throughout their lives, while they choose to perpetuate goodness, even in the midst of inferno.

You wish to hear the origin story?” “Uh, yes.” I passed him the bottle. “Very well.” He drank, handing it to Jack, starting another round. “A goddess of magic devised a contest to the death for select mortals. She invited deities of other realms to send a representative from their most prestigious house, all youths. Each one bore their god’s emblem upon his or her right hand.” My heart raced . . . I had been one of those youths. “These players would fight inside Tar Ro, a sacred realm as large as a thousand kingdoms, harvesting their victims’ emblems; only the player who’d collected them all would leave Tar Ro alive. Naturally, the gods cheated, gifting their own representative with superhuman abilities, making them more than mortal. Secret abilities. That’s why we’re called Arcana.” “Hail Tar Ro,” I murmured. “The High Priestess told me that.” “An old-fashioned greeting. She’s quite knowledgeable about the games. Very respectful of the old ways.

There is the type of man who has great contempt for "immediacy," who tries to cultivate his interiority, base his pride on something deeper and inner, create a distance between himself and the average man. Kierkegaard calls this type of man the "introvert." He is a little more concerned with what it means to be a person, with individuality and uniqueness. He enjoys solitude and withdraws periodically to reflect, perhaps to nurse ideas about his secret self, what it might be. This, after all is said and done, is the only real problem of life, the only worthwhile occupation preoccupation of man: What is one's true talent, his secret gift, his authentic vocation? In what way is one truly unique, and how can he express this uniqueness, give it form, dedicate it to something beyond himself? How can the person take his private inner being, the great mystery that he feels at the heart of himself, his emotions, his yearnings, and use them to live more distinctively, to enrich both himself and mankind with the peculiar quality of his talent? In adolescence, most of us throb with this dilemma, expressing it either with words and thoughts or with simple numb pain and longing. But usually life suck us up into standardized activities. The social hero-system into which we are born marks out paths for our heroism, paths to which we conform, to which we shape ourselves so that we can please others, become what they expect us to be. And instead of working our inner secret we gradually cover it over and forget it, while we become purely external men, playing successfully the standardized hero-game into which we happen to fall by accident, by family connection, by reflex patriotism, ro by the simple need to eat and the urge to procreate.

Thus called upon, he took courage: the sursum corda of an extravagant belch straightened him upright, and he answered, — Whfffck? Whether this was an approach to discussion he had devised himself, or a subtle adaptation of the Socratic method of questioning perfected in the local athenaeums which he attended until closing time, was not to be known; for the answer was, — Stand aside. — Here, don't goway. Here, how do youfffk. . He licked a lip and commenced again, putting out a hand. — My name Boyma. . he managed, summoning himself for the challenge of recognition. — And you must be Gro… go… raggly! He seemed to have struggled up on that word from behind; and he finished with the triumph of having knocked it over the head. He did in fact look down, as though it might be lying there at his feet. It was such a successful combat that he decided to renew it. — Go. . gro. . gorag… His hand found a wrist, and closed thereon. Bells sounded, from a church somewhere near. — Go. . ro. . grag. . But the sharp heel of a hand delivered to the side of his head stopped him, and he dropped against the wall with no exclamation of surprise whatever.

Geissler har vel ingen interesse for svaret og har kanske ikke hørt det, han vedblir: Kjøpe stenene tilbake altså. Siste gang lot jeg min søn sælge, det er en ung mand på din alder og ellers intet. Han er lynet i familjen, jeg er tåken. Jeg er av dem som vet det rette, men gjør det ikke. Men han er lynet, for tiden har han stillet sig i industriens tjeneste. Han var den som solgte for mig sist. Jeg er noget, det er ikke han, han er bare lynet, det snare nutidsmenneske. Men lynet som lyn er goldt. Ta dere Sellanråfolk: dere ser hver dag på nogen blå fjæld, det er ikke opfundne tingester, det er gamle fjæld, de står dypt nedsunkne i fortid; men dere har dem til kamerater. Dere går der sammen med himlen og jorden og er ett med dem, er ett med dette vide og rotfæstede. Dere behøver ikke sværd i hånden, dere går livet barhændt og barhodet midt i en stor venlighet. Se, der ligger naturen, den er din og dines! Mennesket og naturen bombarderer ikke hverandre, de gir hverandre ret, de konkurrerer ikke, kapløper ikke efter noget, de følges ad. Midt i dette går dere Sellanråfolk og er til. Fjældene, skogen, myrene, engene, himlen og stjærnerne – å det er ikke fattig og tilmålt, det er uten måte. Hør på mig, Sivert: Vær tilfreds! Dere har alt å leve av, alt å leve for, alt å tro på, dere fødes og frembringer, dere er de nødvendige på jorden. Det er ikke alle som er det, men dere er det: nødvendige på jorden. Dere opholder livet. Fra slægt til slægt er det til i lutter avl, og når dere dør tar den nye avl fat. Det er dette som menes med det evige liv. Hvad har dere igjen for det? En tilværelse i ret og magt, en tilværelse i troskyldig og rigtig stilling til alt. Hvad dere har igjen for det? Intet horser og regjerer dere Sellanråfolk, dere har ro og autoritet, dere er omsluttet av den store venlighet. Det har dere igjen for det. Dere ligger ved en barm og leker med en varm morshånd og patter. Jeg tænker på din far, han er en av de 32 tusen. Hvad er mangen anden? Jeg er noget, jeg er tåken, jeg er her og der, jeg svømmer, stundom er jeg regn på et tørt sted. Men de andre? Min søn er lynet som intet er, han er det golde blink, han kan handle. Min søn han er vor tids type, han tror oprigtig på det tiden har lært ham, på det jøden og yankee'en har lært ham; jeg ryster på hodet til det. Men jeg er ikke noget mystisk, det er bare i min familje jeg er tåken. Der sitter jeg og ryster på hodet. Saken er: jeg mangler ævnen til den angerløse adfærd. Hadde jeg den ævne så kunde jeg være lyn selv. Nu er jeg tåken.