Royals Series Quotes

I need it! I need it! It's a royal heirloom!" "Adrian?" "What are you doing here?" "Looking for you. Come on, we need to go. I'll drive you home." "No, I can't. Not until we get it. He stole it!

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Grandmère believes that Ron Weasley, not Voldemort, is the villain of the Harry Potter series.

I wasn’t seeking a place, but a person. I’d come home.

Hiding's not a bad thing. If you run away, you live to fight another day." Ella Harper - Paper Princess

It’s the accent. Women always swoon for an accent.” I rolled my eyes. “And does the accent work on you?

You mean you prostituted yourself out to the masses? To draw them away? That was sweet.

Where’s the fun in that?” He kept his voice low. “I can think of some really fun ways to teach you my native tongue.” “I bet you can.” I let out a nervous chuckle, thinking about the things I’d like him to do with his tongue. “I can think of some things I’d like to hear you say in Lilarian, too.” His eyes stared holes into me as he moved his top hat five spaces. “Loudly.

No offense. They’re very nice tank tops and giant shirts if you like that sort of stuff, but if you’re going to let Prince Alex help you undress each night you might want something a little sexier to slip into.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Not that I’ll say a word about it of course. Not a word.

Where’s the normally grumpy Samantha this morning? Is there a coffeepot in your room?” “Spring is definitely on its way,” Margie said. Her back was turned to us, so she didn’t notice the looks that were being passed around. “I believe I heard some birds this morning,” Alex said as he ate his pancakes. “I wonder when the bees will make an appearance,” Chadwick said thoughtfully. “Pollinate a few flowers and such.

Your tongue is your horse, and if you let it loose it will betray you.

- “He means—just how long have you been sticking it to the girl who’s like a little sister to us?” “That’s a fairly recent development. But I have loved her for a long, long time.

Then, unprompted, Henry says into the stretching stillness, “Return of the Jedi.” A beat. “What?” “To answer your question,” Henry says. “Yes, I do like Star Wars, and my favorite is Return of the Jedi.” “Oh,” Alex says. “Wow, you’re wrong.” Henry huffs out the tiniest, most poshly indignant puff of air. It smells minty. Alex resists the urge to throw another elbow. “How can I be wrong about my own favorite? It’s a personal truth.” “It’s a personal truth that is wrong and bad.” “Which do you prefer, then? Please show me the error of my ways.” “Okay, Empire.” Henry sniffs. “So dark, though.” “Yeah, which is what makes it good,” Alex says. “It’s the most thematically complex. It’s got the Han and Leia kiss in it, you meet Yoda, Han is at the top of his game, fucking Lando Calrissian, and the best twist in cinematic history. What does Jedi have? Fuckin’ Ewoks.” “Ewoks are iconic.” “Ewoks are stupid.” “But Endor.” “But Hoth. There’s a reason people always call the best, grittiest installment of a trilogy the Empire of the series.” “And I can appreciate that. But isn’t there something to be valued in a happy ending as well?” “Spoken like a true Prince Charming.” “I’m only saying, I like the resolution of Jedi. It ties everything up nicely. And the overall theme you’re intended to take away from the films is hope and love and … er, you know, all that. Which is what Jedi leaves you with a sense of most of all.

Who said I was going to give it to you?” He smiled and took a step toward me. “Maybe I have secret love for Fitzwilliam Darcy. We do share a name. I also need to get a gift for someone who would love it.” “If I can’t have it, no one can.” I narrowed my eyes in mock threat. “Is that so?” “You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers.” I backed into the bookshelf behind me. “Maybe I just need to distract you long enough to steal it.” He put a hand on the shelf by my head. “And how do you plan on doing that?” I licked my lips. “I have a few ideas.” He moved his other hand, caging me in, and leaned down.

I am very good at my job, Miss Rousseau. I was told to find Samantha Rousseau, and I have. The duchess’ reasons are her own.” He shrugged. “Of course, falconry is a large sport in our country. Perhaps it has something to do with that.

And here I was excited to get somewhere I could drink milk out of the carton while wearing my underwear.” “You drink milk out of the carton while in your underwear?” Alex laughed. “You’ve never done that? Gotten up in the middle of the night and wanted a snack?” “Yes, but I wouldn’t bother to put on my underwear.” He watched my face as his words sank in. “What do you -- oh.” I frowned. “Wouldn’t that be cold?” “It’s not so bad when you have someone warm to get back to.” His eyes ran over me, lingering on my hose-clad legs. “Good point.” I looked back out the window as he chuckled.

Is it strange that I feel better about going into a den of rebels than I did when I had to entertain the women of the Italian royal family?

I have been able to solve a few problems of mathematical physics on which the greatest mathematicians since Euler have struggled in vain ... But the pride I might have held in my conclusions was perceptibly lessened by the fact that I knew that the solution of these problems had almost always come to me as the gradual generalization of favorable examples, by a series of fortunate conjectures, after many errors. I am fain to compare myself with a wanderer on the mountains who, not knowing the path, climbs slowly and painfully upwards and often has to retrace his steps because he can go no further—then, whether by taking thought or from luck, discovers a new track that leads him on a little till at length when he reaches the summit he finds to his shame that there is a royal road by which he might have ascended, had he only the wits to find the right approach to it. In my works, I naturally said nothing about my mistake to the reader, but only described the made track by which he may now reach the same heights without difficulty.

Life is a series of conflicts between the right way and the easy way each day. The thing is you head up straight. And when you make that choice. And when you decide to turn your back to what's comfortable, and safe and what someone calls common sense. So, that's day one. From there, it's only getting tougher. But make sure it is something you really want because the easy-way always be there to wash you away. Each step in life comes to a decision and take another. Now You are on your way but You fight against an opponent you can't see, but all you can feel among your heels. Feel him breathing down on your neck. That's you. Your fears, your doubts, your insecurity all end up as an enemy within. Remember life is the royal battle between You and You.

I put on a show of confidence as often as I could, but inside, I was a befuddled mess. I secretly wished my mother would live forever. - Merrick Delmar

the twelve royal gifts of birth belong to every child, born anywhere, at anytime" -

Nothing crazy dramatic, it was more like I had never been fully erect in the past,

Family isn’t blood or the right series of letters, Sy. It has to be something a hell of a lot stronger than that.

The 5/6 ratio was devised to count the lunar phases and the rest sixth portion was dedicated to the House of the Sun (i.e. the Eastern Portal) whence the Royal Cubit were derived!

Would you let a TV period drama series be filmed at your estate? Dying to know :)

My story hasn’t been written yet, but I know it begins with you.

Rules are for the guidance of wise men and the obedience of fools.’ Harry Day, Royal Flying Corps fighter pilot (1898–1977)

Honorius Hatchard had been old Miss Hatchard's great-uncle; though she would undoubtedly have reversed the phrase, and put forward, as her only claim to distinction, the fact that she was his great-niece. For Honorius Hatchard, in the early years of the nineteenth century, had enjoyed a modest celebrity. As the marble tablet in the interior of the library informed its infrequent visitors, he had possessed marked literary gifts, written a series of papers called "The Recluse of Eagle Range," enjoyed the acquaintance of Washington Irving and Fitz-Greene Halleck, and been cut off in his flower by a fever contracted in Italy. Such had been the sole link between North Dormer and literature, a link piously commemorated by the erection of the monument where Charity Royall, every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, sat at her desk under a freckled steel engraving of the deceased author, and wondered if he felt any deader in his grave than she did in his library.

For the worst of it was not the lies that after all he was unable to utter, ready as he always was to lie for pleasure but incapable of doing so out of necessity, the worst of it was the delights he had lost, the season’s light and the time off that had been taken away from him, and now the year consisted of nothing but a series of hasty awakenings and hurried dismal days. He had to lose what was royal in his life of poverty, the irreplaceable riches that he so greatly and gluttonously enjoyed, to earn a little bit of money that would not buy one-millionth of those treasures.

I remember the number to the school’s desk because last year, Molly thought it would be funny to prank-call a teacher and tell them that the queen wanted to come on a royal visit. We got detention for a week. I assure you, my friends are a very bad influence on me.

Ur. What is your ailment, then? When did it seize you? Cl. Above three hours ago; and I brought it from the Palais Royal. Ur. How? Cl. I have just seen, as a punishment for my sins, that villainous rhapsody The School for Wives. I feel still a twinge from the-fainting-fit which it gave me; I believe I shall not be myself again for a fortnight.

Lanek fought the urge to keep a hand at the hilt of his rapier. It had been some time since Rilv had last summoned him—five years now?— but he still remembered quite clearly the dangers this castle represented. Though he had a guard leading him down the posh hallway, he didn’t feel any safer. Perhaps he couldn’t get himself to fully trust the royal guard. Or perhaps he just couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

Among the many spots used by philosophers and astronomers over the centuries to mark the meridian for zero degrees longitude were Ferro, in the Canary Islands; Ujjain, in the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh; the “agonic line” (a line along which true north and magnetic north coincide, but not forever) that passed through the Azores; the Paris Observatory; the Royal Observatory at Greenwich; the White House; and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.

The city of Granada, so gloriously provided with architectural reminders of its Islamic heritage, was particularly anxious to show that it was a more ancient and distinguished Christian centre than Toledo or Santiago de Compostela, and it also wanted to outface the upstart royal capital Madrid. These aims were much assisted by the ‘discovery’ from 1588 onwards of a series of forged early Christian relics (plomos, or lead books) hidden in the minaret of the former main Granadan mosque and in various nearby caves.

Nonostante l'acuto interesse che provava per i comportamenti dei suoi vicini gli riusciva difficile non guardarli dall'alto in basso. I cinque anni di matrimonio con Anne gli avevano fornito una nuova serie di pregiudizi. Di malavoglia, riconosceva di disprezzare i suoi compagni di residenza per come si adattavano volentieri ai posti assegnati loro nel condominio, per il loro ipertrofico senso di responsabilità, per la mancanza in loro di ogni fioritura colorata. Ma, più di tutto,li guardava dall'alto in basso per il loro buongusto. L'edifico era un monumento al buongusto, alle cucine dal bel design, agli utensili e ai tessuti raffinati, ai mobili eleganti e mai ostentati... A farla breve, li odiava per la sensibilità estetica che quei colti professionisti avevano ereditato da tutte le scuole di design industriale, e da tutti i premiati progetti per l'arredamento di interni che erano diventati canonici nell'ultimo quarto del ventesimo secolo. Royal detestava quella ortodossia degli intelligenti. Quando andava in visita negli appartamenti dei suoi vicini provava una repulsione fisica per le linee delle loro caffettiere d'autore, per l'insieme ben modulato dei colori, per il buongusto e l'intelligenza che, come Mida, avevano trasformato tutto ciò che c'era in quelle case in un perfetto connubio tra funzione e design. In un certo senso, erano le avanguardie degli agiati e colti proletari del futuro, inscatolati in quegli appartamenti carissimi con i loro arredamenti eleganti, le loro intelligenti sensibilità e nessuna possibilità di fuga.

I love the way the rain melts the colors together, like a chalk drawing on the sidewalk. There is a moment, just after sunset, when the shops turn on their lights and steam starts to fog up the windows of the cafés. In French, this twilight time implies a hint of danger. It's called entre chien et loup, between the dog and the wolf. It was just beginning to get dark as we walked through the small garden of Palais Royal. We watched as carefully dressed children in toggled peacoats and striped woolen mittens finished the same game of improvised soccer we had seen in the Place Sainte Marthe. Behind the Palais Royal the wide avenues around the Louvre gave way to narrow streets, small boutiques, and bistros. It started to drizzle. Gwendal turned a corner, and tucked in between two storefronts, barely wider than a set of double doors, I found myself staring down a corridor of fairy lights. A series of arches stretched into the distance, topped with panes of glass, like a greenhouse, that echoed the plip-plop of the rain. It was as if we'd stepped through the witch's wardrobe, the phantom tollbooth, what have you, into another era. The Passage Vivienne was nineteenth-century Paris's answer to a shopping mall, a small interior street lined with boutiques and tearooms where ladies could browse at their leisure without wetting the bustles of their long dresses or the plumes of their new hats. It was certainly a far cry from the shopping malls of my youth, with their piped-in Muzak and neon food courts. Plaster reliefs of Greek goddesses in diaphanous tunics lined the walls. Three-pronged brass lamps hung from the ceiling on long chains. About halfway down, there was an antique store selling nothing but old kitchenware- ridged ceramic bowls for hot chocolate, burnished copper molds in the shape of fish, and a pewter mold for madeleines, so worn around the edges it might have belonged to Proust himself. At the end of the gallery, underneath a clock held aloft by two busty angels, was a bookstore. There were gold stencils on the glass door. Maison fondée en 1826.

Julius explained that the palace rooms where they stood were called Wunderkammers, or wonder rooms. Souvenirs of nature, of travels across continents and seas; jewels and skulls. A show of wealth, intellect, power. The first room had rose-colored glass walls, with rubies and garnets and bloodred drapes of damask. Bowls of blush quartz; semiprecious stone roses running the spectrum of red down to pink, a hard, glittering garden. The vaulted ceiling, a feature of all the ten rooms Julius and Cymbeline visited, was a trompe l'oeil of a rosy sky at down, golden light edging the morning clouds. The next room was of sapphire and sea and sky; lapis lazuli, turquoise and gold and silver. A silver mermaid lounged on the edge of a lapis lazuli bowl fashioned in the shape of an ocean. Venus stood aloft on the waves draped in pearls. There were gold fish and diamond fish and faceted sterling silver starfish. Silvered mirrors edged in silvered mirror. There were opals and aquamarines and tanzanite and amethyst. Seaweed bloomed in shades of blue-green marble. The ceiling was a dome of endless, pale blue. A jungle room of mica and marble followed, with its rain forest of cats made from tiger's-eye, yellow topaz birds, tortoiseshell giraffes with stubby horns of spun gold. Carved clouds of smoky quartz hovered over a herd of obsidian and ivory zebras. Javelinas of spotted pony hide charged tiny, life-sized dik-diks with velvet hides, and dazzling diamond antlers mingled with miniature stuffed sable minks. Agate columns painted a medley of dark greens were strung with faceted ropes of green gold. A room of ivory: bone, teeth, skulls, and velvet. A room crowded with columns all sheathed in mirrors, reflecting world maps and globes and atlases inlaid with silver, platinum, and white gold; the rubies and diamonds that were sometimes set to mark the location of a city or a town of conquest resembled blood and tears. A room dominated by a fireplace large enough to hold several people, upholstered in velvets and silks the colors of flame. Snakes of gold with orange sapphire and yellow topaz eyes coiled around the room's columns. Statues of smiling black men in turbans offering trays of every gem imaginable-emerald, sapphire, ruby, topaz, diamond-stood at the entrance to a room upholstered in pistachio velvet, accented with malachite, called the Green Vault. Peridot wood nymphs attended to a Diana carved from a single pure crystal of quartz studded with tiny tourmalines. Jade tables, and jade lanterns. The royal jewels, blinding in their sparkling excess: crowns, tiaras, coronets, diadems, heavy ceremonial necklaces, rings, and bracelets that could span a forearm, surrounding the world's largest and most perfect green diamond. Above it all was a night sky of painted stars, with inlaid cut crystal set in a serious of constellations.

Philippe d’Aunay, equerry to Monseigneur the Count of Valois, the King’s brother, had been for three years the lover of Marguerite, the eldest of Philip the Fair’s daughters-in-law. And he dared to speak thus to Blanche of Burgundy, the wife of Charles, Philip the Fair’s third son, because Blanche was the mistress of his brother, Gautier d’Aunay, equerry to the Count of Poitiers. And if he dared to speak thus to Jeanne, Countess of Poitiers, it was because Jeanne, no one’s mistress as yet, nevertheless was a party, partly from weakness, partly because it amused her, to the intrigues of the other two royal daughters-in-law.

The character and the play of Hamlet are central to any discussion of Shakespeare's work. Hamlet has been described as melancholic and neurotic, as having an Oedipus complex, as being a failure and indecisive, as well as being a hero, and a perfect Renaissance prince. These judgements serve perhaps only to show how many interpretations of one character may be put forward. 'To be or not to be' is the centre of Hamlet's questioning. Reasons not to go on living outnumber reasons for living. But he goes on living, until he completes his revenge for his father's murder, and becomes 'most royal', the true 'Prince of Denmark' (which is the play's subtitle), in many ways the perfection of Renaissance man. Hamlet's progress is a 'struggle of becoming' - of coming to terms with life, and learning to accept it, with all its drawbacks and challenges. He discusses the problems he faces directly with the audience, in a series of seven soliloquies - of which 'To be or not to be' is the fourth and central one. These seven steps, from the zero-point of a desire not to live, to complete awareness and acceptance (as he says, 'the readiness is all'), give a structure to the play, making the progress all the more tragic, as Hamlet reaches his aim, the perfection of his life, only to die.

The spring equinox celebration included a dawn trip to the nearby Rillaton Barrow, a Bronze Age burial mound high up on the Cheesewring Moor, with its entrance facing directly east. ‘A great archaeological find, dear,’ Mrs Darley informed me, rather breathlessly, as we climbed up to the entrance. ‘A skeleton, dagger and gold cup were all found here. However, the gold cup ended up in the royal bathroom for some considerable time until the death of George V and now stands in the British Museum, although you can see a copy of it in Truro if you wish. Come,’ she said, patting the top of the lintel, ‘we’ll sit here a while and wait for the sun.’ The sun duly arrived in all its spring glory over the eastern horizon, bringing a golden glow to the swathes of mist, which hung in the fields between Dartmoor and Bodmin.

Resisting intense commercial pressure, Walpole’s government had drafted an Act of Quarantine to keep out vessels suspected of carrying the disease. An author in the government’s pay believed to be Defoe rose vigorously to the Act’s defence in a series of ten articles for the Daily Post, Mist’s Journal, and Applebee’s Journal, signing himself ‘Quarantine’... Opinion was duly swayed and the Act of Quarantine gained the royal assent on 12 February 1722. Four days earlier, Defoe had published his first major work on plague, Due Preparations for the Plague, as well for the Soul as Body, and in the spring its blend of medicine and piety suffused the grand historical fiction that is A Journal of the Plague Year. If the Marseilles plague gave Defoe a publishing opportunity that had been simmering for years, it also spawned a wealth of new material for him to recycle or refute (David Roberts)

THE SCHOOL FOR Wives criticised was first brought out at the theatre of the Palais Royal, on the 1st of June, 1663. It can scarcely be called a play, for it is entirely destitute of action. It is simply a reported conversation of “friends in council; but we cannot be surprised that it had a temporary success on the stage. It was acted as a pendant to The School for Wives, and the two were played together, with much profit to the company, thirty-two consecutive times. Molière, in the Preface to The School for Wives, mentions that the idea of writing The School for Wives criticised was suggested to him by a person of quality, who, it is said, was the Abbé Dubuisson, the grand introducteur des ruelles or, in other words, the Master of the Ceremonies to the Précieuses. Our author had also just been inscribed on the list of pensions which Louis XIV. allowed to eminent literary men, for a sum of a thousand livres.

was laughable. An aisle stretched down the middle of the ballroom, defined by candelabras topped with more pale orbs, their light flickering like little flames. The aisle runner was black and set with rhinestones in mimicry of the night sky. Or, the always sky, as it was here on Luna. A hush fell over the room, and Kai could tell it was not a normal hush. It was too controlled, too flawless. His heart pounded, uncontrolled in its cage. This was the moment he’d been dreading, the fate he’d fought against for so long. No one was going to interfere. He was alone and rooted to the floor. At the far back of the room, the massive doors opened, chorused with a fanfare of horns. At the end of the aisle, two shadows emerged—a man and a woman in militaristic uniforms carrying the flags of Luna and the Eastern Commonwealth. After they parted, setting the flags into stands on either side of the altar, a series of Lunar guards marched into the room, fully armed and synchronized. They, too, spread out when they reached the altar, like a protective wall around the dais. Next down the aisle were six thaumaturges dressed in black, walking in pairs, graceful as black swans. They were followed by two in red, and finally Head Thaumaturge Aimery Park, all in white. A voice dropped down from some hidden speakers. “All rise for Her Royal Majesty, Queen Levana Blackburn of Luna.” The people rose. Kai clasped his shaking hands behind his back. She appeared as a silhouette first in the lights of the doors, a perfect hourglass dropping off to a full billowing skirt that flowed behind her. She walked with her head high, gliding toward

Blackbeard the pirate was actually Edward Teach sometimes known as Edward Thatch, who lived from 1680 until his death on November 22, 1718. Blackbeard was a notorious English pirate who sailed around the eastern coast of North America. Although little is known about his childhood he may have worked as an apprentice on an English ship, during the second phase in a series of wars between the French and the English from 1754 and ended in 1778 as part of the American Revolutionary War. The war had different names depending on where it was fought. In the American colonies the war was known as the French and Indian War. During the time it was fought during the reign of Anne, Queen of Great Britain, it was called Queen Anne's War and in Europe it was known as the War of the Spanish Succession. During the earlier period of hostilities between France and England, some English ships were granted permission to raid French colonies and French ships and were considered privateers. Captain Benjamin Hornigold, whose crew Teach joined around 1716 operated from the Bahamian island of New Providence. Captain Hornigold placed Teach in command of a sloop that he had captured and during this time he was given the name Blackbeard. Horngold and Blackbeard sailing out of New Providence engaged in numerous acts of piracy. Their numbers were boosted by the addition of other captured ships. Blackbeard captured a French slave ship known as La Concorde and renamed her Queen Anne's Revenge. He renamed it “Queen Anne's Revenge” referring to Anne, Queen of England and Scotland returning to the throne of Great Britain. He equipped his new acquisition with 40 guns, and a crew of over 300 men. Becoming a world renowned pirate, most people feared him. In a failed attempt to run a blockade in place and refusing the governors pardon, he ran “Queen Anne's Revenge” aground on a sandbar near Beaufort, North Carolina and settled in North Carolina where he then accepted a royal pardon. The wreck of “Queen Anne's Revenge” was found in 1996 by private salvagers, Intersal Inc., a salvage company based in Palm Bay, Florida Not knowing when enough, he returned to plundering at sea. Alexander Spotswood, the Governor of Virginia formed a garrison of soldiers and sailors to protect the colony and if possible capture Blackbeard. On November 22, 1718 following a ferocious battle, Blackbeard and several of his crew were killed by a small force of sailors led by Lieutenant Robert Maynard. After his death, Blackbeard became a martyr and an inspiration for a number of fictitious books.

Should I be scared?” “I think you should get ready for quite an inquiry, but they’re necessary questions that must be answered if I want to ask you out on a second date.” “What if I don’t want to go on a second date?” “Hmm.” He taps his chin with his fork, ready to dig in the minute the plate arrives at our table. “That’s a good point. All right. If the question arose, would you go on a second date with me?” “Well, now I feel pressured to say yes just so I can hear the inquiry.” “You’re going to have to deal with the pressure, sweet cheeks.” “Fine. Hypothetically, if you were to ask me out on a second date, I would hypothetically, possibly say yes.” “Great.” He bops his own nose with his fork and then sets it down on the table. “Here goes.” He looks serious; both his hands rest palm down on the table and his shoulders stiffen. Looking me dead in the eyes, he asks, “Bobbies and Rebels are in the World Series, what shirt do you wear?” “Bobbies obviously.” He blinks. Sits back. “What?” “Bobbies for life.” “But I’m on the Rebels.” “Yes, but are we dating, are we married? Are we just fooling around? There’s going to have to be a huge commitment on my part in order to put a Rebels shirt on. Sorry.” “We’re dating.” “Eh.” I wave my hand. “Fine. We’re living together.” “Hmm, I don’t know.” I twist a strand of hair in my finger. “Christ, we’re married.” “Ugh.” I wince. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think it will ever happen.” “Not even if we’re married, for fuck’s sake?” he asks, dumbfounded. It’s endearing, especially since he’s pushing his hand through his hair in distress, tousling it. “Do we have kids?” I ask. “Six.” “Six?” Now it’s time for my eyes to pop out of their sockets. “Do you really think I want to birth six children?” “Hell, no.” He shakes his head. “We adopted six kids from all around the world. We’re going to have the most diverse and loving family you’ll ever see.” Adopting six kids, now that’s incredibly sweet. Or mad? No, it’s sweet. In fact, it’s extremely rare to meet a man who not only knows he wants to adopt kids, but is willing to look outside of the US, knowing how much he could offer that child. Good God, this man is a unicorn. “We have the means for it, after all,” he says, continuing. “You’re taking over the city of Chicago, and I’ll be raining home runs on every opposing team. We would be the power couple, the new king and queen of the city. Excuse me, Oprah and Steadman, a new, hip couple is in town. People would wear our faces on their shirts like the royals in England. We’re the next Kate and William, the next Meghan and Harry. People will scream our name and then faint, only for us to give them mouth-to-mouth because even though we’re super famous, we are also humanitarians.” “Wow.” I sit back in my chair. “That’s quite the picture you paint.” I know what my mom will say about him already. Don’t lose him, Dorothy. He’s gold. Gorgeous and selfless. “So . . . with all that said, our six children at your side, would you wear a Rebels shirt?” I take some time to think about it, mulling over the idea of switching to black and red as my team colors. Could I do it? With the way Jason is smiling at me, hope in his eyes, how could I ever deny him that joy—and I say that as if we’ve been married for ten years. “I would wear halfsies. Half Bobbies, half Rebels, and that’s the best I can do.” He lifts his finger to the sky. “I’ll take it.

Captain Cook.—But in the year 1770 a series of important discoveries was indirectly brought about. The Royal Society of London, calculating that the planet Venus would cross the disc of the sun in 1769, persuaded the English Government to send out an expedition to the Pacific Ocean for the purpose of making observations which would enable astronomers to calculate the distance of the earth from the sun.

Bold Gambit Lanek fought the urge to keep a hand at the hilt of his rapier. It had been some time since Rilv had last summoned him—five years now?— but he still remembered quite clearly the dangers this castle represented. Though he had a guard leading him down the posh hallway, he didn’t feel any safer. Perhaps he couldn’t get himself to fully trust the royal guard. Or perhaps he just couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

His voice became louder as he

Ball in the Well As future rulers of the land, the princes of the ancient kingdom of Hastings were required to master various skills like archery and sword play. Their grandfather, Peter decided that they should have only the best teacher and so he was on the constant lookout for such a person. One day, the princes were playing in the garden with their ball, which unfortunately fell into the palace well.   The princes ran to the well and peered inside. All they could see was the bright red ball floating on top of the water far down in the well. The princes were disappointed because they could not continue with their game. Just then, they saw a young man dressed in black clothes passing by. From his dress, they knew immediately that was a sage, a wise and pious man with little concern for the cares of the world. They called out to him. “Sir, can you help us?” When he approached them, Durand, the eldest prince, told him how their ball had fallen into the well and they could not reach it. The man smiled. “You are princes of royal blood and you cannot solve such a simple problem?” he said. “Now watch me.” The princes looked on as the sage plucked a blade of grass, chanted some holy words and threw it into the well.   Amazingly, the blade of grass hit the surface of the ball and remained stuck on it. The sage took a second blade of grass and again after chanting some words, threw it into the well. The second blade of grass stuck to the first blade of grass. The man kept chanting and throwing blades of grass into the well. Each blade stuck to the earlier blade of grass and soon formed a chain leading to the very top of the well. The sage then used this to pull out the ball. The princes stared at him in astonishment.   Later, they told their grandfather what had happened. He then asked them to describe the man who he realised was none other than Sayer, a famous warrior who had given up fighting to become a sage. So their grandfather hastened to find him and never stopped until he persuaded Sayer to come and teach the princes how to shoot and to fight with a sword. Sayer faithfully taught the princes all kinds of warfare and military skills. As a result, the kingdom of Hastings became extremely powerful. In the process, Sayer became one of the most important and powerful men in the land. Moral of story: Once skills are learned they are not easily forgotten.

The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.

49.​TRUE OR FALSE: 2006’S CASINO ROYALE WAS THE FIRST BOND MOVIE THAT COULD BE WATCHED IN CHINA. True. It was the first film in the James Bond series that the Chinese censor board approved. 50.​TRUE OR FALSE: THE FIRST INTERRACIAL KISS IN TELEVISION HISTORY HAPPENED ON STAR TREK. True. Although the network originally didn’t want to air it, William Shatner reportedly sabotaged all of the other shoots, forcing the network to run the kiss. 51.​TRUE OR FALSE: THE FIRST TELEVISION COMMERCIAL EVER WAS A CAR COMMERCIAL. False. It was actually a commercial for watches, and it aired in 1941. 52.​TRUE OR FALSE: ACTOR JIM CAVIEZEL WAS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING WHILE PORTRAYING JESUS IN THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST. True. Caviezel suffered a large number of calamities during the filming, but this one seemed like a bit of an omen. 53.​TRUE OR FALSE: BRYAN ADAMS’ FAMOUS SONG “SUMMER OF ‘69” IS NAMED AFTER THE SEX POSITION, NOT THE YEAR. True. In fact, Adams was just 9 years old during the summer of 1969. 54.​TRUE OR FALSE: THE ROLLING STONES PERFORMED IN BACK TO THE FUTURE 3. False. But ZZ Top did! 55.​TRUE OR FALSE: THE WORD “FUCK” WAS ONCE SAID OVER 1,000 TIMES IN ONE MOVIE. False. But Swearnet: The Movie came close with the word appearing 935 times—a record amount! 56.​TRUE OR FALSE: BATTLEFIELD EARTH WAS WRITTEN BY THE FOUNDER OF SCIENTOLOGY. True. L. Ron Hubbard was a well-known science fiction writer in addition to being the founder of Scientology.

Kamehameha was the only one with the audacity to blaspheme the name of ‘Io by mentioning it openly. He named his son Liholiho ‘Iolani. The name ‘Iolani was then given to Liholiho’s grand nephew, Alexander Liholiho, who then named the royal palace ‘Iolani. Ahuena attributes the extinction of the royal family and of the monarchy to this sacrilege by the royal family.

The historian, Rudy Mitchell, writes that Pa‘ao was a kahuna nui (high priest), ali‘i nui (high royalty), famous navigator and a sorcerer of great power. He was an ali‘i nui of the sacred and powerful royal family of Ra‘iatea. Pa‘ao was from Vavau (Bora Bora). In ancient times, the royal house of Vavau conquered the other islands of western Tahiti and established themselves at Ra‘iatea. Although this family knew of ‘Io2, they established a new oppressive religious system with its chief place at Taputaputea.

H-E-L-L-O-M-Y-L-O-V-E

Gray clouds hung in the sky and a steady rain fell in the distance.

In their desire to root out tyranny once and for all, the members of the state conventions who drafted the new constitutions stripped the new elected governors of much of the power that the royal governors had exercised. No longer would governors have the authority to create electoral districts, control the meeting of the assemblies, veto legislation, grant lands, establish courts of law, issue charters of incorporation to towns, or, in some states, even pardon crimes.

I find myself with a day off. Rare. Unprecedented. Inconceivable. Mr. Fuchigami says I may go anywhere in Tokyo. And I know exactly where I want to spend my day: the Imperial Dog Kennels. Honestly, it's needed. It's really needed. Even though Akio told me The Tokyo Tattler was beneath me, it's been hard to get the article off my mind, hard not to overthink everything I might do wrong. Tomorrow kicks off a series of events. I'll accompany my father to assorted public outings. Cameras and press will be present, a soft launch of sorts before the prime minister's wedding. My nerves are frayed. What will the press say about me? I smiled too much? I didn't smile enough? A royal puppy pile is definitely in order.

One does. I’m convinced that life is a series of random events that somehow come together in some sequence that is beyond our understanding. That sequence, when it becomes a whole timeline, is what we call our lives. It may be fate or the result of a higher intelligence or God. I don’t know, but it’s there.

Gog the boss now!” said the little piglin. “You all have to do what Gog say!” “But Gog,” said one of the adult piglins. “I’m your dad!” “Gog no care,” said Gog. “Gog the boss!” “Boss Gog,” said another piglin, “we must go and mine some more netherite. If we don’t have enough for the Royal Guard tomorrow, we will be in big-big trouble.” “Good point,” said Gog. “Let’s go.” And all the piglins ran off.

thrilled

Too many illusions were being shattered for Catherine these last few days. While the court was grand, it was also terrifying, and the illustrious figures of court were merely men and women in positions of extraordinary power. Power that could be taken away at any moment.

all the Royal Guard dropped their weapons and joined in the chant. “BUM-BUM HEAD! BUM-BUM HEAD! EMPRESS IS A BUM-BUM HEAD!

So he found it a relief and a delight to be treated with something less than royal respect. Meg’s shafts of wit were never cruel, and she aimed them most often at herself. Trevyn had seen her with the wolves; he knew her courage. Her merciless honesty concerning her own shortcomings was a different kind of courage, he thought, and he admired her for it.

No,” said the guard, dropping his netherite sword on the ground. “Wriggo no work for Empress anymore. Empress is a bum-bum head!” “Traitor!” roared The Empress. “You will go in the pit too!” Another Royal Guard stepped forward. “Bum-bum head!” he began to chant. “Bum-bum head! Empress is a bum-bum head!” Then, to Dave’s amazement, all the Royal Guard dropped their weapons and joined in the chant. “BUM-BUM HEAD! BUM-BUM HEAD! EMPRESS IS A BUM-BUM HEAD!

ODETTE DIED IN 1995 at the age of eighty-two. On February 23, 2012, almost seventy years after she joined the SOE, the Royal Mail released a stamp in her honor as part of its Britons of Distinction series.

Time for bed. Goodnight

From the athletic arena to the concert stage to the IMAX theater, countless worshipers flock to experience the glory of sport, song, and cinema. As Jamie Smith has observed, venues like these provide a series of secular temples complete with their own idolatrous liturgies.

Expectations are the real reason behind heartbreaks, you know. You expect a person to behave in a certain way and when they don’t, you fall apart.

Bum-bum head!” he began to chant. “Bum-bum head! Empress is a bum-bum head!” Then, to Dave’s amazement, all the Royal Guard dropped their weapons and joined in the chant. “BUM-BUM HEAD! BUM-BUM HEAD! EMPRESS IS A BUM-BUM HEAD!

The cult of Yahweh and the symbol, the asherah, appear from later data to be general features of both northern and southern religion. The northern evidence for El seems clear from his cult in Shechem. Jerusalem probably represents another cultic site where the royal cult of Yahweh assumed the indigenous traditions of El. The monarchic solar imagery for Yahweh seems to be strictly a southern development, a special feature of the royal Judean cult.

Any more troubles can wait their turn.

Comparison with other people is the root of all evil. It always boils down to wondering if “they” are the normal ones, and if there’s something wrong with us.

An astounding amount of royal history happened during the writing of Endgame. The world was introduced to King Charles III and Queen Camilla; Prince Andrew was stripped of his titles. Prince Harry released an explosive memoir and a revealing Netflix series, and, of course, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II passed away. All

Welcome to the World of Forsyth U—five interconnected series that follow the dark underworld of the Forsyth Greek System. Men, Sex, Guns, Torture, Death, and Drugs have ruled the houses for generations. That is, until the Monarchs change everything.

the analysis of the story in the rest of this book does not address it as a tale of men and gods in which characters are interpreted as embodiments of ideas such as truth, virtue, or cupidity. The story is not interpreted as a veiled account of a historical event or process—such as the ascent of a particular ancient tribe, say, the Adamites, to power. Nor does it regard the story as a typological tale in which Adam and Hawwa foreshadow particular types of later people, such as royal elites and Israelite peasants. It does not consider the Garden story as one that provides hints or insights into secret lore or mystical doctrines. All of these interpretive strategies have already been used to explain the story, or to explain it away, or to make it make sense so that the Bible could be taken seriously, or to clarify it for theological reasons. None of these reasons for reading, or objectives for analyzing, the story interests me.

I ain't got 409 "distinct titles" on Goodreads. My series is not "The Tetra Wars" or whatever. My series is "The Witches of Isle Royale." There are 9 books in the series, not 409. All the authors named "Michael Ryan" are not all me. Goodreads has got that supremely balled up.

The knock-on effect of schools abolishing punishments and slackening discipline procedures was having a drastic effect on people’s attitudes in the workplace. Having lived through the harsh, physical regime

The heads were flushed with sea-water, so they constantly stank! But in rough weather, the water pressure varied as the ship pounded the waves. This often caused a phenomenon known as “Blow-Back!” When this happened, the contents of the toilet exploded violently upwards, all over the walls of the cubical and the floor. And when it happened, it tended to explode in sequence; one toilet followed by the next in line, and so on. God help you if you happened to be on the toilet at the time as there would be no warning until a last minute gurgling sound; then, “BOOM!” A very messy experience; equally messy for those of us who then had to clean it up afterwards!

A Royal Guard, puffing out his purple-uniformed chest, barked, “Princess Hualiama, by the King’s order I place you under arrest –” Hualiama’s smile, modelled on Grandion’s best, lip-curling, fang-revealing, Dragon-fire-breathing efforts, appeared to cork his throat pleasingly. She said, “You can try.” And she left the nonplussed soldier and his squad of four gaping at her back as she marched off. Faintly, she heard a voice inquire, “Why didn’t you arrest the Princess, sir?” “I prefer staying alive.” “Aye!” the others agreed fervently.

a reader before being kidnapped to the Vale—my life had always been packed with school, gymnastics practice, and homework—but with only books available to the humans of the Vale for entertainment, I’d quickly learned what I’d been missing out on. Now that I was disguised as a vampire princess and had my own quarters in the palace as “Princess Ana,” I had less to do in my waking hours than ever. And so, I’d been thrilled when my guard Tess had shown me the royal library. It contained way more books than the small bookshop in the human village could ever imagine. And unlike the books in the human village—which were worn, torn, and had smudged pages—the books in the palace library were fresh and new. In the human village, I’d been in the middle of reading a popular series

It doesn’t take a prophet to know you’ll get into loads of trouble before your RMC even begins. And twice as much after it does.

Tt’s certain that one of your bachelors doesn’t have your best interest in mind.

Despite the smile on my face, I was deeply shaken by the fact that one bachelor, who was pretending to court me, would put me and my family through all of this.

I was crossing the border of a simple crush into the fields of love.

We never imagined any of this would happen. This was far worse than what I went through during my RMC

Passion was written in her eyes. Devotion in her breath. And willingness in her soul. It touched me deeply. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say her feelings for me were powerful. So too were mine. They had come upon me slowly, not like the abrupt passion I had felt for the Ogarzian princess.

Zadkiel, I understand your position dating several girls at once, and I have assumed you love Esperanza more than the rest of us. But I don’t care. You haven’t eliminated me yet, which means I still have a chance with you.” She pushed me back on the grass and straddled me. A ferocious look came to her eyes. “So kiss the others for all I care, but don’t hold back with me; because right now, all I want is to kiss you so passionately that you’ll forget Esperanza even exists.

The image is a vocation, a calling. It is the call to be an angled mirror, reflecting God’s wise order into the world and reflecting the praises of all creation back to the Creator. That is what it means to be the royal priesthood: looking after God’s world is the royal bit, summing up creation’s praise is the priestly bit. And the image is, of course, the final thing that is put into the temple (here I draw on John Walton’s careful exposition of Genesis 1 and 2 as the creation of sacred space, and the seven days of Genesis 1 as the seven stages of temple building), so that the god can be present to his people through the image and that his people can worship him in that image.

insatiable.

when Andrew told me the press knew about Elle wasn’t, Oh, that gives me the perfect excuse to return to her. Instead, it was, I have to protect her.

a motherfucking douchebag asshole.

Thank you, Elle. That will be all.” He gives me a dismissive wave of his hand—almost as though he’s excusing me like one of his servants—before his gaze snaps to mine. His eyes widen in what almost looks like horror, and his mouth falls open. My jaw tightens.

He’s…well, he’s a guy. And guys are all dicks, even my brother. I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

Before I even realize what I’m saying. “I love you. I love you, Elle.” Her nails dig into me. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet I’m afraid to believe what I hear. “I…I love you, too.

I can only think of one thing: I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I told her I love her. And then: I can’t believe I love her. I’m in love with her. I don’t know how I never realized it before now—but I love Eleanor Parker. I love her more than I ever imagined I could love a woman. I love her. I LOVE HER! I’ve never told a woman I loved her before. And I’ve definitely never experienced the feelings that go along with it. And she said she loved me, too.

[...] The deceptiveness of men without “members, ” that is, castrated men or eunuchs, has historical precedent. There is a long tradition of eunuchs who were used by rulers, heads of state, and magistrates as keepers o f women. Eunuchs were supervisors of the harem in Islam and wardens of women’s apartments in many royal households. In fact, the word eunuch, from the Greek eunouchos, literally means “keeper of the bed. ” Eunuchs were men that other more powerful men used to keep their women in place. By fulfilling this role, eunuchs also succeeded in winning the confidence of the ruler and securing important and influential positions.

In fact, on October 8, 2019, some five months after Big Bang’s finale aired, the Secretary General of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, Goran Hannson, praised the show during the announcement for the real-life Nobel prize winners in physics. He said The Big Bang Theory was “a fantastic achievement” for bringing “the world of science to laptops and living rooms around the world,” and name-checked Sheldon and Amy, as well as quoted the show’s theme song.

On one of those nights in January 2014, we sat next to each other in Maria Vostra, happy and content, smoking nice greens, with one of my favorite movies playing on the large flat-screen TVs: Once Upon a Time in America. I took a picture of James Woods and Robert De Niro on the TV screen in Maria Vostra's cozy corner, which I loved to share with Martina. They were both wearing hats and suits, standing next to each other. Robert de Niro looked a bit like me and his character, Noodles, (who was a goy kid in the beginning of the movie, growing up with Jewish kids) on the picture, was as naive as I was. I just realized that James Woods—who plays an evil Jewish guy in the movie, acting like Noodles' friend all along, yet taking his money, his woman, taking away his life, and trying to kill him at one point—until the point that Noodles has to escape to save his life and his beloved ones—looks almost exactly like Adam would look like if he was a bit older. “All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.” – William Shakespeare That sounds like an ancient spell or rather directions, instructions to me, the director instructing his actors, being one of the actors himself as well, an ancient spell, that William Shakespeare must have read it from a secret book or must have heard it somewhere. Casting characters for certain roles to act like this or like that as if they were the director’s custom made monsters. The extensions of his own will, desires and actions. The Reconquista was a centuries-long series of battles by Christian states to expel the Muslims (Moors), who had ruled most of the Iberian Peninsula since the 8th century. The Reconquista ended on January 2, 1492. The same year Columbus, whose statue stands atop a Corinthian custom-made column down the Port at the bottom of the Rambla, pointing with his finger toward the West, had discovered America on October 12, 1492. William Shakespeare was born in April 1564. He had access to knowledge that had been unavailable to white people for thousands of years. He must have formed a close relationship with someone of royal lineage, or used trick, who then permitted him to enter the secret library of the Anglican Church. “A character has to be ignorant of the future, unsure about the past, and not at all sure what he/she’s supposed to be doing.” – Anthony Burgess Martina proudly shared with me her admiration for the Argentine author Julio Cortazar, who was renowned across South America. She quoted one of his famous lines, saying: “Vida es como una cebolla, hay que pelarla llorando,” which translates to “Life is like an onion, you have to peel it crying.” Martina shared with me her observation that the sky in Europe felt lower compared to America. She mentioned that the clouds appeared larger in America, giving a sense of a higher and more expansive sky, while in Europe, it felt like the sky had a lower and more limiting ceiling. “The skies are much higher in Argentina, Tomas, in all America. Here in Europe the sky is so low. In Argentina there are huge clouds and the sky is huge, Tomas.” – Martina Blaterare “It was curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under the sky were also very much the same--everywhere, all over the world, hundreds or thousands of millions of people just like this, people ignorant of one another’s existence, held apart by walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same--people who had never learned to think but were storing up in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would one day overturn the world.” – George Orwell, 1984

As the battle began Ivo Taillefer, the minstrel knight who had claimed the right to make the first attack, advanced up the hill on horseback, throwing his lance and sword into the air and catching them before the English army. He then charged deep into the English ranks, and was slain. The cavalry charges of William’s mail-clad knights, cumbersome in manœuvre, beat in vain upon the dense, ordered masses of the English. Neither the arrow hail nor the assaults of the horsemen could prevail against them. William’s left wing of cavalry was thrown into disorder, and retreated rapidly down the hill. On this the troops on Harold’s right, who were mainly the local “fyrd”, broke their ranks in eager pursuit. William, in the centre, turned his disciplined squadrons upon them and cut them to pieces. The Normans then re-formed their ranks and began a second series of charges upon the English masses, subjecting them in the intervals to severe archery. It has often been remarked that this part of the action resembles the afternoon at Waterloo, when Ney’s cavalry exhausted themselves upon the British squares, torn by artillery in the intervals. In both cases the tortured infantry stood unbroken. Never, it was said, had the Norman knights met foot-soldiers of this stubbornness. They were utterly unable to break through the shield-walls, and they suffered serious losses from deft blows of the axe-men, or from javelins, or clubs hurled from the ranks behind. But the arrow showers took a cruel toll. So closely, it was said, were the English wedged that the wounded could not be removed, and the dead scarcely found room in which to sink upon the ground. The autumn afternoon was far spent before any result had been achieved, and it was then that William adopted the time-honoured ruse of a feigned retreat. He had seen how readily Harold’s right had quitted their positions in pursuit after the first repulse of the Normans. He now organised a sham retreat in apparent disorder, while keeping a powerful force in his own hands. The house-carls around Harold preserved their discipline and kept their ranks, but the sense of relief to the less trained forces after these hours of combat was such that seeing their enemy in flight proved irresistible. They surged forward on the impulse of victory, and when half-way down the hill were savagely slaughtered by William’s horsemen. There remained, as the dusk grew, only the valiant bodyguard who fought round the King and his standard. His brothers, Gyrth and Leofwine, had already been killed. William now directed his archers to shoot high into the air, so that the arrows would fall behind the shield-wall, and one of these pierced Harold in the right eye, inflicting a mortal wound. He fell at the foot of the royal standard, unconquerable except by death, which does not count in honour. The hard-fought battle was now decided. The last formed body of troops was broken, though by no means overwhelmed. They withdrew into the woods behind, and William, who had fought in the foremost ranks and had three horses killed under him, could claim the victory. Nevertheless the pursuit was heavily checked. There is a sudden deep ditch on the reverse slope of the hill of Hastings, into which large numbers of Norman horsemen fell, and in which they were butchered by the infuriated English lurking in the wood. The dead king’s naked body, wrapped only in a robe of purple, was hidden among the rocks of the bay. His mother in vain offered the weight of the body in gold for permission to bury him in holy ground. The Norman Duke’s answer was that Harold would be more fittingly laid upon the Saxon shore which he had given his life to defend. The body was later transferred to Waltham Abbey, which he had founded. Although here the English once again accepted conquest and bowed in a new destiny, yet ever must the name of Harold be honoured in the Island for which he and his famous house-carls fought indomitably to the end.

When viewing the zodiac using the decans-lens instead of days, we find that the heliacal rising of Sirius equals to seventy days plus three weeks (i.e. 90 days). Those three weeks (i.e. decans) correspond to the time needed to lift up the dead king into the sky plus the time needed for Sirius to rise. This is when the royal-cosmic copulation is consummated.

rejection, ordered a series of aerial attacks on the Royal Air Force bases and radar stations in southeast England. By the end of October, Hitler realized that he would not be able to secure air superiority for an invasion