Safer Side Quotes

At the edge of the field Silva and Stefan witnessed heartrending images in greyscale as thousands of desperate refugees streamed down the road in leaden shades of melancholy.  This somber line of tired and dirty humans moved so close together that they jostled each other with each step; their random movements reminded Silva of corks bobbing in a slow moving stream.  They watched them pass from the side of the road, but eventually fell-in, trudging along with the suffering others, feeling safer in numbers, hoping for a destination worth finding.

There is no safer place for me than at your side.

But it's kinda like saying one side of the Death Star is safer than the other. It's still the goddamn Death Star.

I saw what I had been fighting for: It was for me, a scared child, who had run away a long time ago to what I had imagined was a safer place. And hiding in this place, behind my invisible barriers, I knew what lay on the other side: Her side attacks. Her secret weapons. Her uncanny ability to find my weakest spots. But in the brief instant that I had peered over the barriers I could finally see what was finally there: an old woman, a wok for her armor, a knitting needle for her sword, getting a little crabby as she waited patiently for her daughter to invite her in.

He left his soul behind and told me: It’ll be safer by your side.

It is safer to face a strong enemy in the field of battle, than to fight a war by the side of a weak friend.

Bashir paused to watch a live CNN feed... Bashir was struck silent by the images of wailing Iraqi women carrying children's bodies out of the rubble of a bombed building. As he studied the screen, Bashir's bullish shoulders slumped. "People like me are America's best friends in the region," Bashir said at last shaking his head ruefully, "I'm a moderate Msulim, an educated man. But watching this, even I could become a jihadi. How can Americans say they are making themselves safer?" Bashir asked, struggling not to direct his anger toward the large American target on the other side of the desk. "Your president Bush had done a wonderful job of uniting one billion Muslims against America for the next two hundred years.

Between the roof of the shed and the big plant that hangs over the fence from the house next door I could see the constellation Orion. People say that Orion is called Orion because Orion was a hunter and the constellation looks like a hunter with a club and a bow and arrow, like this: But this is really silly because it is just stars, and you could join up the dots in any way you wanted, and you could make it look like a lady with an umbrella who is waving, or the coffeemaker which Mrs. Shears has, which is from Italy, with a handle and steam coming out, or like a dinosaur. And there aren't any lines in space, so you could join bits of Orion to bits of Lepus or Taurus or Gemini and say that they were a constellation called the Bunch of Grapes or Jesus or the Bicycle (except that they didn't have bicycles in Roman and Greek times, which was when they called Orion Orion). And anyway, Orion is not a hunter or a coffeemaker or a dinosaur. It is just Betelgeuse and Bellatrix and Alnilam and Rigel and 17 other stars I don't know the names of. And they are nuclear explosions billions of miles away. And that is the truth. I stayed awake until 5:47. That was the last time I looked at my watch before I fell asleep. It has a luminous face and lights up if you press a button, so I could read it in the dark. I was cold and I was frightened Father might come out and find me. But I felt safer in the garden because I was hidden. I looked at the sky a lot. I like looking up at the sky in the garden at night. In summer I sometimes come outside at night with my torch and my planisphere, which is two circles of plastic with a pin through the middle. And on the bottom is a map of the sky and on top is an aperture which is an opening shaped in a parabola and you turn it round to see a map of the sky that you can see on that day of the year from the latitude 51.5° north, which is the latitude that Swindon is on, because the largest bit of the sky is always on the other side of the earth. And when you look at the sky you know you are looking at stars which are hundreds and thousands of light-years away from you. And some of the stars don't even exist anymore because their light has taken so long to get to us that they are already dead, or they have exploded and collapsed into red dwarfs. And that makes you seem very small, and if you have difficult things in your life it is nice to think that they are what is called negligible, which means that they are so small you don't have to take them into account when you are calculating something. I didn't sleep very well because of the cold and because the ground was very bumpy and pointy underneath me and because Toby was scratching in his cage a lot. But when I woke up properly it was dawn and the sky was all orange and blue and purple and I could hear birds singing, which is called the Dawn Chorus. And I stayed where I was for another 2 hours and 32 minutes, and then I heard Father come into the garden and call out, "Christopher...? Christopher...?

But to a Vietnamese peasant whose home means a lifetime of back-breaking labor, it will take more than presidential promises to convince him that we are on his side.

To be on a safer side" is the most unsafe approach, simply because it prevents us from developing alternative options and make us stuck with the options in-hand – which may or may not work.

They fought together as brothers in arms They died together and now they sleep side by side To them we have a solemn obligation The obligation to ensure that their sacrifice will help To make this a better and safer world in which to live.

Part of my ongoing priesthood is to find the bridges between my faith and the faiths of other people, so that those of us who draw water from wells on different sides of the river can still get together from time to time, making the whole area safer for our children.

Brethren, take note of this, as long as the LORD disciplines you, you are on a safer side. If you are not disciplined by the LORD, be afraid! The only possibility is that the LORD would have left you to command your own ship which is ultimately going to wreck. (Hebrews 12: 5 to 11)

Again and again workers told me that they are under tremendous pressure not to report injuries. The annual bonuses of plant foremen and supervisors are often based in part on the injury rate of their workers. Instead of crating a safer workplace, these bonus schemes encourage slaughterhouse managers to make sure that accidents and injuries go unreported. Missing fingers, broken bones, deep lacerations and amputated limbs are difficult to conceal from authorities. But the dramatic and catastrophic injuries in a slaughterhouse are greatly outnumbered by less visible, though no less debilitating, ailments: torn muscles, slipped disks, pinched nerves.

She snuggled into his side, felt her body relax against his when his arms drew her in close. She had never felt safer in her life, not even in her books.

As a magistrate his methods were simple. Even for the vastest bribe he would never sell the decision of a case, because he knew that a magistrate who gives wrong judgments is caught sooner or later. His practice, a much safer one, was to take bribes from both sides and then decide the case on strictly legal grounds. This won him a useful reputation for impartiality.

This was not going the way I wanted it to. I felt a desperate need to escape before I said something that would screw up my plans. Ren was the dark side, the forbidden fruit, my personal Delilah-the ultimate temptation. The question was…could I resist? I gave his knee a friendly pat and played my trump card…”I’m leaving.” “You’re what?” “I’m going home to Oregon. Mr. Kadam thinks it will be safer for me anyway, with Lokesh out there looking to kill us and all. Besides, you need time to figure out…stuff.” “If you’re leaving, then I’m going with you!” I smiled at him wryly. “That kind of defeats the purpose of me leaving. Don’t you think?” He slicked back his hair, let out a deep breath, then took my hand and looked intently into my eyes. “Kells, when are you going to accept the fact that we belong together?” I felt sick, like I was kicking a faithful puppy who only wanted to be loved. I looked out at the pool. After a moment, he sat back scowling and said menacingly, “I won’t let you leave.” Inside, I desperately wanted to take his hand and beg him to forgive me, to love me, but I steeled myself, dropped my hands in my lap, then implored, “Ren, please. You have to let me go. I need…I’m afraid…look, I just can’t be here, near you, when you change your mind.” “It’s not going to happen.” “it might. There’s a good chance.” He growled angrily. “There’s no chance!” “Well, my heart can’t take that risk, and I don’t want to put you in what can only be an awkward position. I’m sorry, Ren. I really am. I do want to be your friend, but I understand if you don’t want that. Of course, I’ll return when you need me, if you need me, to help you find the other three gifts. I wouldn’t abandon you or Kishan in that way. I just can’t stay here with you feeling obligated to pity-date me because you need me. But I’d never abandon your cause. I’ll always be there for you both, no matter what.” He spat out, “Pity-date! You? Kelsey, you can’t be serious!” “I am. Very, very serious. I’ll ask Mr. Kadam to make arrangements to send me back in the next few days.” He didn’t say another word. He just sat back in his chair. I could tell he was fuming mad, but I felt that, after a week or two, when he started getting back out in the world, he would come to appreciate my gesture. I looked away from him. “I’m very tired now. I’d like to go to bed.” I got up and headed to my room. Before I closed the sliding door, I asked, “Can I make one last request?” He sat there tight-lipped, his arms folded over his chest, with a tense, angry face. I sighed. Even infuriated he was beautiful. He said nothing so I went on, “It would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t see you, I mean as a man. I’ll try to avoid most of the house. It is yours after all, so I’ll stay in my room. If you see Mr. Kadam, please tell him I’d like to speak with him.” He didn’t respond. “Well, good-bye, Ren. Take care of yourself.” I tore my eyes away from him, shut the door, and drew the curtains. Take care of yourself? That was a lame goodbye. Tears welled in my eyes and blurred my vision. I was proud that I’d gotten through it without showing emotion. But, now, I felt like a steamroller had come along and flattened me.

Do we have to take a side?” I asked. “I think it’s safer. That way you know who your enemy is,” Amil said, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “But if we don’t take a side, then we don’t have any enemies.” “I don’t think it works that way,” Amil said.

Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, I walked along, forgetting all my cares, feeling as if I had wings to my feet, and could go at least forty miles without fatigue, and experiencing a sense of exhilaration to which I had been an entire stranger since the days of early youth. About half–past six, however, the grooms began to come down to air their masters’ horses—first one, and then another, till there were some dozen horses and five or six riders: but that need not trouble me, for they would not come as far as the low rocks which I was now approaching. When I had reached these, and walked over the moist, slippery sea–weed (at the risk of floundering into one of the numerous pools of clear, salt water that lay between them), to a little mossy promontory with the sea splashing round it, I looked back again to see who next was stirring. Still, there were only the early grooms with their horses, and one gentleman with a little dark speck of a dog running before him, and one water–cart coming out of the town to get water for the baths. In another minute or two, the distant bathing machines would begin to move, and then the elderly gentlemen of regular habits and sober quaker ladies would be coming to take their salutary morning walks. But however interesting such a scene might be, I could not wait to witness it, for the sun and the sea so dazzled my eyes in that direction, that I could but afford one glance; and then I turned again to delight myself with the sight and the sound of the sea, dashing against my promontory—with no prodigious force, for the swell was broken by the tangled sea–weed and the unseen rocks beneath; otherwise I should soon have been deluged with spray. But the tide was coming in; the water was rising; the gulfs and lakes were filling; the straits were widening: it was time to seek some safer footing; so I walked, skipped, and stumbled back to the smooth, wide sands, and resolved to proceed to a certain bold projection in the cliffs, and then return.

Where the happy medium cannot be attained, it is better and safer to fall short on this side than on that; that is, too much mercy is better than too much punishment. One can withdraw and reduce too much mercy; but punishment cannot be taken back, especially where it touches body, life, or limb.

Many of us would like to see an end to discrimination of all kinds, happier families, and a safer, more harmonious future for our children. But how can we as individuals make a difference? We can begin by learning to listen in a mindful way. Listening is the first step in making people feel valued. Mindful listening allows us to do more than take in peoples words; it helps us better understand the how and why of their views. When understanding occurs, a sense of calm is achieved on both sides, even if no point of agreement is reached. From understanding, respect and trust for one another are possible; we are free to open our minds and widen the scope of potential solutions.

I hope that the day never comes that I will need to flee my country in pursuit of safety or a better life. I pray that if I do, it’s not as a result of violence and that we don’t have to leave our lives behind us with nothing but a bag and any remaining family members by our side. If circumstances ever forced us to flee, I hope we are not called animals and treated as subhuman criminals simply because we want to live. Should it be so dire that we are forced to separate from our children with the hope they would find a better, safer life- if it were so very bad that I would rather they leave me, go on their own in a new country with nothing but faith and hope in their pocket, I hope the world will care for my priceless children and not discard them- simply let them fall through the cracks.

Still tripping after the flight, I decided I was going to hitchhike from Luxembourg, and I took one of my big photographs and wrote on the back in big black letters: Paris. I had no idea how far away it was, or even that it was in another country. I stood on this big highway—it was a beautiful day. I felt I looked pretty hot in my cape and hat, certainly worth someone stopping for to find out what the story was, but all these sports cars whizzed past me without stopping, totally ignoring me. None of them stopped. I thought, Everyone in Europe is so rude! Eventually, a sports car skidded to a halt. It backed up to me, and the driver said, in English, by the way, “You’re on the wrong side of the road. Paris is the other way! I think it’s safer for you to catch a train,” and he took me to the train station. He helped me get a ticket and onto the train, heading for Paris. I’m not sure if he was being kind or just wanted to get rid of me. I didn’t speak a word of French, not one word.

Positive psychologists' more important contribution to the defense of the status qyo has been to assert or "find" that circumstances play only a minor role in determining a person's happiness. ... Indeed, if circumstances play only a small role - even 25 percent - in human happiness, then policy is a marginal exercise. Why advocate for better jobs and schools, safer neighborhoods, universal health insurance, or any other liberal desideratum if these measures will do little to make people happy?

I saw what I had been fighting for: It was for me, a scared child, who had run away a long time ago to what I had imagined was a safer place. And hiding in this place, behind my invisible barriers, I knew what lay on the other side: Her side attacks. Her secret weapons. Her uncanny ability to find my weakest spots. But in the brief instant that I had peered over the barriers I could finally see what was really there: an old woman, a wok for her armor, a knitting needle for her sword, getting a little crabby as she waited patiently for her daughter to invite her in.

Today, however, anti-vaccine activists go out of their way to claim that they are not anti-vaccine; they’re pro-vaccine. They just want vaccines to be safer. This is a much softer, less radical, more tolerable message, allowing them greater access to the media. However, because anti-vaccine activists today define safe as free from side effects such as autism, learning disabilities, attention deficit disorder, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, strokes, heart attacks, and blood clots—conditions that aren’t caused by vaccines—safer vaccines, using their definition, can never be made.

These reflections prompt the question: is it better to be loved rather than feared, or vice versa? The answer is that one would prefer to be both but, since they don’t go together easily, if you have to choose, it’s much safer to be feared than loved. We can say this of most people: that they are ungrateful and unreliable; they lie, they fake, they’re greedy for cash and they melt away in the face of danger. So long as you’re generous and, as I said before, not in immediate danger, they’re all on your side: they’d shed their blood for you, they’d give you their belongings, their lives, their children. But when you need them they turn their backs on you. The ruler who has relied entirely on their promises and taken no other precautions is lost. Friendship that comes at a price, and not because people admire your spirit and achievements, may indeed have been paid for, but that doesn’t mean you really possess it and you certainly won’t be able to count on it when you need it. Men are less worried about letting down someone who has made himself loved than someone who makes himself feared. Love binds when someone recognizes he should be grateful to you, but, since men are a sad lot, gratitude is forgotten the moment it’s inconvenient. Fear means fear of punishment, and that’s something people never forget.

Now you understand my meaning,” said my mother triumphantly. I smiled. And really, I did understand finally. Not what she had just said. But what had been true all along. I saw what I had been fighting for: It was for me, a scared child, who had run away a long time ago to what I had imagined was a safer place. And hiding in this place, behind my invisible barriers, I knew what lay on the other side: Her side attacks. Her secret weapons. Her uncanny ability to find my weakest spots. But in the brief instant that I had peered over the barriers I could finally see what was really there: an old woman, a wok for her armor, a knitting needle for her sword, getting a little crabby as she waited patiently for her daughter to invite her in.

Now, insurrection is an art quite as much as war or any other, and subject to certain rules of proceeding, which, when neglected, will produce the ruin of the party neglecting them. Those rules, logical deductions from the nature of the parties and the circumstances one has to deal with in such a case, are so plain and simple that the short experience of 1848 had made the Germans pretty well acquainted with them. Firstly, never play with insurrection unless you are fully prepared to face the consequences of your play. Insurrection is a calculus with very indefinite magnitudes, the value of which may change every day; the forces opposed to you have all the advantage of organization, discipline, and habitual authority: unless you bring strong odds against them you are defeated and ruined. Secondly, the insurrectionary career once entered upon, act with the greatest determination, and on the offensive. The defensive is the death of every armed rising; it is lost before it measures itself with its enemies. Surprise your antagonists while their forces are scattering, prepare new successes, however small, but daily; keep up the moral ascendancy which the first successful rising has given to you; rally those vacillating elements to your side which always follow the strongest impulse, and which always look out for the safer side; force your enemies to a retreat before they can collect their strength against you; in the words of Danton, the greatest master of revolutionary policy yet known, de l'audace, de l'audace, encore de l'audace!

Did Franny tell you about her and Gavin's problem?" "Yes,I'm afraid I pried if out of her. You know that was a good idea you gave her. Too bad it didn't work." "It didn't? Criminey, he must be made of stone!" "She wasn't entirely without success. She got a rise out of him, that's for sure." Willow grinned at Miriam's unintended pun. The older woman pursed her lips by way of reprimand and continued. "Seems Franny jumped in bed with him in her natural state and he flew out the other side of the bed." "Then what happened?" "He threw his clothes on and left the room for safer territory, I guess." "Damn! Sorry," Willow apologized for her lapse. "But I did mean damn. Darn just isn't strong enough to describe this here situation. Did you ever hear the like?" "No,but perhaps we can think on it during your visit. Right now, we better get rolling before your father-" "Woman,ain't you ready to leave yet?" Owen yelled through the door. "Oh,hush up, you ole bad of wind," Miriam called back.

The political forces arrayed on the side of capital have always wanted to treat labor as a commodity, driving down costs and demanding the freedom to move production to countries with the lowest wages. They have tried to prevent workers from forming unions and look for opportunities to break unions once they are formed. They have also tried to prevent governments from regulating working hours and conditions, imposing minimum wages or mandating family leave. On the other side, the workers have organized into unions, braving numerous bloody confrontations, in order to be able to bargain collectively for better wages and working conditions, and over the years have won a number of important concessions, such as laws that prohibit child labor and provide for a regulated work week, safer working conditions and so on. The heyday of this era was in the 1950s, when an assembly-line autoworker in Detroit was able to earn enough to afford a house and a car, raise a family and then retire comfortably. That era is now over.

A slave, Marcus Cato said, should be working when he is not sleeping. It does not matter whether his work in itself is good in itself—for slaves, at least. This sentiment still survives, and it has piled up mountains of useless drudgery. I believe that this instinct to perpetuate useless work is, at bottom, simply fear of the mob. The mob (the thought runs) are such low animals that they would be dangerous if they had leisure; it is safer to keep them too busy to think. A rich man who happens to be intellectually honest, if he is questioned about the improvement of working conditions, usually says something like this: "We know that poverty is unpleasant; in fact, since it is so remote, we rather enjoy harrowing ourselves with the thought of its unpleasantness. But don’t expect us to do anything about it. We are sorry fort you lower classes, just as we are sorry for a cat with the mange, of your condition. We feel that you are much safer as you are. The present state of affairs suits us, and we are not going to take the risk of setting you free, even by an extra hour a day. So, dear brothers, since evidently you must sweat to pay for our trips to Italy, sweat and be damned to you.” This is particularly the attitude of intelligent, cultivated people; one can read the substance if it in a hundred essays. Very few cultivated people have less than (say) four hundred pounds a year, and naturally they side with the rich, because they imagine that any liberty conceded to the poor is a threat to their own liberty. foreseeing some dismal Marxian Utopia as the alternative, the educated man prefers to keep things as they are. Possibly he does not like his fellow-rich very much, but he supposes that even the vulgarest of them are less inimical to his pleasures, more his kind of people, than the poor, and that he had better stand by them. It is this fear of a supposedly dangerous mob that makes nearly all intelligent people conservative in their opinions. Fear of the mob is a superstitious fear. It is based on the idea that there is some mysterious, fundamental difference between rich and poor, as though they were two different races, like negroes and white men. But in reality there is no such difference. The mass of the rich and the poor are differentiated by their incomes and nothings else, and the average millionaire is only the average dishwasher dressed in a new suit. Change places, and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Everyone who has mixed on equal terms with the poor knows this quite well. But the trouble is that intelligent, cultivated people, the very people who might be expected to have liberal opinions, never do mix with the poor. For what do the majority of educated people know about poverty? In my copy of Villon’s poems the editor has actually thought it necessary to explain the line “Ne pain ne voyent qu'aux fenestres” by a footnote; so remote is even hunger from the educated man’s experience. From this ignorance a superstitious fear of the mob results quite naturally. The educated man pictures a horde of submen, wanting only a day’s liberty to loot his house, burn his books, and set him to work minding a machine or sweeping out a lavatory. “Anything,” he thinks, “any injustice, sooner than let that mob loose.

All this subterfuge in order to talk to me could have been prevented if you’d just ridden with me earlier today, when I asked.” “Really?” She smoothed his disordered hair, which was sticking up at all angles. “You wouldn’t have spent the entire trip detailing reasons why I ‘must’ marry you?” He flinched. “I’m sorry, Jane. Apparently, when I find myself with my back to the wall, I bark orders.” “I know.” She straightened his cravat. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t do well with men who bark orders or make plans for me. It makes me want to shove them off a cliff.” “Or refuse to marry them?” “That, too.” “Then I can see it’s a habit I shall have to break, if I am to keep you happy.” He glanced away. “Sometimes it’s just…I don’t know…easier to bark orders than to ask. Safer. No one has a chance to say no.” It hit her then. That was precisely why he felt more comfortable ordering people about, setting up plans, being in charge. Because when he wasn’t in control, there was a chance he’d be left out in the cold. Left in a house with oblivious servants and a brother who despised him for taking his mother away by the simple fact of being born. Left alone. Her poor, dear love. Jane kept her eyes trained on his cravat. “But if you don’t ever give people a chance to say no, you can never know if they will rise to the occasion or not.” He tipped up her chin until she was staring into his eyes. “I wronged you terribly by not trusting you to rise to the occasion, didn’t I? If I’d married you and carried you off to the garret, I daresay you would have stayed by my side. Loved me. Cherished me.” Tears stung her eyes. “I like to think I would have. I certainly would have tried. It would have been worth it to be with you.” “Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he said earnestly. “I once told you I would do it again, given the chance. But I was lying, to myself as well as you. I could never do it again. Certainly not now that I know what it’s like to have you for my own. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you all these years.” It was all she could do not to burst into tears right then and there. But that would only alarm him. So she choked them down enough to say, “No more than I missed you, I expect.” With a groan, he kissed her, long and hot. It was a sweet promise of things to come, a portent of their future together. When he was done, she wiped away tears. “To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me.” His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal.

So!” Jack said, clapping his hands and grinning at me. “We ready to go? What’s the transportation plan?” “I guess I’ll go with Reth, and—” Lend shouted, “No, you’re not going anywhere alone with Reth.” “Fine, I’ll go with Jack, and—” “That doesn’t work for me either.” I laughed drily. “Okay then, I’ll click my heels together three times and say, ‘There’s no place like the Center, there’s no place like the Center,’ and then magically appear there!” He was quiet for a few seconds. “You’ll probably be safer with Reth.” It sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “And I can keep a better eye on Jack.” “Well, I for one am thrilled to spend more time with Lend. That’s the top of my Fun Things to Do list. We should come up with a secret handshake!” Jack said, pushing me to the side and throwing the door open, which resulted in Lend falling to the floor immediately unconscious. “Oh, whoops.” Jack smiled, his eyes gleaming. “Too bad, I like him so much when he’s talking.” “Very funny. Keep him safe, okay? I don’t Raquel’s in the Iron Wing—she would have heard me shouting. Look anywhere you can think of. They might have her in a random room somewhere. We’ll meet in Raquel’s old office in two hours, whether we’ve found anything or not.” He nodded, not looking at me as he poked Lend repeatedly with his foot. “And, Jack? That threat Reth made about your hands? I’m going to apply it to Lend, too. Keep him safe. Or else.

Why didn’t they ask two of the guards to go with them?” Milo asked. “A soldier’s not a servant,” I told him. “The most loyal Spartan warrior would be insulted if he was asked to be a weapons bearer, even for a prince. It looks like Castor and Polydeuces will have to take care of themselves.” Milo looked away from me. I was puzzled by this sudden shyness and tried to catch his eye, but he deliberately avoided my gaze. He reeked of guilty secrets. “You’re the one,” I said. “You’re the scrawn--the boy Castor asked to go with him.” His silence was the same as shouting Yes! I knew it. “You just told me you wanted to join the quest for the fleece. You could have done it: Why didn’t you?” “I couldn’t,” he mumbled. “Why not? Because it’s safer to talk about dreams than to try making them real? What are you so afraid of?” “Nothing!” He yelled so fiercely that a pair of oxen grazing in a nearby field snorted and moved farther away from us. It was the first time I ever saw fire in Milo’s eyes. “I’m no coward. That’s not why I wouldn’t go with your brothers. I have to go with you.” “Who said so? You’re free now, Milo. Don’t you know what that means? You can come and go anywhere you like. You ought to appreciate it.” “I appreciate you, Lady Helen!” Once Milo raised his voice, he couldn’t stop. He shouted so loudly that the two oxen trotted to the far side of the pasture as fast as they could move their massive bodies. “You’re the one who gave me my freedom. If I love to be fifty, I’ll never be able to repay you!” Milo’s uproar attracted the attention of the two guards, but I waved them back when I saw them coming toward us. “Do you think you could be grateful quietly?” I asked. “This is between us, not us and all Delphi.

I told you we should have put her in the second-class carriage with Sutton,” he said to Kathleen. In the week since the episode in the morning room, they had both taken care to avoid each other as much as possible. When they were together, as now, they retreated into mutual and scrupulous politeness. “I thought she would feel safer with us,” Kathleen replied. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Clara was sleeping with her head tilted back and her mouth half open. “She seems to be faring better after a nip of brandy.” “Nip?” He gave her a dark glance. “She’s had at least a half pint by now. Pandora’s been dosing her with it for the past half hour.” “What? Why didn’t you say anything?” “Because it kept her quiet.” Kathleen jumped up and hurried to retrieve the decanter from Pandora. “Darling, what are you doing with this?” The girl stared at her owlishly. “I’ve been helping Clara.” “That was very kind, but she’s had enough. Don’t give her any more.” “I don’t know why it’s made her so sleepy. I’ve had almost as much medicine as she’s had, and I’m not a bit tired.” “You drank some of the brandy?” West had asked from the other side of the railway carriage, his brows lifting. Pandora stood and made her way to the opposite window to view a Celtic hill fort and a meadow with grazing cattle. “Yes, when we were crossing the bridge over the water, I felt a bit nervous. But then I dosed myself, and it was quite relaxing.” “Indeed,” West said, glancing at the half-empty bottle in Kathleen’s hand before returning his gaze to Pandora. “Come sit with me, darling. You’ll be as stewed as Clara by the time we reach London.” “Don’t be silly.” Dropping into the empty seat next to him, Pandora argued and giggled profusely, until she dropped her head to his shoulder and began to snore.

I thought I'd never find you," Luce heard her past self say. "We will always find each other," Daniel answered, lifting her off the ground and squeezing her closer. "Always." "Hey,you two!" A voice shouted from a doorway in a neighboring building. "Are you coming?" Across the square from the empty lot, a small group of people were being herded into a solid stone building by a guy whose face Luce couldn't make out. That was where Luschka and Daniel were headed. It must have been their plan all along, to take shelter from the bombs together. "Yes," Luschka called to the others. She looked at Daniel. "Let's go with them." "No." His voice was curt. Nervous. Luce knew that tone all too well. "We'll be safer off the street. Isn't this why we agreed to meet here?" Daniel turned to look back behind them, his eyes sweeping right past the place where Luce was hiding. When the sky lit up with another round of golden-red explosions, Luschka screamed and buried her face in Daniel's chest. So Luce was the only one who saw his expression. Something was weighing on him. Something greater than fear of the bombs. Oh no. "Daniil!" A boy near the building was still holding open the door to the shelter. "Luschka! Daniil!" Everyone else was already inside. That was when Daniil spun Luschka around, pulled her ear close to his lips. In her shadowy hiding place, Luce ached to know what he was whispering. If he was saying any of the things Daniel ever told her when she was upset or overwhelmed. She wanted to run to them, to pull Luschka away-but she couldn't. Something deep inside her would not budge. She fixed on Luschka's expression as if her whole life depended on it. Maybe it did. Lsuchka nodded as Daniil spoke, and her face changed from terrified to calm, alost peaceful. She closed her eyes. She nodded one more time. Then she tipped back her head, and a smile spread slowly across her lips. A smile? But why? How? It was almost like she knew what was about to happen? Daniil held her in his arms and dipped her low. He leaned in for another kiss, pressing his lips firmly against hers, running his hands through her hair, then down her sides, across every inch of her. It was so passionate that Luce blushed, so intimate she couldn't breathe, so gorgeous that she couldn't tear her eyes away.Not for a second. Not even when Luschka screamed. And burst into a column of searing white flame.

Susan Orlean I guess it's probably safer to be this way bout clothing than men or religion or something that could be really dangerous. I'm quite pragmatic about other choices in my life, but with clothing I'm a romantic - I abandon myself completely and the practical side get trumped. I become a zealot.

But you get tired fast,” I tease, “like old men.” Liam laughs lightly. “I know we seem childish and carefree,” he says, “but we actually do have crazy hours. It’s Friday night, so you can bet that we both haven’t had a full night’s sleep all week.” He yawns loudly. “Okay, I can’t even make it to a motel. I saw a sign for a rest stop a few miles back, and I’ll pull over as soon as I see it. I think Owen has blankets in the trunk.” “A rest stop?” I ask nervously. “Is that safe?” “It’s safer than crashing and dying.” I ponder this for a moment, but as I’m worrying, I feel myself beginning to yawn. I must be getting old, too, for I could also use a nap. When Liam pulls over and parks the car, I am already dozing off. I hear the car door open and close as he moves to the trunk to gather blankets. He opens the door nearest to me and drapes a blanket over my legs.  “Feel free to lie down and get comfortable,” he tells me. “Would it be better for you to come and rest in the backseat?” I offer quietly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. “I’ll be fine in the front.” He shuts the door and moves back around the car to the driver’s side. Once he gets into the car, he locks the doors and turns the heat up. “Wow, Owen is completely out,” he observes as he tugs a blanket over his friend. “He doesn’t seem to mind sleeping like this. I think I’m tired enough not to care.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and stretch my legs out on the seat. My feet collide with my backpack, and I reach out to lift it and place it on the ground to give myself more room. I begin

Saffron The earliest recorded medical use of a spice appears to be more than 3,600 years ago, when saffron was evidently first used for healing.43 A few thousand years later, scientists finally put saffron to the test in a head-to-head trial against the antidepressant drug Prozac for the treatment of clinical depression. Both the spice and the drug worked equally well in reducing depression symptoms.44 As you can see in the box here, this may not be saying much, but at the very least, the saffron was safer in terms of side effects. For example, 20 percent of people in the Prozac group suffered sexual dysfunction, a common occurrence with many antidepressant medications, whereas no one in the saffron group did. However, saffron may be one of those rare cases in which the natural remedy is more expensive than the drug. Saffron is the world’s most expensive spice. It is harvested from crocus flowers, specifically the dried stigmas

They fought together as brothers in arms; they died together and now they sleep side by side...To them, we have a solemn obligation...to ensure that their sacrifice will help make this a better and safer world in which to live.”—Admiral Nimitz at the official surrender of Japan on September 2, 1945, in Tokyo Bay.

... the God who controls the wheeling galaxies and who spoke before the foundation of the world must be the God who holds the smallest circumstance of your life in His Hands. We are encompassed on all sides by the Almighty. 'His tender mercies are over all His works,' 'steadfast love surrounds him who trusts in The Lord,' and 'underneath are the everlasting Arms.' Over, around, and underneath. We are enfolded. Can you think of a safer place to be? //

grew a whole bunch of blisters of their own. I wondered what you called a whole bunch of blisters. I was sorry about lots of things. Most of all I was sorry that I hadn’t noticed what had been happening to Ross, that I hadn’t known. But that was a lie. Of course we’d known. We caused some of it. But ignored it—buried our heads in the sand. I wished so hard that he’d talked to me. Why hadn’t he talked to me? I could have helped—surely I could have done something? But then he might not have wanted to talk to the person who stole his girlfriend. I made it to Kirkcudbright just before six. The road I was on took me right through the center. There was a lot of traffic, people milling about the few scattered shops. I kept my head down and didn’t take much notice of anything except the road signs pointing my way. I think I drew a few stares but pretended not to care. It was even smaller than Dumfries, but also had a bridge over a river on the far side of the town center. There were yachts and fishing boats moored in a tiny marina. I hurried along, wincing a little at my blisters. Out the other side and back on the country roads I felt safer again. I was tempted to take a break, sit on the wide grass verge and catch my breath. But I was worried that if I sat down I might not be able to get up again. I refused to give in. I was going to do what we’d planned to do all along. My rucksack was rubbing my

The technosphere is described here as if neither history nor social or political dynamics mattered. It does not take into account collective agency or political, economic, and social structures, let alone the evolution of knowledge with its powerful impact on shaping technological systems. Has human technology now reached a stage (or will it any time soon) at which it attains the autonomy of an organism with its own agency - an autopoietic structure reproducing its own organization? Such generalizations tend to overlook some essential features of human interaction with the global environment. For instance, while the biosphere has proven its resilience over the course of at least 3.5 billion years of evolution, the technosphere may turn out to be a rather fragile scaffolding for human existence. While it is quite conceivable that the sum total of the unintended consequences of our actions has developed its own dynamics, even in the age of the Anthropocene escape routes may still be left to us - an observation, however, that does not imply, vice versa, that there will be a guarantee for the existence of an escape route. It rather appears that the dynamics underlying the Anthropocene might well enhance both the challenges with which we are confronted and our opportunities to react to them, leaving the question open as to whether the latter will always be sufficient to match the former. Is it possible, for instance, that geoengineering can intervene in the planetary system to the point that a new state of the planetary system would be reached in which high carbon dioxide concentration, radioactive pollution, and other unintended consequences of industrialization are no longer challenging problems but can be safely kept under control by novel technologies? Given the fact that macro-scale interventions in the Earth system are beyond anything that human engineering has achieved so far, and given the fact that there are still important gaps in our knowledge about our planetary system, we are certainly on the safer side to prioritize, at least for the time being and to the extent that it is possible at all, the preservation of our existing Earth system and damage control.

Dr. Nash would give Dave and the rest of us a formulation of the drug called liposomal amphotericin. In this form, the toxic drug is encapsulated in microscopic spherules made of lipids (fats). This makes the drug safer, reducing some of the most dangerous side effects. But the lipid droplets can cause disturbing side effects of their own.

We are encompassed on all sides by the Almighty. “His tender mercies are over all His works,” “steadfast love surrounds him who trusts in the Lord,” and “underneath are the Everlasting Arms.” Over, around, underneath. We are enfolded. Can you think of a safer place to be?

A silver medical building would offer easy, safe access that doesn’t require walking long distances, opening heavy doors, going to multiple locations, or standing in long wait lines. Its building materials would reduce noise, and design features would optimize lighting and minimize overstimulation, distraction, and risk of falls. Doors, rooms, and public areas would accommodate walkers, wheelchairs, and a person walking side by side or arm in arm with a friend, family member, or caregiver. Space use would prioritize navigation and accessibility, offering regular places to rest and regroup. Such changes would increase accessibility, nonpunitively acknowledge patient challenges, recognize old people as valued customers, and create a safer, more pleasant, and welcoming environment for all patients and families. Architecture

Shiro snorted, sounding disgruntled, but reluctantly approving. “The stupid males are right, Lyssa. It might be safer if you have someone by your side.” TB emerged from Mikael’s jacket and hissed something. Shiro rumbled a reply, and that, I understood. “Yes, I agree. But let it be known that if they try something, I will bite them.

She moved silently over the thick corridor carpet. The hinge side of the door was closest, and the knob side farthest. She ducked under the peephole’s field of view and flattened against the wall beyond the door. She reached out and tried the knob backhand. Long training. Always safer. Guns can shoot through doors. She mouthed “Locked,” and mimed that she needed the key. Sinclair tucked her purse and her licenses up under her arm and scrabbled in her bag. She came out with a brass key on a pewter fob. Reacher took it from her and tossed it to Neagley, who caught it one-handed and put it in the lock, from the same position, backhand again, at a distance, out of the line of fire. She

She moved silently over the thick corridor carpet. The hinge side of the door was closest, and the knob side farthest. She ducked under the peephole’s field of view and flattened against the wall beyond the door. She reached out and tried the knob backhand. Long training. Always safer. Guns can shoot through doors. She

I turned to leave him, but he caught my wrist again and gently tugged me to his side.  He brought my hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it, then my knuckles.  I felt a tug in my stomach.  That stupid, annoying, kinda-growing-on-me-a-lot pull which tied us together.  My annoyance at him evaporated.  Unable to help myself, I brushed my fingers through his hair.  I liked the feel of it. “I’ve lost everyone that’s ever really mattered to me.  I thought caring about a werewolf would be safer,” I admitted softly. He raised his head to look at me for a long moment then pulled me into his arms. Normally, I wouldn’t like someone hugging me like that.  But with Clay, it felt safe.  I hugged him back gently, not wanting to hurt him more, and hoped the safety I felt wasn’t because I’d already lost too much of my heart to him.  I’d never fully recovered from losing my mom or grandma.  I doubted I could lose much more and remain the same person.  Losing Clay, even now, might break me. Eventually,

If you looking for Rafting Company in Rishikesh? Then we are the people to call because we have it all. If you are looking for camping in Rishikesh, adventure, fun, anticipation and family bonding then your one weekend with us is awaiting. As in this weekend we give you all kind of rafting in Rishikesh like river rafting, bungee jumping and trekking, if you are the daring kind. And you can dare to paint the town red then paintball is your thing. Diffidence prevents us from audacity, but we do have the best camps for hosting your family weekends. So what are you coming up for Pack your bags as Uttarakhand Adventure is calling. If adventure runs from side to side your veins and you dare to ride high on the wild waters of the Ganga then head to Rishikesh for a rejuvenate and exciting holiday journey. Revitalize your drained body and mind in the good-looking surroundings of this holy town and let the thrill of white water rafting take you absent from the rest of the world. Offering a synthesis of chilly conditions and gorgeous sand beaches with Garhwal Himalaya Mountains in the background, Rishikesh is one of the most important rafting destinations in India. It is a place that continues to strike the thoughts of city dwellers who want to escape from their work routine and droning lifestyle. The best element of river rafting company in Rishikesh is that it can be enjoyed by anyone; you don’t need to be a swimmer or a specialized rafter to enjoy this sport. The strong present of the Ganga flowing down from a very high height through the Himalayan Mountain Range makes it one of the best rivers in India to enjoy rafting adventure. Wash away your fears and go in front and sail crossways the river awash with demanding whirlpools and rapids. If you manage to successfully man oeuvre through the stretch with little help from the guide, you positively deserve a pat on your back for your skirmishing spirit. Most of river rafting packages in Rishikesh are incomplete without experiencing the rustic charm of beach camping under the open sky. The best instance for white water rafting in Rishikesh is from February to May and as of September to November. River Rafting is best enjoyed in the consecrated valley of Rishikesh which boasts of the Great Ganges River downward with an ultimate force and existing precisely as the originator intended her to be- Wild and Free. The attendance of numerous rapids and troughs along the make bigger of the river fortifies the stand of Rishikesh as the River Rafting capital of India. Once here; you will be given a crash course on the sport, its navigational technique, and how to make it safer. Following the briefing, the organizers will hand you gear like rafts, paddles, helmets and life jackets.

stood, poised, arm drawn back. For the long pointed horn made as good a javelin as it did a sword, and so could be used at a safer distance. The Minotaur whirled and charged again. Theseus waited until he was ten paces away, and then whipped his arm forward, hurling the javelin with all his strength. It entered the bull’s neck and came out the other side. But so powerful was the Minotaur’s rush, so stubborn his bestial strength, that he trampled on with the sharp horn through his neck and ran right over Theseus, knocking him violently to the ground. Then it whirled to try to stab Theseus with its horn; but the blood was spouting fast now, and the monster staggered and fell on the ground beside Theseus. Ariadne ran to the fallen youth. She turned him over, raised him in her arms; he was breathing. She kissed him. He opened his eyes, looked around, and saw the dead Minotaur; then he looked back at her and smiled. He climbed to his feet, leaning heavily on Ariadne. “Tell your thread to wind itself up again, Princess. We’re off to Athens.” When Theseus came out of the Labyrinth there was an enormous crowd of Cretans gathered. They had heard the sound of fighting, and, as the custom was, had gathered to learn of the death of the hostages. When they saw the young man covered with dirt and blood, carrying a broken horn, with Ariadne clinging to his arm, they raised a great shout. Minos was there, standing with his arms folded.

The two left wheels of Tara and Abelard’s carriage lurched off the ground as the driver swung them into the narrow gap between a large driverless wagon and a mounted courier. Tara scrambled to the elevated side of the passenger cabin, eyes wide, and shot an angry look at Abelard when he chortled. The airborne wheels returned to the cobblestones with a bone-jarring thud. Tara’s teeth clapped together so hard her jaw ached. “Is our driver insane?” He brought one finger to his lips. “Don’t let him hear you. Cabbies in Alt Coulumb are touchy, with reason. The Guild has zero tolerance for accidents.” “They fire you if you have a wreck?” “It involves fire, yes. Trust me, there’s no safer place on the road in Alt Coulumb than in a cab.” “Especially when there are cabs on the road,” she noted as they cut off a one-horse hatchback, which careened out of control into a delivery wagon.

Without science and critical thinking, we are easily led astray by common cognitive biases.62 For example, we tend to perceive something that is natural as safer than something that is made by humans, even though nature is full of toxins and brutal tragedies. We don’t like to take risks that may carry unknown side effects, even if very rare, but we’ll willingly take greater risks when we believe we understand and can control the potential for harm.

New York State, for instance, has not as of this writing executed a single criminal since reinstituting its death penalty in 1995. Even among prisoners on death row, the annual execution rate is only 2 percent—compared with the 7 percent annual chance of dying faced by a member of the Black Gangster Disciple Nation crack gang. If life on death row is safer than life on the streets, it’s hard to believe that the fear of execution is a driving force in a criminal’s calculus

We all want a safer, fairer, more prosperous country. We just disagree on how to achieve that aim. We need a passionate competition of ideas so that each side refines its solutions, becomes more innovative, and therefore the best ideas rise to the top. Shutting down the competition of ideas makes it harder to achieve our common moral goals.

A few thousand years later, scientists finally put saffron to the test in a head-to-head trial against the antidepressant drug Prozac for the treatment of clinical depression. Both the spice and the drug worked equally well in reducing depression symptoms.44 As you can see in the box here, this may not be saying much, but at the very least, the saffron was safer in terms of side effects. For example, 20 percent of people in the Prozac group suffered sexual dysfunction, a common occurrence with many antidepressant medications, whereas no one in the saffron group did. However, saffron may be one of those rare cases in which the natural remedy is more expensive than the drug. Saffron is the world’s most expensive spice. It is harvested from crocus flowers, specifically the dried stigmas (the threadlike tips inside the flower), which are ground up to make the spice. You need more than fifty thousand crocuses—enough to cover a football field—to produce just a single pound of saffron.45 A Prozac-equivalent dose of saffron may cost more than twice as much as the drug, but a subsequent study found that even just smelling saffron appeared to have psychological benefits. Though researchers diluted the spice so much that the study subjects couldn’t detect its odor, they still noted a significant drop in stress hormones measured in women who sniffed the saffron for twenty minutes compared with those who spent twenty minutes smelling a placebo, along with significant improvement in the women’s symptoms of anxiety.

Living under bridges was safer than being with that man. The day I left was one of the best days of my life.

I’m in love with Alex. Hopelessly, all-consumingly in love. He might be one of the most dangerous men in the world―or, well, at least in Hunterville. But he’s not dangerous to me. With him by my side, I’m safer than I will ever be in my lifetime. He’s my protector. The man who would burn down the world for me if I asked him to. I’m pretty sure that he would even if I didn’t ask him to.

The journey of life is akin to being at a traffic light, where you have to deal with three signals. There will be times when you encounter the red light—just stop for a while; sometimes you will encounter the yellow light—wait for some time; and of course, when it is your turn for the green light—move to the other side. If you want your travel to be safer, never get these the other way around.

I nod slowly again, and then say, “And how much of that wealth have you personally used to house and feed and clothe and protect and teach members of your community? How much of that money have you given to the Gifted community? People that are completely separate and different to your own, but who may have requirements that are not being met?” She frowns deeper at me and blusters, “We live in a society in which people are responsible for taking care of themselves. I owe them nothing.” I nod slowly to her. “Yes, and my community is at war with itself, as well as members of your own community who have chosen to pick a side. So, instead of running away with my money to somewhere safer, I have chosen to stay and protect as many people as I can. I've put my money where my mouth is. I will not be told by some half-bred hick that I am incapable of doing my job. Someday, when you choose a cause that actually means something to you, and you do put your money behind it, then maybe I'll listen. But I don't foresee that day coming anytime soon, do you?” Her mouth opens and shuts a few times as she gapes at me like a fish, and I give her one last decisive nod as I skirt around her and out of the building,

It is hard to imagine a more elegant table at which to share a meal. Yet here it sits-never used, never disturbed-accompanied by a single chair. This table harks back to a different era, a better time in the life of Susan's family, when owning this house in this part of Chicago signaled the achievement of middle-class African American respectability. Before the economic anchors of this far South Side neighborhood closed down-the steel yards in the 1960's, the historic Pullman railway car company in the early 1980's, and the mammoth Sherwin-Williams paint factory in 1995-Roseland was a community with decent-paying, stable jobs. It was a good place to raise your kids. As the jobs left, the drugs arrived. 'It got worse, it changed.' Susan says, 'There's too much violence...unnecessary violence at that.' Given what her family has been through, this is more than a bit of an understatement. Susan's brother was shot in broad daylight just one block away. Her great-grandmother has fled to a meager retirement out west. Susan's family would like nothing more than to find a better place to live, safer streets and a home that isn't crumbling around them. Yet despite all its ills, this house is the only thing keeping Susan, Devin, and Lauren off the streets. They have spent the past few months surviving on cash income so low that it adds up to less than $2 per person, per day. With hardly a cent to their names, they have nowhere else to go.

People asking for side-effects of protein powders should understand that it’s ten times safer than processed foods, alcohol, and smoking; if you know the ingredient.

He smacks a hand against his chest. “Me. I’m fixing it. Because the thought of some other man over here, working to make your house a safer place, makes my blood fucking boil.” He leans down, hands braced on either side of my shoulders, caging me in. “I don’t think you get it, not yet, but you’re mine, Smoky Darling. You’re mine to touch and spoil and keep safe. And while you’re letting that sink in, I’m gonna do what needs to be done. Because the only thing worse than thinking about some strange man fixing your rotten floorboards, is the thought of you being unsafe. I won’t fucking have it, Elouise.

I usually work alone. It's safer that way, for me and everyone else. I walk the dark side of the road. I live alone because I hurt fewer people that way.

Anyway, you know my philosophy. It’s safer to do things for people than it is to love them.

Keep your wheels on the ground to minimize suspension strain. If your motorized RV has trouble leveling on a sloped RV site, use leveling blocks to even things out and keep your tires firmly planted. While leveling jacks are helpful, you don’t want to rely on them solely if it means they lift your tires off the ground like your RV is about to take off! That is less stable, and also puts your RV’s leveling system and suspension under unnecessary strain. If you still can’t get level, consider parking your RV in the opposite direction in your campsite—even if it means you need to run the water hose and/or power cord underneath the RV to reach hookups on the other side.

Certain unflattering truths: I had felt unassailable behind the walls of power. Society was shifting, and I felt safer inside the empire, inside the machine. It was preferable to be on the side that did the watching than on the side being watched.

Scorpio Horoscope 2015 In A Nutshell In 2015, most of the planets seem to be taking your side. Looks like you are on a safer side. Hence, 2015 will be quite amazing for you. As per the astrology 2015, only the position of Saturn might bring some adventure, rest everything looks brilliant. After all, couch is not the only wonder in the world, a joy ride is also important at times. Horoscopes 2015 foretell that harmony will prevail in family. 2015 is quite positive for love matters. Quite ecstatic, isn't it? However, there might be some disturbances in married life due to the placement of Saturn in first house. Sometimes it is good to crave for love for a little while. Additionally, this may also give you some health related problems. Don't worry, nothing major is seen. As per 2015 predictions, time is also beneficial for work. So workaholics, looks like a good time for you. 2015 horoscopes also foretell that financial situation will get better. Start listing down all the things you need to shop. On the other hand, students will get positive results after hard work. As per 2015 horoscopes, students of business studies will cherish the second half of the year the most. Remedy: Provide your service to monkeys, and avoid the consumption of non vegetarian food as well as alcohol.

I could see the smudge of a pistol in his reflection’s grip, aimed right at my back. “I’m pretty good at reading people,” I said calmly, not turning around. “Figuring out their motivations. What makes them tick.” He didn’t say anything. I could almost hear him breathe. “You’re thinking, right about now,” I said, “that I’m the straw that’s breaking the camel’s back. That if you took me out of the picture, your life would be a whole lot simpler and safer. I don’t blame you for that. If I was in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. But I’m going to ask you a question, Gary. Just one question.” Still no reply. I imagined his finger curling around the trigger, a gentle squeeze from doomsday. “Gary, you know my name. And you’ve read Harmony’s file on me. The crime scene reports. The speculation and the rumors. You’ve seen the pictures of the bodies. Or what’s left of them. Do you believe what’s in that file, Gary?” His voice was almost too soft to hear. “I do,” he whispered. “You’re a fucking monster.” “Good. Then I want to ask you another question. You’ll get one shot, Gary, just one shot…so what do you think will happen if it doesn’t kill me?” His reflection’s arm wavered, then dropped limply to his side. I let myself out.

He moved up and my ankles reveled under his scuplted hands. Sudden panic overtook me as I realized he was about to move up to my calves. I hadn't shaved! "Wait!" I said, sitting halfway up. "Not my legs. They're-" I was to embarrassed to finish. "They're lovely." His face was straight, but his eyes were smiling. "No, please." I pulled my knees protectively up to my chest and mumbled, "I didn't have time to shave this morning." Now he laughed. It was a marvelous sound, so rich. "All right, fine, no legs. But you are missing out. I'm not through with you. Roll onto your stomach and relax again." I obeyed, letting my arms lie limp at my sides and closing my eyes. Somehow it seemed a little safer to be on my tummy. "Mmm." He moaned, having not even touched me yet. "What?" I asked, muffled by the poofy pillow. "Oh, nothing. It's just that you have quite a nice little -

You generally open an airlock when you dock, when there was air on both sides. It's safer that way.

Emmie had not told her vicar she would marry him, but as October drifted into November, St. Just knew she hadn’t turned the man down, either. It had taken some time to see why the decision was difficult, though he’d initially considered that he held the trump card—Winnie. Except there were low cards in his hand, as well, something he was finding it difficult to come to grips with. In the army, his men had become loyal to him for three reasons. He did not have charm, luck, or diplomacy in sufficient quantity to inspire followers, but he was, first, foremost, and to the marrow of his bones, a horseman. In the cavalry, a man who truly admired and understood the equine, and the cavalry mount in particular, was respected. St. Just’s unit was always a little better mounted, their tack in a little better shape, and their horses in better condition, primarily because St. Just saw to it. He commandeered the best fodder, requisitioned the best gear, and insisted on sound, sane animals, though it might cost him his personal coin to see to it. The second attribute that won him the respect of his subordinates was a gentleman’s quotient of simple common sense. Stupid orders, written for stupid reasons, were commonplace. St. Just would not disobey such an order, but he would time implementation of it to ensure the safety of his men. In rare cases, he might interpret an order at variance with its intended meaning, if necessary, again, to protect the lives of his men and their mounts. But when battle was joined, St. Just’s third strength as a commander of soldiers manifested itself. His men soon found those fighting in St. Just’s vicinity were safer than their comrades elsewhere. Once the order to charge was given, St. Just fought with the strength, size, speed, and skill of the berserkers of old, leaving murder, mayhem, and maiming on all sides until the enemy was routed. His capacity for sheer, cold-blooded brutality appalled, even as it awed, particularly when, once victory was assured, his demeanor became again the calm, organized, slightly detached commanding officer. And Emmie Farnum had no use for that latent capacity for brutality. She’d seen its echoes in his setbacks and his temper, in his drinking and insomnia, and St. Just knew in his bones she was smart enough to sense exactly what she’d be marrying were she to throw in with him. Barbarians might be interesting to bed, but no sane woman let one take her to wife. Nonetheless, having reasoned to this inevitable, uncomfortable conclusion, St. Just was still unable to fathom why, on the strength of one intimate interlude, he could not convince himself to stop wanting her to do just that.

Boger knew that stories have to be accessible and that what investors want most from them is affirmation, so he molded Vertex’s slide show not as a disquisition on science or business strategy, but as a quest. The grail—the object of the quest—was structure-based design and its transcendent prize of safer, smarter, more profitable drugs. The impetus, as always in such stories, was a combination of righteousness and greed; Vertex had a better way to discover drugs than screening and biotechnology (both of which, Boger would say, were terminally limited) and was intent on capturing the spoils of its victory whole. The rationale for the quest was the company’s unique melding of disciplines and technologies, which he represented as a kind of circular flying wedge, and its scientists, who, he noted, all came from the world’s most powerful research institutions. Harvard, naturally, was a key supporting element, as was Merck, and on the financial side, Benno Schmidt. FK-506 and immunosuppression were the story’s set pieces, meant to illustrate its correctness.

Your grandmother always used to say that we’re all on the same dancefloor, but we all dance to different songs and some of us dance to shorter songs than others.” Some of us don’t even stay for the duration of the song, Rowan thought bitterly. He did remember his granny saying that, that the world was a big dancefloor. “Well, your song is a beautiful composition. Any woman with a bit of common sense will see that.” His grandfather squeezed Rowan’s arm again, took a sip of his whisky and moved to the safer topic of the following week’s football games. An interest in football was a trait Rowan had missed from both sides of his family.

He told me I’d know for sure when you heard their voices,” Etienne went on. “And he said to ask you about the screams. He said only you would hear their screams at night.” Her curiosity vanished now, replaced by a growing panic. This can’t be happening to me. It squeezed her heart and choked her words, though she fought to stay calm. Her hands clenched at her sides. She willed her voice not to tremble. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “Look, Miranda--” “I don’t know about any voices.” “But you heard one in your apartment today, yeah? We both know that--” “No. It was a mistake. I only thought I did…” “I guess it’d be easier to believe that. Safer to believe that.” Despite her angry glare, Etienne’s voice softened. “Your grand-père, he cares about you. He knows what it’s like. He wants your life to be happy.” “I’ll be happy when you leave. Why’d you come here anyway? Why don’t you just go?” She was starting to shake uncontrollably. Deep, painful chills that ached all the way through. She couldn’t get warm. She couldn’t concentrate on what Etienne was saying. She hugged herself and tried to stop shivering, and that’s when she realized Etienne’s arms were around her. “Your grand-père, he wants me to help you, cher,” Etienne insisted. “So you won’t be alone in all this.” The chills began instantly to melt. As Etienne pressed her firmly to his chest, she could feel his faint stir of breath through her hair, the length and shape of his body against hers. Her pulse quickened; her thoughts spun. She had to escape--from this room and this house, from Etienne and the way he was holding her, from these crazy things he was saying… Miranda pushed him away. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My grandpa doesn’t know anything about me, and neither do you. There’s nothing to help me with. I don’t need any help. And I’m not lonely.” “I didn’t say you’d be lonely.” Etienne seemed to be studying her, as if she was some unusual specimen under a microscope. “I said you’d be alone. But in this case, you might end up being both.

in an apocalyptic event, neighbors become predators. The less they knew about us, the safer our family was. The flip side to that was we didn’t know any more about them than they knew about us.

(One difference between the Russian approach to spacewalking and ours is that the Russians stop working when it’s dark; the cosmonauts just hang on to the side of the station and rest, waiting for the sun to come up again. This is safer in one sense—they are probably less likely to make mistakes, and to tire—but they also expend twice as many resources and do twice as many spacewalks because they only work half the time they are outside.)

Midgardians do not feel comfortable uttering my name on your side of the Rift.” Hunt stilled. There was only one being whose name was not uttered in Midgard. The Prince of the Pit. Apollion. His blood chilled. This was a fucked-up, weird-ass dream, no doubt caused by Quinlan literally blowing his mind into smithereens— “It is no dream.” The seventh and most lethal of the demon princes of Hel was in his mind— “I am not in your mind, though your thoughts ripple toward me like your world’s radio waves. You and I are in a place between our worlds. A pocket-realm, as it were.” “What do you want?” Hunt’s voice held steady, but—fuck. He needed to get out of here, to find some way back to Bryce. If the Prince of the Pit could get into Hunt’s mind, then— “If I went into her mind, my brother would be very angry with me. Again.” Hunt could have sworn he heard a smile in the prince’s voice. “You certainly worry a great deal about a female who is far safer than you at the moment.” “Why am I here?” Hunt forced out, willing his mind to clear of anything but the thought. It was difficult, though. This being before him, around him … This demon prince had killed the seventh Asteri. Had devoured the seventh Asteri. The Star-Eater. “I do like that name,” Apollion said, chuckling softly. “But as for your question, you are here because I wished to meet you. To assess your progress.” “We got the pep talk from Aidas this afternoon, don’t worry.

Oh, Maxy Poo, are you drowning your sorrows?” I fluttered my eyes at him.  He turned to look at me and laughed. “Unless you’ve got a raft.”  “I can be your raft.” I winked at him. “I come equipped with floatation devices.”  The moment the words came out of my mouth, I realized I might have had too much to drink.  Max laughed even louder. “Hm, I feel so much safer now. Shall we go for a swim?”  “Might want to check for leaks first.” I nearly choked on my drink as I laughed around my words.  “Is that an invitation?” Max leaned toward me, flexing his hands.  “Max!” I leaned back in reaction to his approaching hands. Of course I’d forgotten that my feet were on the rung of his bar stool. I tipped the whole thing over and Max landed in the arms of the woman sitting on the other side of him.  “Oops, sorry!” Max grinned at her.  “Oh no!” I tried to be horrified, but I was laughing too hard.  “I think your girlfriend is drunk.” The woman shook her head.  “She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my floatation device!