Saxton Quotes

I have loved you for years. I have been in love with you for years and years and years ... throughout school and training ... before transitions and afterward ... when you approached me and yes, even now that you're with Saxton and you hate me. And that ... shit ... in my fucking head locked me down, locked everything down ... and it cost me you.

The male who'd just arrived laughed as he embraced Qhuinn. "You have such a way with words, cousin. I would say...trucker meets sailor crossed with a twelve-year-old.

They never held hands. Never kissed in front of anyone. And there were no covert hot glances, either. But then again, Blay was a gentleman. And Saxton the Classy Slut put on a good show. His cousin was a straight-up whore—

Blay said roughly,"I'm still in love with him" Saxton dropped his eyes and brushed at the top of his thigh, as if there might have been a tiny piece of lint there. " I know. You thought you weren't?

Saxton was indeed clear on things: Blay was still in love with Qhuinn— and probably always would be. “Why?” he said to his lover. “Because I want you for however long I have you.

You know, Qhuinn's an interesting character." Saxton reached out with an elegant hand and picked up his port. "He's one of my favorite cousins, actually. His nonconformity is admirable and he's survived things that would crush a lesser male. Don't know that being in love with him would be easy, however." Blay didn't go near that one. "So do you come here often?" Saxton laughed, his pale eyes glinting, "Not for discussion, huh.

His slut of a cousin, his cocksucking, suit-wearing, Montblanc-up-theass cousin Saxton the Magnificent, was standing next to the queen, looking like a combination of Cary Grant and some model in a goddamn cologne ad. Not that Qhuinn was bitter. Because the guy was sharing Blay’s bed. Nah. Nope. Not at all.

Ah, hell. His peripheral vision was working far too well tonight. His slut of a cousin, his cocksucking, suit-wearing, Montblanc-up-the-ass cousin Saxton the Magnificent, was standing next to the queen, looking like a combination of Cary Grant and some model in a goddamn cologne ad. Not that Qhuinn was bitter. Because the guy was sharing Blay's bed. Nah. Nope. Not at all. The Cocksucker- With a wince, he thought maybe he should switch that insult to something a little farther away from what the two of them ... God, he couldn't even go there. Not if he wanted to breathe.

As the two of them came up against each other, Qhuinn's mouth dropped open. But not because he was shocked an not because he wanted in on the action. He simply couldn't breathe. It was as if his ribs had frozen along with his heart. No...no, goddamn it, no... "Tell me something," Saxton whispered. "Have you ever kissed a male before?" Yes, he has, Qhuinn wanted to scream - Blay shook his head. He actually shook his head.

And God help them both, if it hadn’t been for Saxton, Qhuinn would have dropped the l-word right then and there, even though the timing was stupid.

The thing was, Qhuinn felt like he wanted to explain things. Unfortunately, and unlike his slut cousin, Saxton the Cocksucker, he had no gift with words.

Saxton smelled really good and had a handshake that was firm. "You've grown up a lot." Blay found himself flushing as he took his hand back. "You're just the same." "Am I?" Those pearl eyes flashed. "Is that good or bad?" "Oh...good. I didn't mean---" "So tell me how you've been. Are you mated to some nice female your parents set you up with?" Blay's laugh was sharp and hard. "God, no. There's no one for me.

The thread of will-they-or-won't-they was the real driver of every word and glance and shift of body. So...this was a date, Blay thought. A subtextual negotiation slipcovered in talk of books read and music enjoyed.

As that fucking chandelier twinkled overhead, Blay said roughly, "I'm still in love with him." Saxton dropped his eyes and brushed a the top of his thigh, as if there might have been a tiny piece of lint there. "I know. You thought you weren't?" As if that were rather stupid of him. "I'm so fucking tired of it. I really am." "That I believe." "Im so fucking..." God, those sounds, that muted pounding , that audible confirmation of what he had been ignoring for the past year-- On a sudden wave of violence, he pitched the brandy snifter at the marble fireplace, shattering the thing. "Fuck, Fuck!" If he'd been able to, he'd have jumped up and torn that goddamn cocksucking light fixture off the goddamn cocksucking ceiling.

The door to Blay's room opened wide without a knock, a hello, a hey-are-you-decent. Qhuinn stood in between the jambs, breathing hard, like he’d run down the hall of statues. Sh**, had Layla lost the pregnancy after all? Those mismatched eyes searched around. “You by yourself?” Why the hell would— Oh, Saxton. Right. “Yes—” The male took three strides forward, reached up . . . and kissed the ever-loving crap out of Blay. The kiss was the kind that you remembered all your life, the connection forged with such totality that everything from the feel of the body against your own, to the warm slid of another’s lips on yours, to the power as well as the control, was etched into your mind...

Qhuinn’s head cranked around, leaving its cage of the hand that had remained, his blue and green eyes red rimmed and watery. “I have loved you for years. I have been in love with you for years and years and years… throughout school and training… before transitions and afterward… when you approached me and yes, even now that you’re with Saxton and you hate me. And that… shit… in my fucking head locked me down, locked everything down… and it cost me you.

I want to be with you, too,” he said. “I’ll come to your room after dawn.” Qhuinn didn’t want to ask. Had to. “What about Saxton?” “He’s gone on vacation.” Reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally. “For how long?” “Just a couple of days.” Too bad. Any chance of an extension…for like a year or two? Maybe forever? “Okay, it’s a—” Qhuinn stopped himself before he finished that with date. There was no sense kidding himself. Saxton was away. Blay wanted to get laid. And Qhuinn was more than willing to supply the male with what he wanted.

Saxton shifted exhausted eyes over. "Must we do this?" "What happened --" "I think you and he need to talk. And once you do, I won't have to worry about being jumped like a felon again." Blay frowned. "He and I have nothing to say to each other --" "with all due respect, the ligature marks on my neck would suggest otherwise.

In the silence that followed, violent anger hit Blay from out of nowhere. Now his hands shook for a different reason. “So,” Saxton said hoarsely. “How was your night?” “What the hell happened down there?” Saxton loosened his tie. Unbuttoned his collar. Took yet another deep breath. “Family tiff, as it were.” “Bullsh*t.” Saxton shifted exhausted eyes over. “Must we do this?” “What happened—” “I think you and Qhuinn need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.” Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—” “With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would suggest otherwise.” -Lover at Last, pg. 188 of the galleys

Places I love come back to me like music, Hush me and heal me when I am very tired; I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired; And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley As for a kiss ungiven and long desired. I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton, A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees, The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze, And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust With the winer sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees. Violet now, in veil on veil of evening, The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far; A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are; The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers And heaven is lighting star after star. Places I love come back to me like music– Mid-ocean, midnight, the eaves buzz drowsily; In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea, And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed , insistent, At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.

Do not think of him with Blay. Do not think of him with Blay. Do not think of him— “I didn’t know you were a sherry man.” “Huh?" Qhuinn glanced down at what he’d poured himself. Fuck. In the midst of the self-lecture, he’d picked up the wrong bottle. “Oh, you know… I’m good with it.” To prove the point, he tossed back the hooch—and nearly choked as the sweetness hit his throat. He served himself another only so he didn’t look like the kind of idiot who wouldn’t know what he was dishing out into his own glass. Okay, gag. The second was worse than the first. From out of the corner of his eye, he watched Saxton settle in at the table, the brass lamp in front of him casting the most perfect glow over his face. Shiiiiiit, he looked like something out of a Ralph Lauren ad, with his buff-colored tweed jacket and his pointed pocket square and that button-down/sweater vest combo keeping his fucking liver cozy. Meanwhile, Qhuinn was sporting hospital scrubs, bare feet. And sherry.

What is this, Ruhn thought…especially as sexual arousal curled around his hips, sure as if hands were touching him— Saxton looked over without warning and stopped as he saw that he was in the regard of another.

The door to Blay's room opened wide without a knock, a hello, a hey-are-you-decent. Qhuinn stood in between the jambs, breathing hard, like he’d run down the hall of statues. Sh**, had Layla lost the pregnancy after all? Those mismatched eyes searched around. “You by yourself?” Why the hell would— Oh, Saxton. Right. “Yes—” The male took three strides forward, reached up . . . and kissed the ever-loving crap out of Blay. The kiss was the kind that you remembered all your life, the connection forged with such totality that everything from the feel of the body against your own, to the warm slid of another’s lips on yours, to the power as well as the control, was etched into your mind... Lover at Last, MS pg. 449

Think how wonderful it might be to no longer matter, Mrs. Peregrine. Think how wonderful it might be to no longer worry, struggle… or fail.

I don’t bite,” Saxton whispered darkly. “Unless you ask.” Blay

Wheeling around, he went blindly for the doors, messing up the piles, nearly knocking himself over on the coffee table. Saxton got there first, blocking the way out with his body. Blay's eyes locked on the males face." Get out of my way. Right now. You don't want to be around me." "Is that not for me to decide." Blay shifted his focus to those lips he knew so well. "Don't push me." "Or what." "If you don't get the fuck out of my way, I'm going to bend you over that desk of your-" "Prove it." Wrong thing to say. In the wrong tone. At the wrong time. Blay let out a roar that rattled the diamond-paned windows. Then he grabbed his lover by the back of the head and all but threw Saxton across the room. As the male caught himself of the desk, papers went flying, the confetti of yellow legal pad and computer printouts falling down like snow. Saxton's torso curled around as he looked behind at what was coming at him. "Too late to run." Blay growled as he ripped open his button fly. Falling upon the male, he was rough with his hands, tearing the the layers that kept him from what he was going to take. When there were no barriers, he bared his fangs and bit down on Saxton's shoulder through his clothes, locking the male beneath him even as he grabbed those wrist and all but nailed them to the leather blotter. And then he pushed in hard and let out everything he had, his body taking over .. . even as his heart stayed far, far away.

Saxton, the King’s solicitor and Qhuinn’s own cousin, put his perfect blond head in. “I have those documents that you—” The recoil would have been comical if Qhuinn hadn’t been up to his elbows in baby poop. The attorney let out a cough. Or maybe that was a gagging noise. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, whatever are you feeding them?” “Enfamil formula.” “And this is legal?” “For the most part, yes. Although depending on the digestive tract it goes into, clearly there are military applications.” “Indeed.

There is an important difference between giving up and letting go." - Jessica Hatchigan

She enjoys a fight for survival.

Esto iba a doler, pensó Saxton. Pero esto no iba a romperlo. Finalmente lo superaría. Sanar, seguir adelante. Los corazones se rompen todo el tiempo... ¿No había una canción sobre esto?

Quinn: “Shiiiiiiit. I nearly killed him.” Blay: “Well, arguably you were being gallant.” referring to strangling Saxton for "cheating" on Blay. Black Dagger Brotherhood #11 Lover at Last

Ruhn had bared his fangs—which had descended all the way, their points like those of knives—and his already big body seemed to have swelled with aggression, becoming something huge and very deadly. As Saxton noted the transformation, his brain bifurcated, half of it remaining engaged with Minnie and the story…and the other part? All he could think of was what it would be like to have sex with that.

I am trapped in darkness, Erienne. I can only come to you when the night will hide my face, and yet there grows in me a craving to take you in my arms while the sun is high, when I can see you flushed and warm with passion. ’Tis my hell that I must be a beast of the night.” -Lord Saxton

I can’t leave you alone.” He touched his lips to the smoothly rising slope of her shoulder. “The thought of you stumbles the beat of my heart and arouses such a hunger in me that I must seek you out or groan beneath the torture of it. You have chained me to you, Erienne. The beast is your slave.” -Lord Saxton

I just want to hit the groom. Once. Is that too much to ask?" Saxton popped his brows. "Is that a human tradition for this type of ceremony?" "Why, yes," the male said. "As a matter of fact it is--" Novo slapped her palm over his mouth. "No. it most certainly is not. And no matter how I might have felt about my sister in the past, I don't want her special night ruined, okay?" Peyton mumbled a little longer. And when she dropped her hand, he muttered, "First of all, I volunteered to do it after the pictures--and if it's realllllly important to you, I could catch him in the gut and not the face. I'm willing to work with you.

I can understand why you never kissed me as Lord Saxton. I’d have known you instantly.” “ ’Twas what I feared, madam, but you don’t know how hard it was to resist the urge.” His kisses played upon her lips, touching as light as a butterfly’s wings, then he set her away from him and released a long breath. “As much as I would rather spend the day with you, madam, I suppose I must don my disguise and venture from these chambers.” “There’s always tonight,” she whispered. He grinned down at her. “I won’t be bound to darkness again.” “We could always light a candle,” she suggested sweetly. “Better yet,” his grin widened, “just come when I beckon.” -Erienne & Christopher

Phillip Murray and Wanda Saxton meet in the last scene under the rainy awning, their wrong wife and fiance finally story-lined away, and walk out together into the downpour - we know from the first scene, Christmas eve, that both of them like walking in the rain but don't have anybody who will do it with them - and it's the miracle of the ending.

In Writing Fiction, there is no limitation of imagination....Fr Fr

At the time, however, I didn't realize the extent of my granddaughter's sensitivity - or her loneliness. I thought only of myself. Of my own sensitivity and my own loneliness.

... she is virutually never allowed to flourish after rebelling.

This collection propose that contemporary stories of girlhood constitute a new and generative lens for literary and cultural study.

We cannot present or perform our way out of our own brokenness, no matter how hard we try.

What a person habitually chooses to daily meditate on reveals his true spiritual condition.

(That said, Lord, if You ever want me to rediscover where my abs are, I want You to know that I too am open to that. I also thank You for the woman who made Spanx and I pray You bless her richly.)

Aye, milord.” She snuggled close to him, but his low, wheezing laughter made her draw back again to try to see the eyes that were only a dark shadow behind the silken cloth. “Something amuses you?” “Sleep! ’Twill be impossible with you in my arms.” “Shall I go?” she questioned, resting a hand on his chest. “Never!” He caught her to him in a fierce embrace, burying his face against her throat. -Erienne & Lord Saxton

The inherent mystery itself: that elusive brightness that flows out of dreams; the brightness that, when we awaken, is already fading from our minds—I still pursued it almost every morning, in spite of my many hours of tortured sleep.

Saxton glanced at Ruhn. The male was likewise examining the portrait, and for some reason, whatever opinion he was forming seemed terribly important. Did he find her attractive? Did he want to meet her? As an unattached male, with an invitation from the head of the household, it would not be inappropriate for him to engage in a supervised meeting. He was not an aristocrat, and neither were Minnie and her clan, but there were still rules of conduct to be considered

Madam, if some doddering ancient viewed you this moment, ’twould surely send his heart into its final palpitations.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a soft smile. “You tease, Stuart. I am just a simple maid.” A low chuckle came from the leather helm. “Aye, so simple that when that darling, pampered child, Claudia, first sets eyes on you, she will be seized with such an apoplectic shade of jealousy that all the froggies in the marsh will groan in envy.” -Lord Saxton & Erienne

Ironically, more impact may result from more cushioning because, to regain balance, the pillowish pile encourages the foot to plow into the ground like a bull in a china shop. A study Robbins published in 1997 found that runners tend to land harder on soft surfaces to improve stability. He concluded that sports shoes are too soft and thick and recommended they be redesigned to protect the wearer. Most

So, my dear…” She faced him with thudding heart, the crystal piece clutched desperately in her hand, but she was hardly aware that she even held it. “… You say I have let another man into my bed.” Erienne opened her mouth to speak. Her first impulse was to chatter some inanity that could magically take the edge from his callous half statement, half question. No great enlightenment dawned, however, and her dry, parched throat issued no sound of its own. She inspected the stopper closely, turning it slowly in her hand rather than meet the accusing stare. From behind the mask, Lord Saxton observed his wife closely, well aware that the next moments would form the basis for the rest of his life or leave it an empty husk. After this, there could be no turning back. “I think, my dear,” his words made her start, “that whatever the cost, ’tis time you met the beast of Saxton Hall.” Erienne swallowed hard and clasped the stopper with whitened knuckles, as if to draw some bit of courage from the crystal piece. As she watched, Lord Saxton doffed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and she wondered if it was a trick of her imagination that he seemed somewhat lighter of frame. After their removal, he caught the heel of his right boot over the toe of the left and slowly drew the heavy, misshapen encumbrance from his foot. She frowned in open bemusement, unable to detect a flaw. He flexed the leg a moment before slipping off the other boot. His movements seemed pained as he shed the gloves, and Erienne’s eyes fastened on the long, tan, unscarred hands that rose to the mask and, with deliberate movements, flipped the lacings loose. She half turned, dropping the stopper and colliding with the desk as he reached to the other side of the leather helm and lifted it away with a single motion. She braved a quick glance and gasped in astonishment when she found translucent eyes calmly smiling at her. “Christopher! What…?” She could not form a question, though her mind raced in a frantic search for logic. He rose from the chair with an effort. “Christopher Stuart Saxton, lord of Saxton Hall.” His voice no longer bore a hint of a rasp. “Your servant, my lady.” “But… but where is…?” The truth was only just beginning to dawn on her, and the name she spoke sounded small and thin. “… Stuart?” “One and the same, madam.” He stepped near, and those translucent eyes commanded her attention. “Look at me, Erienne. Look very closely.” He towered over her, and his lean, hard face bore no hint of humor. “And tell me again if you think I would ever allow another man in your bed while I yet breathe.” -Christopher & Erienne

Christopher observed the passage of the coach from his sight and then turned his gaze to the pair of men who approached them. It was Farrell and Captain Daniels, and while the latter was smiling broadly, the former frowned in sharp disapproval at the couple. Christopher thrust out a hand in greeting to his captain, then looked to his wife’s brother. “Farrell, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Christopher smiled as he extended his hand. “I am Lord Saxton.” The young man’s eyes widened, and he searched the softly smiling visage of his sister as he mechanically accepted the hand. “Lord Saxton? The Lord Saxton?” “Aye, I am the one who wore the mask and walked with a limp,” Christopher confessed. “ ’Twas done partly to fool the thieves into believing the man they had murdered was still alive, and then too, I desired to wed your sister and found no other way. I hope you will value the friendship we began when you knew me as the cripple.” Farrell tried to grasp all the facts and put them together in their proper places. “You are really married to my sister, and you are the father of her…” Erienne blushed as she glanced hesitantly toward the sea captain, who seemed to be enjoying the whole exchange. His smile broadened as her husband gave a reply. “You needn’t sharpen your skill with firearms to avenge your sister’s honor,” Christopher replied. The teasing gleam in his eyes shone brighter. “ ’Twas quite properly made, I assure you.” -Christopher & Farrell

Christopher’s attention was brought back abruptly to the little wild thing he had caught. In a frenzied effort to gain her release, she clawed his face with raking nails and sought to tear the hair from his head with grasping fists. He was hard pressed to defend himself until he caught the flailing arms firmly in his grasp and pressed them down, using his greater weight to subdue the Lady Saxton. Erienne was trapped, held firmly in the middle of the dusty road. Her outraged struggles had loosened her hair and disarranged her clothes to the point that her modesty was savaged. Her coat had come open in the scuffle, and their shirts were twisted awry, leaving her bosom bare against a hard chest. The meager pair of breeches made her increasingly aware of the growing pressure against her loins. She was pinned almost face to face with her captor, and even though the visage was shadowed, she could hardly miss the fact of his identity or the half-leering grin that taunted her. “Christopher! You beast! Let me go!” Angrily she struggled but could not influence him with her prowess. His teeth gleamed in the dark as his grin widened. “Nay, madam. Not until you vow to control your passion. I fear before too long I would be somewhat frayed by your zealous attention.” “I shall turn that statement back to you, sir!” she retorted. He responded with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I was rather enjoying the moment.” “So I noticed!” she quipped before she thought, then bit her lip, hoping he might mistake her meaning. He didn’t. He was most aware of the effect her meagerly clad body had on him, and he replied with laughter in his voice. “Though you may choose to fault my passions, madam, they’re quite honestly aroused.” “Aye!” she agreed jeeringly. “By every twitching skirt that saunters by!” “I swear, ’tis not a skirt that attracts me now.” Holding her wrists clasped in one hand, he moved his hand down along her flank and replied in a thoughtful tone, “ ’Tis more like a pair of boy’s breeches. What? Has my ambush yielded me a stable boy?” Erienne’s indignation found new fuel that he could so casually fondle her, as if he had a perfect right. “Get off, you… you… ass!” It was the most damaging insult she could think of at the moment. “Get off me!” “An ass, you say?” he mocked. “Madam, may I point out that asses are to be ridden, and at the moment you are bearing my weight. Now, I know women are made to bear— usually their husbands or the seed they plant— but I would not suggest that you have the shape or looks even approaching an ass.” She ground her teeth in growing impatience at his wont to turn the simplest comment into an exercise of his wit. She could not bear the bold feel of him against her another moment. “Will you get off me?!” “Certainly, my sweet.” He complied as if her every wish was his command. Lifting her to her feet, he solicitously dusted her backside. -Erienne & Christopher

Calf pain is not a rite of passage; it is mostly a wrong of technique. If you bend the knees more and learn to allow a heel touch after the ball-of-the-foot landing, you should not suffer much, if any, calf pain. Those who say, “Barefooters must suffer while strengthening their calves”—either through pain on the road or hitting the weight room—are wrong;

thought; not that it mattered

could be a weekly boarder again, I suppose.’ Cherie had become a day pupil a couple of years earlier, when Tess had left school. ‘I don’t want to be a boarder, and the bus gets me there too late . . . oh I know, Tess can drive us,’ Cherie said now. She returned to her toast and marmalade. ‘That’s all right then.’ ‘I won’t have it!’ Marianne said pettishly. ‘Though I suppose, if you are to be away all week and only home weekends, Tess will be able to shop for me.’ ‘They’re going to ration petrol,’ Tess said rather maliciously. Her father had taught her to drive some months ago but Marianne had said it was unfeminine and unnecessary

The list of adjustments, especially in live poker, goes on and on. This is the great value of Cichy's book. By using optimal play as a foundation, he replaces guesswork with structure and offers a comprehensive guide to no-limit hold'em.

[T]he view you adopt for yourself profoundly affects the way you lead your life. It can determine whether you become the person you want to be and whether you accomplish the things you value.

Invite God into your past life experiences and ask Him to break you free from the debts, the brokenness, and the wasted years.

How I hate you Saxton. I had the right impression the first time. You are a cold, unforgiving bastard.

Just as the eyes are the windows of the soul, the soles are the windows of the barefoot runner.

the natural barefoot form immediately and instinctively trains you to let your body lead the way and keep your feet back

If you truly are a would be writer then there will be no need for you to search for ideas. Everything that happens to you, your family and friends can end up as a storyline. Whichever way you look at it love, envy, despair and so on have been happening since the dawn of time; all you have to do is get the setting and characters right.

Let the hips and torso lead the way. This should feel a bit like falling forward; you’ll need to move the feet quickly under your hips to catch yourself, with each foot landing below—and not ahead of—your vertical body. (A

Be sure to see that the first few pages have the reader on the edge of his seat, unable to put the book down. Most editors only have time to read a few pages before making a decision; make those pages memorable!

In biblioteca, attraverso la porta aperta, vide Blay e Saxton che parlavano. Poi suo cugino fece un passo avanti e prese Blay tra le braccia. Rimasero cosi, stretti l'uno contro l'altro; Qhuinn fece un respiro profondo e si sentì morire un pochino anche lui.Ecco come siamo finiti, pensò.Vite separate, futuri separati.Difficile credere che all'inizio erano inseparabili...All'improvviso gli occhi azzurri di Blay incrociarono i suoi. E ciò che Qhuinn vi colse lo fece vacillare: quel volto splendeva d'amore, un amore puro e inalterato dalla timidezza che era parte integrante del suo riserbo. Blay non distolse lo sguardo.E per la prima volta... non lo fece neanche Qhuinn. Non sapeva se quell'emozione era legata a suo cugino - probabilmente sì - ma decise di godersela: guardò Blaylock dritto negli occhi, lasciando trasparire sul suo viso tutto ciò che aveva nel cuore.Lo lasciò trapelare in piena libertà.Perché c'era una lezione nella cerimonia funebre di quella sera: possiamo perdere in un batter d'occhio quelli che amiamo. E quando succede, c'è da scommetterci, non pensiamo a tutti i motivi che avrebbero potuto dividerci: pensiamo a tutti i motivi che ci univano.E di sicuro rimpiangiamo amaramente di non aver avuto più tempo a disposizione, anche se abbiamo avuto secoli e secoli...Da giovani pensiamo che il tempo sia un peso, qualcosa da scaricare il prima possibile per poter crescere. Ma è un tragico errore... da adulti capiamo che i minuti e le ore sono la cosa più preziosa che abbiamo.Nessuno ha a disposizione tutta l'eternità ed è un delitto sprecare il tempo che ci è dato da vivere.Basta, pensò Qhuinn. Basta con le scuse, basta scappare, basta cercare di essere qualcun altro, chiunque altro.Anche se restava fregato, anche se il suo prezioso piccolo ego e il suo stupidissimo cuoricino andavano in mille pezzi, era ora di piantarla con le stronzate.Era ora di comportarsi da persona matura. Esatto, amico, pensò Qhuinn vedendo che Blay cominciava a raddrizzarsi come se avesse colto il messaggio. Il nostro futuro è arrivato.

… I studied the painting that hangs over the small fireplace. Immerse myself in art, I told myself. Immerse myself in the conversation of those strollers, people who seem to move about more comfortably in their early-evening twilight than I do, people of maybe sixty years ago.

~EDITORIAL REVIEW~ " ... Wickard will have readers on edge ..." " ... a methodical, white-knuckled grip of the throat, the tension getting tighter." "A leisurely paced but ultimately rewarding, riveting thriller."

When people focus on how the foot should land, they try to impose a forefoot landing without changing their overall running technique. But to land correctly, you actually first have to move up the body and relax your calves, which will then alter the way the foot lands. Often,

I’ve found that if I focus on a foot lift, not a foot push, it is easy to keep my cadence higher. Here’s why: when you try to push your foot into the ground, you are actually launching or pushing your body up into the air, fighting against gravity’s accelerating force (which is trying to pull you back down). The

You can’t take quick steps while you’re waiting for your body to crash back into the earth!

try thinking of yourself “floating” slightly above the ground, pulling your feet up, and just “letting” your feet touch the ground. (Don’t forget to bend your knees.) See

Abalone stared into the fizzing glass. “My father served yours.” “Yeah. Very well, I might add.” “Through your blood’s generosity, mine has prospered.” Abalone took another sip, his shaking hand making the ice tinkle. “May I say something about your father?” The King seemed to stiffen. “Yeah.” Abalone looked up to the sunglasses. “The night he and your mother were killed, a part of my father died, too. He was never the same thereafter. I can remember our house being in mourning for a full seven years, the mirrors draped in black cloth, the incense burning, the threshold marked with a black jamb.” Wrath rubbed his face. “They were good people, my parents.” Abalone put the soda aside and shifted off the armchair, getting on his knees before his King. “I will serve you just as my father did, down to the bone and marrow.” Abalone was dimly aware that others had filed into the room and were looking at him. He cared naught. History had come full circle . . . and he was prepared to carry forward with pride. Wrath nodded once. “I’m making you my chief cleric. Right here and now. Saxton,” he barked out. “What do I need to do?” A cultured voice answered smoothly, “You just did it all. I’ll draw up the paperwork.” The King smiled and put out his palm. “You’re the first member of my court. Boom!

rather than trying to force a certain foot landing, we should let our feet land and try to feel whether they are landing comfortably without strain or tension. Instead

Bates taught that at the start of meditation, the believer should “beg the assistance of the Holy Spirit; He that is able to stop the sun in its flight,…He is able to fix thy thoughts and to stop their motion.”48

Though many believers excel at Bible study, some are not as skilled at putting the truth into actual practice. Reflexive meditation seeks to solve this unfortunate dilemma by asking, “What have I personally done with this truth that I have learned?” As Thomas Manton aptly expressed, “The fruit of study is to hoard up truth, but the fruit of meditation is to practice it.

her.

It’s human to experience insecurity. We don’t feel confident all the time, and it’s tempting to compare ourselves with other people. Yet the insecurities, if left unaddressed, can grow from momentary emotions to a definitive worldview that determines how we feel, think, and act. Insecurity becomes our identity.

We find that by making time for God’s engagement with us, we are changed, transformed, redeemed.

At the Lord’s table, I surrender the hurts and hang-ups, the failed coping mechanisms that point to my striving. It’s where I confess sin, exchanging my old life for new. I remember all that Jesus has done for me.

Meditation is presented in the New Testament as a key aspect for the godly renewing of the mind. It is also used as a primary means to comfort and encourage Christian perseverance.

If we want our practice and behavior to change in a lasting way, then there is no better way for this to happen than to begin to meditate on God’s truth.

Dr. Harold Saxton Burr was a member of the faculty of Yale University School of Medicine

Rhyme in poems can be like the glue that has been used to put a broken pot back together. It’s structurally important but you’re not aware of it. – Robert Saxton

Saxton, the King’s solicitor and Qhuinn’s own cousin, put his perfect blond head in. “I have those documents that you—” The recoil would have been comical if Qhuinn hadn’t been up to his elbows in baby poop. The attorney let out a cough. Or maybe that was a gagging noise. “Dearest Virgin Scribe, whatever are you feeding them?” “Enfamil formula.” “And this is legal?” “For the most part, yes. Although depending on the digestive tract it goes into, clearly there are military applications.

wanted to talk.’ ‘So I do. Outside, though,’ Tess said firmly. ‘Unless you want Marianne hanging on your every word, of course.’ They ate bacon sandwiches and drank tea, and then Andy put on his long, navy-blue overcoat and Tess put on her dark-brown one with the fur collar, and they set off, into the chilly and uninspiring morning. ‘I told Marianne we’d be out for lunch,’ Tess said rather guiltily. ‘But in for an evening meal. It’s too cold for a picnic, but I thought – I thought we might buy a pie each or something.’ ‘You do want us out of your house, don’t you?’ Andy said quizzically. ‘Now I wonder why?’ ‘I’ve told you. Because of Marianne,’ Tess said. She could not bring herself to admit that she thought Ashley would turn up on the doorstep and make them both uncomfortable. For one thing, it would give Andy the impression that Ashley was a person of some significance in her life and for another, it would make her seem such a ninny. ‘Now, where shall we go?’ ‘The Broad isn’t iced up any more but I don’t fancy boating,’ Andy said as they stood in Deeping Lane, looking up and down it. ‘Shall we walk up to the bus stop and go into the city? Or we could walk to Stalham, I suppose.’ ‘We’ll catch a bus into the city,’ Tess decided. She was certain that Ashley would find them in Stalham without any trouble; Norwich would be a whole lot more difficult. She had no idea just what she expected Ash to do, except that it would be something embarrassing and unpleasant both for herself and for Andy. Ashley was so proprietorial, that was the trouble. He seemed to think he owned her. The bus came and the two of them jumped aboard and went right down to the front, for it wasn’t full by any means. Tess sat in the front seat against the window and Andy sat down beside her. ‘What luxury, a bus not crammed with office workers,’ she said, turning to Andy. ‘The bus Cherie and I catch in the mornings . . . oh!’ ‘Why Oh?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘Got a pain?’ ‘No, I just remembered . . . something I’d forgotten,’ Tess said confusedly. ‘It doesn’t matter . . . tell me what you did after that summer, the one you spent in Barton.’ She did not think it necessary to explain that she had just seen Ashley, in his snarling sports car, driving in the opposite direction. He had not, she was sure, seen her, which was one blessing, anyway. ‘School, then Russia, then school again,’ Andy said. ‘Now what I want to know is, did you ever discover about your mother and your dream and everything? You kept hinting mysteriously but you never actually came out with much.’ ‘No. Well, I wasn’t any better than you at putting things down in writing. But I really have found out more than I bargained for, Andy. D’you mind if I don’t tell you right away, though? I’ll save it for when we’re alone, later.’ ‘Being alone in the city isn’t easy,’ Andy said. He sounded rather disgruntled. ‘We could go to the flicks, I suppose, but then you can’t talk. People keep hushing you

family or friends, for most of them would believe him to be still at The Pride, enjoying Grandpa’s seventy-fifth birthday dinner. It could be Con – Con did not like him to be alone on family occasions – but why should Con come across the water, in Pat Paterson’s row-boat, with Pat straining at the oars? The boat had swung towards his landing stage

who would ask for help from nobody but would be quick to offer it. He found himself outside the study door and hesitated, then made up his mind. He tapped and walked in. The men were standing by the window, deep in conversation, the women were sitting by the fireplace, equally engrossed. ‘Thought I’d just tell you

Hearing God’s Word is like one dip of the tea bag into the cup. Some of the tea’s flavor is absorbed by the water, but not as much as would occur with a more thorough soaking of the bag…. [Meditation] is like immersing the bag completely and letting it steep until all the rich tea flavor has been extracted.”38

Each day this week, spend five minutes (or more!) alone with God. Pray, “Christ, let me know you and your love for the world.” What do you see, hear, or sense as you pray this?

when

garden wreaking havoc and – she glanced down at her enemy, supine at her feet – breaking a valuable statue into three distinct and separate pieces? ‘I was lost.

the wound remained just as bad and deep as the moment it had been made—when it became obvious that the one male he wanted above all others was never, ever going to be with him. Saxton eased back. “Qhuinn can’t handle what he feels about you.” Blay laughed harshly. “Let’s not talk about him.” “Why not?” Saxton reached out and ran his thumb back and forth over Blay’s lower lip. “He’s here with us whether we do or we don’t.” Blay thought about lying and then gave up the fight. “I’m sorry about that.