Sh Love You Quotes

Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly. I continued staring at him, dumbstruck. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. Seeing my openmouthed expression, he continued lightly. "When I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I'd have no doubt. And I didn't. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, 'Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman'" I started toward him, and he backed away, talking rapidly. "I said to myself, 'She's mended ye twice in as many hours, me lad; life amongst the MacKenzies being what it is, it might be as well to wed a woman as can stanch a wound and set broken bones.' And I said to myself, 'Jamie, lad, if her touch feels so bonny on your collarbone, imagine what it might feel like lower down...'" He dodged around a chair. "Of course, I thought it might ha' just been the effects of spending four months in a monastery, without benefit of female companionship, but then that ride through the dark together"--he paused to sigh theatrically, neatly evading my grab at his sleeve--"with that lovely broad arse wedged between my thighs"--he ducked a blow aimed at his left ear and sidestepped, getting a low table between us--"and that rock-solid head thumping me in the chest"--a small metal ornament bounced off his own head and went clanging to the floor--"I said to myself..." He was laughing so hard at this point that he had to gasp for breath between phrases. "Jamie...I said...for all she's a Sassenach bitch...with a tongue like an adder's ...with a bum like that...what does it matter if she's a f-face like a sh-sh-eep?" I tripped him neatly and landed on his stomach with both knees as he hit the floor with a crash that shook the house. "You mean to tell me that you married me out of love?" I demanded. He raised his eyebrows, struggling to draw in breath. "Have I not...just been...saying so?

You promised me one night. I want you next to me tonight. We have the rest of our lives to be apart.

Sometimes its nice when people you love need you.

I was all, "Oh, dog, Countess gonna crack open a forty of whup-ass on you now. Oh, you in the sh*t now, wigga!" (I am not incline to use hip-hop vernacular often, but there are times when, like French, it just better expresses the sentiment of the moment.) -Abby

You're not damaged. But even if you were, I'd spend the rest of my life fixing you. My life isn't mine either,Caitlin. I can't explain it, but since I've met you, I've felt a connection to you so strong that I can't deny it. I don't want to deny it. So my life isn't my own. It's yours.

We're practical and sensible but we're also dreamers. Don't forget that part of you. There's nothing wrong with being sensible, but dreams are what make you fly. And you're destined to touch the sky.

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...

You sh⟨ould⟩ not have taken advantage of my sensibility to ste⟨al⟩ into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into ⟨me⟩.

Ever hear a song you love so much you wanna break sh*t?

There's nothing wrong with trying to change things you don't like about yourself, but i don't think you need to wipe the slate clean.

Imagine the terrestrial timespan as an outstretched arm: a single swipe of an emery-board, across the nail of the third finger, erases human history. We haven't been around for very long. And we've turned the earth's hair white. Sh e seemed to have eternal youth but now she's ageing awful fast, like an addict, like a waxless candle. Jesus, have you seen her recently? we used to live and die without any sense of the planet getting older, of mother earth getting older, living and dying. We used to live outside history. But now we're all coterminous. We're inside history now all right, on its leading edge, with the wind ripping past our ears. Hard to love, when you're bracing yourself for impact. And maybe love can't bear it either, and flees all planets when they reach this condition, when they get to the end of their twentieth centuries.

My American Dream has always been simple, and it’s one I encourage you to adopt as your own: Figure out what you love to do, then figure out how to get paid to do it.

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

So me and her, we dated for a while. A long while. Then, one day, we got to talking, and I told her how much I loved her, and she looked at me and told me, 'I don't love you. I never will...' I told her I thought I could change that. Maybe she didn't love me right now, but she would eventually...She said okay. And we stayed together. And we fought. We fought a lot. And then I realized I had made a big mistake. She had given me her youth, and it was gone, and I didn't know how to get out of it. And then she got sick. And she was dying. So I made good with her, and I stuck by her. And I felt horrible. Because I felt like here was this woman who didn't want to be with me, she told me that, and I ignored it. And she was spending the end of her like with someone she didn't love. And now she was gone. And part of me felt relieved that I was freed of this relationship, and that made me feel so terrible. I couldn't deal with it. People are always trying to tell you something, how they feel. Some of them say it outright, and some of them, they tell you with their actions. And your have to listen...Listen, and don't ignore what you hear.

Because love, at its root, is hope. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for what could be. Hope that someone you've entrusted your everything to will cradle and protect it. And hope? That sh*t is harder to kill than a dragon.

Hey,' he said, touching my waist. 'Hey. It's okay.' I nodded and wiped my face with the back of my hand. 'He sucks.' I nodded again. 'I'll write you an epilogue,' Gus said. That made me cry harder. 'I will,' he said. 'I will. Better than any sh*t that drunk could write. His brain is Swiss cheese. He doesn't even remember writing the book. I can write ten times the story that guy can. There will be blood and guts and sacrifice. An Imperial Affliction meets The Prince of Dawn. You'll love it.' I kept nodding, faking a smile, and then he hugged me, his strong arms pulling me into his muscular chest, and I sogged up his polo shirt a little but then recovered enough to speak.

Do you even feel anything, Chad? Will you for once stop walking around, all in control and f'ing calm? Do you have any idea what you all have done. I lost everything, Chad. Everything, when Kyle died. I lost myself. I had finally begun to build a new life with new friends. With people I thought cared about me. I have started to be just a little bit happy again. Was it too much to ask? Did I ask for too much by just wanting to have a little bit of a life again? Now, it’s all screwed up again and you walk around here like you don’t feel anything about what’s happened.” Chad spun around, and for only the second time since she’d known him, she saw the flash of anger so fierce her breath caught in her throat and she took an involuntary step back, away from him. Jennie knew Chad would never hurt her on purpose, but the anger rolling off of him was palpable. It seemed to force her backwards as if it had a life of its own, a power of its own. “Not feel anything, Jennie? Are you f'ing kidding me? I walk around here every day and I ache every f'ing minute I’m with you. I’m so twisted up with loving you and hating you, I can’t breathe. I can’t keep my hands off you, but I can’t let myself kiss you because I might lose myself in you. I can’t make love to you because I’m afraid you’ll pretend I’m him. I know you want his arms around you, not mine. I know you want it to be his baby inside you, not mine. And I know you can’t love me back, no matter what I do, because you’re still so in love with your husband, you can’t even begin to see me.” Chad didn’t stop and Jennie didn’t try to stop him. “And every day, I have to sit here and wonder how I’ll be a part of my baby’s life. I wonder if you’ll let me be in the delivery room, if you’ll let me help you name the baby. I wonder how much money I’d have to offer the people who live across the street from you to get them to sell me their house, just so I can see my child grow up. If you’ll let me...” Chad stopped as if he’d run out of steam. They stood in uneasy silence for a long time before Chad spoke again. He sounded worn out and bitter and angry, mirroring Jennie’s chaos of emotions. “Am I feeling anything? Yeah. I’m feeling some f'ing sh**, Jen.

It’s not too late,” he says. “Zahra, I—” “Sh.” I lay a finger across his lips. “Don’t say it. You will marry Caspida, and you will learn to love each other. You will live a happy life, long after my lamp has passed to new hands.” “I won’t make my third wish,” he says. “That’s the answer! If I don’t make the wish, you can stay here in the palace for as long as you want. You’ll never have to go back to your lamp. We can fight off anyone who tries to take you from me.

But here's the thing about family,Ryan...blood doesn't mean sh*t. You just need to surround yourself with people who do love you, and they become your family.

On Choosing One’s Occupation “You have to do something you love…. Bullshit, you clearly have not heard this speech before, because you’re working at Mervyn’s.

LOGAN: You see, Blake, the thing is, I don’t give a sh*t what other people think.

Absolutely no good comes from hating your body. You must train yourself to love it.

For in every step, The earth’s roots will drink from you, And you from it.

As long as you're not doing what you're meant to do, you'll feel like you're walking around with a tiny rock inside your shoe.

Keep what you need (actually need, not might need) and what you love, and let the rest go to good homes of your choosing.* Then stop. Bringing. Shit. Home.

When weight loss is conflated with veganism, it falls into dangerous area of body shaming and misogyny. Mainstream media loves to make women feel inferior when it comes to their bodies and unfortunately veganism has recently become another weapon and this sexist war on our society. Thin white women are used to sell veganism as a quick fix to a more desirable body at the expense of anyone who doesn't fit the cookie cutter idea of female perfection. In addition, these images and messages work to oppress women of colour and people living with disabilities. Selling veganism as anything other than caring for animals often leads to oppression, plain and simple. We need to resist this approach to promoting veganism by drawing the fight back to animals. Every single time.

He was laughing so hard at this point that he had to gasp for breath between phrases. "Jamie...I said...for all she's a Sassenach bitch...with a tongue like an adder's ...with a bum like that...what does it matter if she's a f-face like a sh-sh-eep?" I tripped him neatly and landed on his stomach with both knees as he hit the floor with a crash that shook the house. "You mean to tell me that you married me out of love?" I demanded. He raised his eyebrows, struggling to draw in breath. "Have I not...just been...saying so?” ― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

Everyone wants be a gangster until it’s time to do some 'gangster sh**': 
Say it to their face. Say you’re sorry. Forgive someone. Tell someone you love them. Show them why. Let shit go. Admit when you’re wrong. Be a better winner. Be a better loser. Help another human being. Break bread with your enemy. Open up your heart. Understand your feelings. Say what you actually feel. Do what you say. Tell the truth. Do the right thing. Choose forgiveness over revenge. Choose kindness over stones. Accept people as they are. Take the higher road. Be the change you want to see.

What You Should Know to be a Poet" all you can know about animals as persons. the names of trees and flowers and weeds. the names of stars and the movements of planets and the moon. your own six senses, with a watchful elegant mind. at least one kind of traditional magic: divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot; dreams. the illusory demons and the illusory shining gods. kiss the ass of the devil and eat sh*t; fuck his horny barbed cock, fuck the hag, and all the celestial angels and maidens perfum’d and golden- & then love the human: wives husbands and friends children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum, the weirdness of television and advertising. work long, dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted and lived with and finally lovd. exhaustion, hunger, rest. the wild freedom of the dance, extasy silent solitary illumination, entasy real danger. gambles and the edge of death.

Tell you what we ain't gonna do." He came closer. "We ain't gonna let you N**** get a taste for white women. That's why you all in such a hurry to get to France." "Aubrey wanted to retch. A taste. As if they'd risk their lived, leave home, and put up with all this redneck prejudiced sh*t in the army, just to lay hands on white girls

She is soft, but knows when to stand her ground. Natural disasters aren't a mistake. They're not just a big ol' whoopsy that happened when Mother Nature and Source were planning their calendars out. Mother nature is intentional. Everything about her is intentional. Every rainfall, is intentional. Every sunny day, is intentional. Every storm, is intentional and every natural disaster is intentional. She will roar when she needs, when she needs us to take a closer look. That's what natural disasters are. She won't rob us of our opportunity to rise up together- that's our evolution and she's not gonna do our dirty (epic) work for us. But she will nudge us. And she does nudge us. Do you notice? If we don't do our best to take care of global warming, the tides will rise and beach side cities will be wiped. Perhaps our kids or our kids' kids won't ever see the glaciers of today. She's not gonna cover up for us, but she will love us on our journey and gives us clues and signs. It's up to us to pay attention.

Unlike you, I don't lie.  I won't be raping you because you're going to beg me for it.  That, I can promise you.  And when you do, I'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours apart.  You know what else?  You’ll love every minute of my assault on your body.  There won't be a single part of you that I haven't branded, whether it be with my thirsty blade, or my hungry cock.” Gulping,

Bei Hennef The little river twittering in the twilight, The wan, wondering look of the pale sky, This is almost bliss. And everything shut up and gone to sleep, All the troubles and anxieties and pain Gone under the twilight. Only the twilight now, and the soft “Sh!” of the river That will last forever. And at last I know my love for you is here, I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight, It is large, so large, I could not see it before Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions, Troubles, anxieties, and pains. You are the call and I am the answer, You are the wish, and I the fulfillment, You are the night, and I the day. What else—it is perfect enough, It is perfectly complete, You and I. Strange, how we suffer in spite of this!

I’ve learned there are no stages to grief. The famous stages of dying (denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, etc.) apply to people who are dying, not grieving people. Grieving people don’t deny for more than a moment that their loved one has died. They don’t bargain with the universe; it’s too late for bargaining. And anger, acceptance, all the other so-called stages don’t come to a griever in stages. They wash over a griever, as though they were items of clothing in a washing machine, each rubbing and passing over the griever in turn, simultaneously, repeatedly. Anyone saying you are in a certain ‘stage’ of grieving, or, worse, that you are ‘supposed to be’ in a certain stage needs to be taken out and sh—well, needs to be nodded at and forgiven, I suppose.

What happened?” Dallas asked immediately, his hand reaching out toward Louie. I didn’t miss how Lou took his hand instantly. “She called me a brat,” Louie blurted out, his other little hand coming up to meet with the one already clutching our neighbor’s. I blinked and told myself I was not going to look at Christy until I had the full story. “Why?” Dallas was the one who asked. “He spilled some of his hot chocolate on her purse,” it was Josh who explained. “He said sorry, but she called him a brat. I told her not to talk to my brother like that, and she told me I should have learned to respect my elders.” For the second time around this woman, I went to ten. Straight through ten, past Go, and collected two hundred dollars. “I tried to wipe it up,” Louie offered, those big blue eyes going back and forth between Dallas and me for support. “You should teach these boys to watch where they’re going,” Christy piped up, taking a step back. Be an adult. Be a role model, I tried telling myself. “It was an accident,” I choked out. “He said he was sorry… and your purse is leather and black, and it’ll be fine,” I managed to grind out like this whole thirty-second conversation was jabbing me in the kidneys with sharp knives. “I’d like an apology,” the woman, who had gotten me suspended and made me cry, added quickly. I stared at her long face. “For what?” “From Josh, for being so rude.” My hand started moving around the outside of my purse, trying to find the inner compartment when Louie suddenly yelled, “Mr. Dallas, don’t let her get her pepper spray!” The fuck? Oh my God. I glared at Louie. “I was looking for a baby wipe to offer her one, Lou. I wasn’t getting my pepper spray.” “Nuh-uh,” he argued, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Christy take a step back. “I heard you on the phone with Vanny. You said, you said if she made you mad again you were gonna pepper spray her and her mom and her mom’s mom in the—” “Holy sh—oot, Louie!” My face went red, and I opened my mouth to argue that he hadn’t heard me correctly. But… I had said those words. They had been a joke, but I’d said them. I glanced at Dallas, the serious, easygoing man who happened to look in that instant like he was holding back a fart but was hopefully just a laugh, and finally peeked at the woman who I’d like to think brought this upon herself. “Christy, I would never do that—” ... I cleared my throat and popped my lips. “Well, that was awkward.” “I’m not a brat.” Louie was still hung up and outraged. I pointed my finger at him. “You’re a tattletale, that’s what you are. Nosey Rosie. What did I tell you about snitches?” “You love them?

But I enjoy eating these days. More of us do than care to admit it publicly. I revel in it, as one only revels in pursuits one does not need. The runner enjoys running when she need not ee a lion. Sex improves when decoupled—sorry—from animalist procreative desperation (or even from the desperation of not having had sex in a while, as I’ve had cause to note after my recent two decades’ sojourn and attendant dry spell). I bite blueberry pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, extra butter—that expanding u, the berry’s pop against my teeth, butter’s bloom in my mouth. I explore sweetnesses and textures. I’m never hungry, so I don’t race to the next bite. I eat glass, and as it cuts my gums, I savor minerals, metals, impurities; I see the beach from which some poor bastard skimmed the sand. Small rocks taste of the river, of rubbed sh scale, of glaciers long gone. They crunch, crisp, celery-like. I share the sensation with fellow acionados; they share theirs with me, though there’s lag, and sensor granularity remains an issue. So, a roundabout way of saying: I love to eat.

Mindy runs to the DVD player and delicately places the disk in the holder and presses play. “Will you sit in this chair, please, Princess Mindy?” I ask, bowing deeply at the waist. Mindy giggles as she replies, ”I guess so.” After Mindy sits down, I take a wide-tooth comb and start gently combing out her tangles. Mindy starts vibrating with excitement as she blurts, “Mr. Jeff, you’re gonna fix my hair fancy, ain’t you?” “We’ll see if a certain Princess can hold still long enough for me to finish,” I tease. Immediately, Mindy becomes as still as a stone statue. After a couple of minutes, I have to say, “Mindy, sweetheart, it’s okay to breathe. I just can’t have you bouncing, because I’m afraid it will cause me to pull your hair.” Mindy slumps down in her chair just slightly. “Okay Mr. Jeff, I was ascared you was gonna stop,” she whispers, her chin quivering. I adopt a very fake, very over-the-top French accent and say, “Oh no, Monsieur Jeff must complete Princess Mindy’s look to make the Kingdom happy. Mindy erupts with the first belly laugh I’ve heard all day as she responds, “Okay, I’ll try to be still, but it’s hard ‘cause I have the wiggles real bad.” I pat her on the shoulder and chuckle as I say, “Just try your best, sweetheart. That’s all anyone can ask.” Kiera comes screeching around the corner in a blur, plunks her purse on the table, and says breathlessly, “Geez-O-Pete, I can’t believe I’m late for the makeover. I love makeovers.” Kiera digs through her purse and produces two bottles of nail polish and nail kit. “It’s time for your mani/pedi ma’am. Would you prefer Pink Pearl or Frosted Creamsicle? Mindy raises her hand like a schoolchild and Kiera calls on her like a pupil, “I want Frosted Cream toes please,” Mindy answers. “Your wish is my command, my dear,” Kiera responds with a grin. For the next few minutes, Mindy gets the spa treatment of her life as I carefully French braid her hair into pigtails. As a special treat, I purchased some ribbons from the gift shop and I’m weaving them into her hair. I tuck a yellow rose behind her ear. I don my French accent as I declare, “Monsieur Jeffery pronounces Princess Mindy finished and fit to rule the kingdom.” Kiera hands Mindy a new tube of grape ChapStick from her purse, “Hold on, a true princess never reigns with chapped lips,” she says. Mindy giggles as she responds, “You’re silly, Miss Kiera. Nobody in my kingdom is going to care if my lips are shiny.” Kiera’s laugh sounds like wind chimes as she covers her face with her hands as she confesses, “Okay, you busted me. I just like to use it because it tastes yummy.” “Okay, I want some, please,” Mindy decides. Kiera is putting the last minute touches on her as Mindy is scrambling to stand on Kiera’s thighs so she can get a better look in the mirror. When I reach out to steady her, she grabs my hand in a death grip. I glance down at her. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is opening and closing like a fish. I shoot Kiera a worried glance, but she merely shrugs. “Holy Sh — !” Mindy stops short when she sees Kiera’s expression. “Mr. Jeff is an angel for reals because he turned me into one. Look at my hair Miss Kiera, there are magic ribbons in it! I’m perfect. I can be anything I want to be.” Spontaneously, we all join together in a group hug. I kiss the top of her head as I agree, “Yes, Mindy, you are amazing and the sky is the limit for you.

If anything- learn from me. Try to do the virtuous things I did and not the mistakes I made. Though it is up to you to decide what was great or immoral, it is what you feel and believe is morally right in your mind.' 'Yes, it would be right in saying- I never really establish any thought into what was going to happen to me someday and the others that are part of my surroundings.' 'However, life goes on, and the existence of what was stands for nothing but- a memory of what you can and cannot have. If you are someone like me, but all I ever wanted to have is someone that appreciates me.' 'Everybody around here would say life is free, yet or is it?' 'Like, do I even want it?' 'No- not anymore!' 'The existence of life…! Is what I mean.' 'This belief is what I do not want, to have anymore.' 'There must be a way out of all this misery, suffering, pain, agony, and distress, that I relish in the day today?' 'They say dying, departing, and falling is easy, as well as lasting, and living is difficult, uncertain, ambiguous, and unpredictable.' 'While with a wild carless heart and reduction of insight I am going to find out!' 'I presume life is all about what you want, need, love, desire, respect, and love.' 'Furthermore, existing in life comes down to what you cannot have in it. All I have to say is don't let anyone or anything pin you down and make you less than who you are. Always be who you were meant to be, regardless of what they say… because who in the hell are, they!' 'This is a warning to my story, I will only say this once, this is my life, and others I have loved and lost, and it is graphic at times.' 'Just like looking into a book of Sh-h, of deep dark girlie secrets, photographs in the mind like black and white still frames of the past developed, or like a painting of time last just at the moment- a picture with my words of how I will be remembered, the story will come to be perceived sharply and with much clarity.

#1 of 2 Leah munched another chip as she watched a couple on-screen race madly away from men with guns who were intent on killing them. She and Seth sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, both slumped down until they were practically lying on their backs. Seth had pulled the matching ottoman up against the sofa, so it really did feel as if they were lying in bed together, watching a movie. She slid him a covert glance. He had donned black cargo pants and a black T-shirt after his shower but had left his big feet bare. He had also left his hair loose. It now spilled over the back of the sofa in a glossy curtain, the thick wavy tresses still drying. He chuckled at something the male protagonist said. Leah smiled. She loved seeing him laugh. She didn’t think he did so as often as he should. Every once in a while, she noticed his gaze would slide to her legs. Her feet were propped on the ottoman close to his. The robe she had borrowed had parted just above her knees and fallen back, leaving most of her legs bare. And that pale flesh repeatedly drew Seth’s attention. She held the bag of chips out to him. Smiling, unaware that the faint golden light of desire illuminated his eyes, he poked his hand in and drew out a couple of chips. She smiled back, then returned her attention to the screen. The protagonists had at last made it to safety. They checked each other over for wounds, something both had miraculously escaped incurring in true Hollywood fashion. Then they fell into each other’s arms, finally giving in to the lust that had sparked between them ever since their first contentious meeting. Leah sighed as she watched them peel each other’s clothes off with eager hands. It made her want to do the same with Seth. Her body even began to respond as her imagination kicked in. “I miss sex.” The words were out of her mouth before she could question the wisdom of speaking them. “I do, too,” Seth confessed. She glanced over at him and found his eyes glued to the screen. More so since I met you. Her eyes widened when his voice sounded in her head. “Really?” “Yes.” The actors on-screen fell naked onto the bed and began to simulate sex, their moans and groans and cries of passion filling the room. “It’s natural to miss it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Nothing to feel guilty about.” “No. I mean, you really miss it more since you met me?” He froze. A look of dismay crossed his features as he cut her a glance. “I said that out loud?” “No. I heard it in my head.” Sh**. She grinned. “I heard that, too.” F**k.

NOTE: The character of Aoleon is deaf. This conversation takes place in the book via sign language... “Feeling a certain kind of way Aoleon?” She snapped-to and quickly became defensive. “What in the name of the Goddess are you on about?” Shades of anger and annoyance. The old Aoleon coming out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t poke at you like that. It’s okay you know. There’s nothing wrong about the way you feel.” As if suddenly caught up in a lie, Aoleon cleared her throat and ran her fingers absentmindedly over her ear and started to fidget with one of the brass accents in her snowy hair. A very common nervous reaction. “No…I mean…well I was…uh...” “Aoleon, I know about you and Arjana.” he admitted outrightly as he pointed at the drawing. She coughed, stuttered, smiled, but could bring herself to fully say nothing. Words escaped her as she looked about the room for answers. “My sight is Dįvįnë, lest we forget. I knew you were growing close.” “Yes. Well…she’s…something else.” “Indeed?” he responded. Images flashed briefly in Aoleon’s head of her father’s old friend. Verging on her fiftieth decade of life. She was a fierce woman by all accounts. One who’d just as soon cut you with words as she would a blade. Yet, she was darling and caring towards those she held close to her. Lovely to a fault; in a wild sort of way. Dark skin, the colour of walnut stained wood. Thick, kinky hair fashioned into black locs that faded into reddish-brown tips that were dyed with Assamian henna; the sides of her head shaved bare in an undercut fashion. Tattoos and gauged ears. Very comfortable with her sexuality. Dwalli by blood, but a native of the Link by birth although she wasn’t a Magi. Magick was her mother’s gift. “I heard her say something very much the same about you once Aoleon.” “Really?” Aoleon perked up right away. “Did she?” “Yes. After she first met you in fact. Nearly exactly.” Aoleon’s smile widened and she beamed happiness. She sat up assertively and gave a curt nod. “Well, of course she did.” “She’s held such a torch for you for so long that I was starting to wonder if anything would actually come of it.” “Yeah. Both you and Prince Asshole.” Aoleon exclaimed with a certainty that was absolute as she once again tightened up with defensiveness. Samahdemn walked his statement back. “Peace daughter. I didn't know your brother had been giving you a row about her. Then again, he is your brother. So anything is possible.” Aoleon sighed and nodded. “Not so much problems as he’s been giving me the silent treatment over it. Na’Kwanza. It’s always Na’ Kwanza.” Samahdemn nodded knowingly and waived a dismissive hand. “He’s just jealous. He always has been.” “So I’ve noticed.” “Why would you hide it? Why not tell me?” “I don’t know.” she said; shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t know how you’d take it I suppose.” “Seriously? You were afraid of rejection? From me? Love, have I ever held your individuality against you? Have I ever not supported you or your siblings?” She shook her head; a bit embarrassed that she hadn't trusted him. "No, I suppose not." -Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

I’m not sure when our society lost focus on issues that truly require deep thought and introspection and opted to focus on turning minutiae into mayhem, but apparently it occurs often enough that I feel obligated to preface my position toward men in nursing with evidence that I’m neither an anti-feminist nor am I a man-basher. I love men and women equally: it’s the assholes of the world that I struggle to embrace.

And stay the night if you want. My bed is on the other side of the house. You won't hear shit. And," I added, leaning forward slightly, watching as her pupils dilated when I was closer. She wanted me alright. "They won't hear anything either," I added with a smirk that made her cheeks heat up again. "You know," I added, wanting to see how red I could make a self-proclaimed 'cool, mature, experienced, metropolitan woman', "you could really get her back with a blowjob story of your own." "Sh!" she said, looking around herself, all paranoid about being overheard. "And I can't do that." "Why not?" "Because we haven't..." she said, waving a hand, eyes big. "Well," I said, feeling my cock twitch at the very idea. "We will have to see what we can do about that, won't we?" I asked, watching her eyes get even more heated. Was there anything fucking hotter than a woman who got off on the idea of going down on you? Wasn't sure there was. I watched as she took a breath, seeming to pull herself together, and gave me a saucy smile, her eyes wicked. "I don't know. Maybe. If you're lucky," she added, walking away. I waited until she was about halfway across the room before I called to her. "I'll make dinner. You bring dessert. Something with some... whipped cream," I said, voice heavy with innuendo, loving watching the confident mask fall again as her eyes went big and she rushed out toward the back while a chorus of chuckles broke out across the space. As she moved into the doorway toward the kitchen, she looked over at me, giving me a 'you're gonna pay for that' look. Quite frankly, I was looking forward to it.

Hmm," she hums after a moment. "What?" "Just thinking...We both want you to get this role." "No sh*t." "And arguing obviously isn't helping us out." I snort. "But that's what we do.

Piers Morgan Piers Morgan is a British journalist best known for his editorial work for the Daily Mirror from 1995 through 2004. He is also a successful author and television personality whose recent credits include a recurring role as a judge on NBC’s America’s Got Talent. A controversial member of the tabloid press during Diana’s lifetime, Piers Morgan established a uniquely close relationship with the Princess during the 1990s. I mentioned I’d been in contact with her mother. “Oh crikey, that sounds dangerous!” “She’s a feisty woman, isn’t she?” William giggled. “Granny’s great fun after a few gin and tonics.” “Sh, William,” Diana said, giggling too. “My mother’s been a tremendous source of support to me. She never talks publicly; she’s just there for me.” “And what about William’s other granny?” “I have enormous respect for the Queen; she has been so supportive, you know. People don’t see that side of her, but I do all the time. She’s an amazing person.” “Has she been good over the divorce?” “Yes, very. I just want it over now so I can get on with my life. I’m worried about the attacks I will get afterward.” “What attacks?” “I just worry that people will try and knock me down once I am out on my own.” This seemed unduly paranoid. People adored her. I asked William how he was enjoying Eton. “Oh, it’s great, thanks.” “Do you think the press bother you much?” “Not the British press, actually. Though the European media can be quite annoying. They sit on the riverbank watching me rowing with their cameras, waiting for me to fall in! There are photographers everywhere if I go out. Normally loads of Japanese tourists taking pictures. All saying “Where’s Prince William?’ when I’m standing right next to them.” “How are the other boys with you?” “Very nice. Though a boy was expelled this week for taking ecstasy and snuff. Drugs are everywhere, and I think they’re stupid. I never get tempted.” “Does matron take any?” laughed Diana. “No, Mummy, it gives her hallucinations.” “What, like imagining you’re going to be king?” I said. They both giggled again. “Is it true you’ve got Pamela Anderson posters on your bedroom wall?” “No! And not Cindy Crawford, either. They did both come to tea at the palace, though, and were very nice.” William had been photographed the previous week at a party at the Hammersmith Palais, where he was mobbed by young girls. I asked him if he’d had fun. “Everyone in the press said I was snogging these girls, but I wasn’t,” he insisted. Diana laughed. “One said you stuck your tongue down her throat, William. Did you?” “No, I did not. Stop it, Mummy, please. It’s embarrassing.” He’d gone puce. It was a very funny exchange, with a flushed William finally insisting: “I won’t go to any more public parties; it was crazy. People wouldn’t leave me alone.” Diana laughed again. “All the girls love a nice prince.” I turned to more serious matters. “Do you think Charles will become king one day?” “I think he thinks he will,” replied Diana, “but I think he would be happier living in Tuscany or Provence, to be honest.” “And how are you these days--someone told me you’ve stopped seeing therapists?” “I have, yes. I stopped when I realized they needed more therapy than I did. I feel stronger now, but I am under so much pressure all the time. People don’t know what it’s like to be in the public eye, they really don’t.

Planet of women The 2-headed lady said I couldn't land my ship I said it would only take a minute "Well," she said, "what's in it?" Oh, I don't know. Just some weird sh*t. ("Okay.") La la la la la When I got to the surface, there were women everywhere. ("Hey, how you doing?") And all the men were slaves They had us all dressed up in chains ("ooh, look at that one?) And there was a queen She had her own di*k all dressed up in black (?come back here, Sonny?) Her name was? I like it like that? Queen? I like it like that. And I fell in love with a leader from the underground. He said he'd set me free (?we can all be free, dude?) But when I fell asleep he stole the key and split the scene, I guess. I never learned. No, I never learned f*gs in drag, no matter where I lay I get burned, so burned La la la la la It?s hard living on the planet of women Gonna find me a river and drown myself in it (?bye-bye?) La la la la la

As it stands now we are all told that breastfeeding is the ONLY option for feeding your child, if you actually love that child and ever want them to have more than a third-grade level reading ability. If you don’t breastfeed your baby you might as well just drop it off immediately at your local prison, because that is where it’s going to end up anyway, with such a horrible start to its life. Breastfeeding is beautiful and natural and the best and only socially acceptable way to nourish your baby. It is the most natural thing on the planet, you see. Fast-forward to a severely sleep-deprived, hormone-riddled new mom whose baby is not latching on correctly. If maybe perhaps she had been warned that breastfeeding would not necessarily be easy-peasy, then maybe perhaps she wouldn’t have to add “severe guilt” and “feelings of extreme failure as a woman and mother” to her already long list of postpartum difficulties. So say it with me now: “Breastfeeding is really f’n hard.” Repeat it to yourself, even as you attend classes and read books.

The person you love is rarely worthy of how big your love is. Because no one is worthy of that and maybe no one deserves the burden of it, either. You’ll be let down. You’ll be disappointed and have your trust broken and have a lot of real sucky days. You lose more than you win. You hate the person you love as much as you love him. But, sh*t, you roll up your sleeves and work - at everything -because that’s what growing older is.

Is it possible to be friendly and engaging every day? Of course not. Everyone has their moments. I once read a quote from an anonymous author who said, “It’s okay to have a bad day— just don’t unpack and live there.” I love that. As an example, imagine waking up and stubbing your toe as you get out of bed. You can respond in one of two ways. You can allow it to start your day off on the wrong foot and go through the rest of your day in a bad mood—souring everything and everyone in your path. OR . . . you can say, “Oh great—sh*t happens, the day’s got to get better from here!” Then set your intention to look for the good things that head your way for the rest of the day. You have the power to pick.

You have stolen my heart.” “No,” she whispered rawly. “Don’t say that, don’t even think it. Can’t you understand? I’ll never love you back, Hunter.” Her pulse started to slam. “I’m terrified of--” He crossed her lips with a gentle finger, his eyes clouding with warmth. “Of lying with me? I am not blind, Blue Eyes. Your heart is laid upon the ground with memories. That will pass. You will come to me. You will want my hand upon you. It will be so. The Great Ones have spoken it.” She wrenched her face aside. “I’ll lie with you because I promised and because I vowed to before God and a priest. But I’ll never want to, never.” A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, God, what am I doing here? I don’t want to hurt you, Hunter, truly I don’t.” He lay down beside her and pulled her back into the crook of his arm, pressing her fair head to his shoulder. “Ka taikay. Sh-hh, Blue Eyes. Do not weep. It will be well.” “How can it be? I’m trapped here. I can never leave. I’ve made promises I’m not sure I can keep. I’m frightened, Hunter, of you and your people--even of myself. How can all be well?” “It will be well. My people will accept. You are one with them now, the wife of a warrior. In time, you will want to be beside me. Your fear will leave. You will see. Until then, this Comanche will wait, eh?” “Wait?” she whispered. “You mean you won’t--” She broke off and looked up at him. “You won’t--force me?” Hunter’s throat tightened. “I make no promise for you. I wait now, yes? We will see where our moccasins fall.” To soothe her, he began telling her stories about his childhood, about his first bow, leaving out the part about shooting his father, about his first fight, about his first hunting trip. He had come to the tale of his vision quest when he felt her slender body relax against him and heard her breathing change. His voice trailed off. He stared upward into the darkness, filled with a yearning that couldn’t be slaked. It would be a very long while before he followed his blue-eyes into the black depths of slumber. A very long while.

Perspective check: you currently exist on a planet inhabited by millions of species of animals, draped in oceans and mountains with gushing volcanoes and waterfalls and creeping deserts; spinning in an endless universe, with stars and suns and solar systems that stretch wildly beyond anything your limited little imagination can muster—and yet you’re fucked up because your job sucks or you are carrying more weight than you want or your nose is bigger than your friend’s or your phone is three models older than everyone else’s. That’s what this life of yours has come to. A competition. The pursuit of love or admiration or things. You’ve wrapped up this miracle—your life—in a mundane web of petty, shallow expressions of what it is to be alive. Then you wonder why you’re not happy or satisfied or fulfilled! I mean, it’s right in front of your face!

You talk a lot of sh—fudge for someone who’s already eaten words once.” “No idea what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t, Mr. I Don’t Believe in Love.” “Are you still going on about that? It’s been five…” I lowered my voice so Sofia and Niko couldn’t hear. “Five fucking years.” “Oh, I’m going to give you shit about it for the rest of our lives, so get used to it.

But to stare straight at this life that we've brought upon ourselves, and reject it, absolutely smash up the old idols of ourselves, that we sh'll never do. You've got very badly to want to get rid of the old, before anything new will appear—even in the self.

We were out for drinks with composer Stephen Sondheim after a new review of his work and he coyly asked us for our impressions. We, young composers, were all too eager to proffer our criticisms and critiques, full of self-confidence and hubris. The legendary composer looked defeated and deflated. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and said simply, “when a friend asks you for your impression of a new work, you have one role and one role only. To offer unabashed praise and support. I was not looking for a review, I needed affirmation. I need to know that I’m vital and that I have intrinsic value as an artist and as a human being. I don’t care if you actually loved it, your obligation to me, as my friend, is to SAY you loved it.

You can’t be angry and loving simultaneously in a single moment. It’s one or the other. You can’t be forgiving and resentful or indifferent and sad. At any moment in time, you’re always being one way and ONLY one way.

That’sh what’s always happened to me when I’ve been in love,’ said cat wistfully. ‘It’s different for humans,’ said Gaspode uncertainly. ‘You don’t get so many boots and buckets of water thrown at you. It’s more, er, flowers and arguing and stuff.’ The animals looked glumly at one another. ‘I’ve watched ’em,’ said Squeak. ‘She thinks he’s a idiot.’ ‘That’s all part of it,’ added Gaspode. ‘They call it romance.’ Cat shrugged. ‘Give me a boot every time. You know where you stand, with a boot.

FUNDAMENTAL #5 “The secret to love, is to love who they are.

am a black woman, writing about experiences as a BLACK WOMAN. Baby, if you’re looking for something other than that, respectfully back away from the catalog and be blessed on your journey. Last but certainly not least, there is mention of suicide, cheating, mental health, estranged family, abuse, and infertility. IF THAT AT ALL TRIGGERS YOU, step lightly. I made this entire book up. Nothing is real. None of these people are real. None of these scenarios are in real order. And quite frankly, some of this maybe be unrealistic to you. But my dear, that’s what you call fiction. And in fiction, I hold the license to make sh*t up! Read this for pure enjoyment. Now that we’ve gotten that out the way, you’ll be triggered. You’re going to be angry, you’ll laugh, and you’ll cry. If you want something without feeling, I’m sure it’s…somewhere. Just not here. Love ya, bye!

I'm gonna warn you right now, This one might be on some "I'm Feeling myself" sh!t, But when I consider What comes to me as I let my pen move, I stand back and give thanks to the gift that pours out of me. Never wondering how, I already know it's divinely given, And as I receive it I become consumed by it. The words just flow... I could never tell when or from where, And I can't deny it as it comes Because it won't be hushed... Whether it be in pain and hurt,or joy and laughter, anger and confusion or hopelessness and exhaustion. Whether it be about self or society, Love or hate, Confidence or doubt Whatever it is, as it comes, I write. When I read and reread my words Filling my pages My eyebrow raises, My head nods in agreement Smiling at the accomplishment, Because I know not many can do this I’m grateful for the ability I sometimes question "why me?" Yet understanding it's because of a greater being. And whatever needs to be said Speaks through me in poetry.

Lasting, powerful love is consciously choosing to love another for ALL that they are, not just the good bits that we approve of or find most agreeable.

Everyone wants a simple answer; everyone wants to be told how to do success or dieting or love, because at some level they just don’t want to think beyond the limits of their own confusion or apathy or the story they’ve created about themselves.

About you . Deuteronomy 6:5 You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. Deuteronomy 30:6 “Moreover the Lord your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your descendants, to love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, so that you may live. Matthew 22:37 And He said to him, “ ‘ You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ Mark 12:30 and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ Luke 10:27 And he answered, “ You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” V'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha b'khol l'vav'kha uv'khol naf'sh'kha uv'khol m'odekha. וְאָהַבְתָּ, אֵת יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ, בְּכָל-לְבָבְךָ וּבְכָל-נַפְשְׁךָ, וּבְכָל-מְאֹדֶךָ. Shared with Public Name pronunciation Add a name pronunciation Other names Add a nickname, a birth name... Favorite quotes "Perhaps I can best describe my experience of doing mathematics in terms of a journey through a dark unexplored mansion. You enter the first room of the mansion and it's completely dark. You stumble around bumping into the furniture, but gradually you learn where each piece of furniture is. Finally, after six months or so, you find the light switch, you turn it on, and suddenly it's all illuminated. You can see exactly where you were. Then you move into the next room and spend another six months in the dark. So each of these breakthroughs, while sometimes they're momentary, sometimes over a period of a day or two, they are the culmination of - and couldn't exist without - the many months of stumbling around in the dark that precede them." ~ Andrew Wiles "Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness. Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble. But anyone who hates a brother or sister is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness. They do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them." ~ First Epistle of John, chapter 2, verse 9-11 "As nightfall does not come at once, neither does oppression. It is in such twilight that we all must be aware of change in the air - however slight - lest we become victims of the darkness." ~ William O. Douglas For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. ~ Paul & Timothy in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians

I don't see any hint of you missing me, It's time to put sense in this misery I love you too much, too deeply Now it's time to bring that love back to me. (Ultradramatic Sh*t, Miss Rainbow Moonfire)

For now, I’ll show you the brilliance in vanishing Like a sky set on fire by a sun’s burning desire to meet his star’s sire A paradox caught in a bird’s open box Then, we can love and hear the smile in this child’s eye Because the boy told me it’s all for real While the king stands guard and keeps both truth and lie concealed

Beauty lies between you and you and eye and eye Do not compare beauty, For it resides in all, Try if you will, But a slave to the mind you shall be. To compare a dandelion to a lily, And to say the lily is of greater beauty Is a sin we often see. The dandelion is everywhere to be seen, But it is not picked from the ground on a whim. A weed, it was labeled in those grown-up minds, Minds, which have been weeded through time. The same minds which cut lilies from the ground, And stare as they wonder ‘how sad that beauty dwindles down’. They let their thoughts haunt them, And get trapped in the world around them. The truth masked as lies of the eyes. The dandelion and lily, When left to be, Dance in the wind with such beauty, Free. Compare beauty and you'll eclipse your sun's light, And because you only know the stars That come to life when they die, You'll have to wait for the dandelion to fly, Specking light in your darkened mind's eye. Explain beauty and you'll stay for eternity, Trying to capture infinity. Only then will you look into the stilling river, And cry from the open wounds you hide. Bandaging your reflection, you try. Only when it drowns in the murky crinkling water, Do you realize That the stars won't offer the same blinding light, And the darkness has given you sight. Your comparisons’ prism lives only in your eyes, But it travels down your stem, Like a Serpent, Coiling around your breath, With your tongue, Sharper than the air of death, Shedding words you've been fed. Like the grey, Settling deep within your Soul, And the shade, That makes you feel whole. Perhaps you'll try to save the mirrored water, But as you thrash about in infinity, Do not break stems anymore. Instead cut the chains keeping you shackled to the shore. Still, as you roam free, Do not forget to remember, (Infinity said while knocking at eternity’s door) A rigid mind leads to a life lived hollow, But do dip into the mind’s eye knowingly, For the strongest light casts the darkest shadow.

Ha- I may have them I need to find out, I ran from inside there and found the yellow overpass, and fowl over everything and everyone, with gray wings, it was a night sky, all the light made me glow even more, to the dying world below. I want to fly to him or her or someone that loves me to get that white one that I should have. I have seen it all now, or so I think I do; yet will I remember when, I wake up in my bed undead, like all the days before. I killed myself- it’s what they all see… I see the three rivers run through me now over my head, yet that is fine, I will- drowned- that’s fine- to stop all this… I cannot take what I am doing or see any longer. I kissed a girl, Jenny said, we all just about crap ourselves. I want to go home and sleep this off, said Madalyn was also known as Maddie, wanted you to come home with me, Olivia was also known as Liv, but I- she would not let us or for we all running after crazy Karly that is all freaked up in the head these days. She’s going to do it- she’s going to do it this time. Right before the real came, she flowed out the door crying. She was freaking out waving her hands like a girl on drugs! Jenny was hugely relieved after telling us- ‘She is not going to go over, tee-he-ing- Saying ‘Chick-en sh-it, freaking- do it.

Well, Mr. Cranton,” she said, brows raised. “When you told me you needed my gown so as to clean the sea stains and tar from it, I had no idea that you had… uh, other uses for it.” Loud guffaws met her remark. “Really, Captain O’ Devir,” she said, turning to the grinning Irishman. “Your so-called Navy has some odd ways of amusing itself.” “Odd ways that saved all of our hides,” cried a nearby seaman. “Three cheers for our captain!” “Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah!” Nerissa, confused, could only stare at them all. They’d surely lost their minds. “I expected there to be a sea fight, and I’m very glad there was not, but how did you manage to avoid getting blown to the ends of the earth, Captain O’ Devir?” He just shrugged, his eyes hungry and dark as he took in her long, willowy form, her legs clearly outlined in Midshipman Cranton’s skinny breeches. “Well, Lady Nerissa, ye’re the most valuable person on this ship and that countryman of yers back there knows it. He wouldn’t dare fire on us with you up here on deck.” “But I wasn’t up here on deck.” “Aye, precisely. But that piece of sh—… ehm, that blaggard back there, didn’t know that. Ye’ll stay in Cranton’s uniform so he doesn’t find out.” “What? What are you all talking about?” Lieutenant Morgan, chewing on a piece of dried ginger, was the one who clarified it for her. “Captain O’ Devir would never risk your life by having you up on deck where musket or cannonballs could be flying, so he had Cranton here pretend to be you.” The youth rubbed the back of his head. “Didn’t need to hit me quite so hard, sir,” he said good naturedly. “I nearly didn’t have to fake being knocked out cold.” “My heavens,” Nerissa said, as laughter greeted the youth’s remark, and immediately the sailor’s teasing resumed. “Still think you make a fetching young lady, Mr. Cranton!” “Can I call on you, my lady?” asked Tackett the sailing master, making an elegant leg to the blushing youth. “I’d love to run my fingers through your hair….” “Hell, I’d love to run mine through his cleavage.” “Hahaha!” “Shut yer gobs, ye rogues,” said Captain O’ Devir. “That’s an officer ye’re talkin’ to. Give him some respect.” More guffaws, because it was hard to give a man any respect when he stood before them in a lady’s gown, red-faced, fuming, and reaching into his bosom to tear out the other stocking. He flung it down. “My apologies, Lady Nerissa,” he said, looking like he was about to take a swing at the sailing master. “You should not have to listen to such talk.” She couldn’t help but be caught up in their high spirits. “I have brothers,” she said, smiling. “There’s not much that will offend me, I can assure you.

What if we just smooched each investment with a little energy tag - an intention for our circulation? Just an intention that acknowledges that money will do what you tell it to do and what you intend for it to do. Try it. Every time you circulate money whether a big or small amount, just add a little energetic tag on it with a silent intention generate more consciousness or perhaps something even more specific, like when you buy a ticket for a business event, my intention for this investment is that it generates crazy amounts of new epic knowledge that help me take my business to new levels of enjoyment and abundance. Money is always listening. And money is always working. Money works 24/7 and doesn't ever sleep. It's always being recirculated reinvested, and regenerated. And if conscious, heart-centered, beautiful humans like you don't give it some love then others will, and perhaps you won't like it. Just like many don't like what money is doing now. It's not money's fault. Money wants a heart like yours giving more specific instruction for it to generate more consciously, which is why I am so big on bridging the gap between consciousness and money. Because money wants to be a valuable member in the pursuit of a more conscious, aware, harmonious world, and people in the light need to step up and play.

You recognized me as a seed when Everyone else waited for a bloom So, I’ll hold your soul in my eyes When I ask you which you did first? Become an angel or a devil? But I already know I saw your anger die into love And your freedom born from innocence

If you don’t love yourself, and if you don’t love what you do, then your productivity will be somewhere between mediocre and pathetic.

My pulse thunders in my ears. It feels like my heart’s rattling my ribs loose, it’s pounding so violently inside my chest. If he touches me any further, I won’t be strong enough to resist Ren anymore. I’ll throw myself at him, beg him to give me everything for just a little while. To give me for now until he can have forever with her. Her. God, my blood boils, and a kick of anger surges through my veins. I hate her. I’m wildly jealous of this woman, who I can only assume is entirely, completely worthy of him. And I know, I trust that she is, because I trust Ren. He’s measured and thoughtful. He has his head screwed on straight. He values the right things. She’s probably an understated beauty, because Ren’s too wholesome to need a knockout—he only asks for beauty from within. She’s one of those rescue-shelter volunteers who bakes perfectly circular chocolate chip cookies and makes friends with all the grandmas on the block. She wants three kids—two boys and a girl—and she loves to scrapbook. She also reads those criminally sex-free romances and is the least erotically adventurous woman on the planet— Whoa, there, Francesca. Getting a little nasty, aren’t we? Well, yes. My thoughts have turned uncharitable. That’s my jealousy talking. That’s my covetous envy. A fierce possessiveness for someone I have no right to. An unwarranted, unfair animosity toward a woman I should be happy for. “I want to apologize, Frankie. About last night.” I spin, tugged out of my thoughts. “What?” Ren frowns up at me from his crouched position, petting Pazza. “I don’t remember everything, because that headache was…unearthly painful, and I’d taken one of the pills for it that Amy prescribed me, but I have a vague memory of being very into hand holding.” Heat rushes through me as I bite my lip. God, you’d think we’d made out, the way thinking of it affects me. “You were.” He grimaces. “It was unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.” His face transforms to a wide smile as Pazza licks his face, perching her muddy paws on his knees. “Pazza, down.” My voice is sharp, and she drops immediately, jogging over to me. Ren slowly stands with a look of wariness on his face. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing. Just Pazza. Sh-she’ll ruin your slacks.” I point at the grass and mud staining his knees. He smiles and shrugs. “I don’t care, Frankie. I can do my laundry. I’m a spot-treating wizard, actually.” “Of course, you are.” I can’t get a stain out of my clothes to save my life. Why do all these little things about him add up to something so perfectly right to me? Why does he have to be so wonderful? Why do I have to be so fucked up?

The momentum present when you are a graduate is so powerful, and your learning curve so steep, that the confidence, talent, enthusiasm, individuality, skill and employability present at this time must be capitalized on; these are the attributes that employers are looking for. Breaking this momentum hinders much more than it helps. Your portfolio, if left unattended, becomes static, while your confidence, once battling with people your own age and often showing similar projects and responses to briefs, can take a big hit as the next year group steps up. And, above all – no matter how shallow it sounds – the reflection cast by a break in your career can be interpreted as a loss of love for what you do.

Sh. Let me admire you. Please." When she settles again with a tiny sigh, I continue to lay out my catalogue of her qualities. The ones I've carefully tucked away for a moment such as this, a moment I thought would only exist in my mind. The fantasy Gavin had much smoother moves than real-life Gavin. I'm making a fool of myself. I don't even care that I'm being so vulnerable, laying it all out there in front of her. I'm sharing my collection of treasures. Each one carefully selected. Beautiful. Priceless. Not for sale.

So I guess I want people to know that maybe I'm not the warmest human being on the fucking planet, but I love the shit out of you.

Essence is the part of us that explores, creates, and loves with joyful openness. It’s our natural state of being. We’re born with it. Ego wants only to protect us from hurt and harm. Essence wants only to experience all there is and express our unique gifts.

But I’d never be one to blame the sun for setting me on fire if I was the one insistent on moving too close And I’d be a fool just like you if I thought it could dim itself to match the lust you maimed right into love

Eyes which can cast recognition The most dangerous weapon I've seen used Eyes avoiding the truth The most powerless defense I’ve unmasked in you

To calm the Touchy baby, you have to re-create the womb. Swaddle him tightly, snuggle him into your shoulder, whisper a rhythmic sh … sh … sh sound (like the splashing of fluid in the womb) close to his ear, and pat his back gently, mimicking a heartbeat. (This, by the way, will calm most babies, but it works especially well with a Touchy baby.) When you have a Touchy baby, the quicker you learn his cues and his cries, the simpler life is. These babies love structure and predictability—no hidden surprises, thank you.

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chokma—Chikashshanompa’ for hello, pronounced chuk-mah chokma’shki’—Chikashshanompa’ for thank you, pronounced chuk-mah-sh-ki Danuwoa—Name derived from the Cherokee word for warrior, dahnawa ditihi, pronounced dah-nu-wah gvgeyui—Cherokee for I love you, pronounced guh-geh-yu-ee gvlielitseha—Cherokee for you’re welcome, pronounced guh-li-eh-li-che-hah howa—Cherokee for okay or all right, pronounced ho-wah kawolade’dv—Cherokee for breathe, pronounced ka-wol-eh-dey-a osiyo—Cherokee for hello, pronounced oh-si-yu Walela—Name derived from the Cherokee word for hummingbird, pronounced wa-ley-

Those memory-infused items will seem like all you have left of the person you loved. But, a thing is not a memory. It’s just a thing.