Shelby Love Quotes

I loved her. Despite everything. Despite the lies, the betrayal, the hurt. Despite the Archbishop and Morgane le Blanc. Despite my own brothers. I don't know if she returned that love, and I didn't care. If she was destined to burn in Hell, I would burn with her.

Love makes fools of us all, darling.

Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.

Such a love was not something of just the heart and mind. It wasn't something to be felt and eventually forgotten, to be touched without it in return touching you. No . . . this love was something else. Something irrevocable. It was something of the soul.

I-I've never seen anyone savor anything the way you do everything. You make me feel alive. Just being in your presence - it's addictive. You're addictive. It doesn't matter you're a witch. The way you see the world . . . I want to see it that way too. I want to be with you always, Lou. I never want to be parted from you again.

That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return. —Albert Camus

There was only one way such a story could end -a stake and a match.

I’d lied when I’d said I’d made my choice. In truth, there’d been no choice at all. There never had been. I loved her. And if I had to run, hide, and fight for that love, I would. For the rest of my life, I would.

I love you, Lou.” His eyes welled with fresh tears. “I—I’ve never seen anyone savor anything the way you do everything. You make me feel alive. Just being in your presence—it’s addictive. You’re addictive. It doesn’t matter you’re a witch. The way you see the world . . . I want to see it that way too. I want to be with you always, Lou. I never want to be parted from you again.

Love is nothing but a disease. This desperation you have to be loved - it is a sickness . . . it consumes you, weakens you.

I won't cheapen it by buying what you sell to strangers. I'm not a stranger. I'm the woman who loves you

I love you, Billie. Give me the chance to make you happy. To show you who I really am – the man who can’t live without you. The man who deserves your heart

If she was destined to burn in Hell, I would burn with her.

I crept into his lap. “What am I, Reid? Say it again.” “You’re a witch.” “And what are you?” He didn’t hesitate, and my heart swelled. “I am too.” “Only partly right, I’m afraid.” My smile—now genuine—grew at his confusion, and I leaned forward, rubbing my nose against his. He closed his eyes. “Allow me to fill in the gaps for you.” I kissed his nose. “You are a huntsman.” Though he recoiled slightly, I didn’t let him escape, kissing his cheek. “You are a son.” I kissed his other cheek. “You are a brother.” His forehead. “You are a husband.” His eyelids and his chin. “You are brave and strong and good .” And, finally, his lips. “But most important, you are loved.

Have I told you,” I said, bending low to whisper in his ear, “how beautiful you are when you smile?” He smiled then, the kind of smile that dimpled his cheek and set my heart on fire. “Tell me.” “Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t breathe.” My hand moved to his belt. “I can’t think. I can’t function until you look back. And when you give me this smile”—I brushed my knuckle against his dimple—“it’s like a secret just for the two of us. I don’t think I ever love you more than when you smile at me.

I loved Lou. I knew that. Felt it in my bones. I also couldn’t stand the sight of her. What was wrong with me?

Make up your mind. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next. Do you want to love me, or do you want to kill me?

Walking away from you with a broken heart is easier to handle than selling my soul to make love with you. I'm sorry, Adrian. I might be lonely, and naive, and all the things you think about me. But I'm also true to myself, and I won't denigrate my feelings for you. They're much too precious in a world that offers so little love.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. He couldn’t stop looking at me. Trapped in each other’s eyes, helpless to stop ourselves, we built and built until we shattered, baring ourselves to each other at last. Not just our bodies. Our souls. And in that moment when we fell apart . . . we came together again as something new.

Shelby believed that love was like a solar eclipse - breathtakingly beautiful, absorbing, and capable of rendering you blind. She had not necessarily gone out of her way to avoid a relationship, but she hadn't wanted on either. It was called falling in love for a reason - because, inevitably, you crashed at the bottom.

I want to thank you- for everything." I squeezed his fingers, my own stiff and aching from the cold. "Célie was right. I don't deserve you. I made a real mess of your life when I came into it." His other hand came down on top of mine. Warm and steady. To my surprise, he smiled. "I'm glad you did.

Would my soul remember him? A small part of me prayed I wouldn’t, but the rest knew better. I loved him. Deeply. Such a love was not something of just the heart and mind. It wasn’t something to be felt and eventually forgotten, to be touched without it in return touching you. No . . . this love was something else. Something irrevocable. It was something of the soul. I knew I would remember him. I would feel his absence even after death, would ache for him to be near me in a way he could never be again.

What is it, then? Why are you helping us?" Pursing his lips, he considered. "Perhaps because the world needs a whit less hate and a trifle more love.

Lou might’ve lied. She might’ve deceived me. But when I’d followed her to the Chateau, I’d chosen my fate, and I’d done it with my eyes wide open. I’d chosen this life. This love. And with my fingers trembling in hers, with her heart beating alongside mine, I still chose it. I still chose her.

You don’t have to be afraid.” If possible, his touch—his lips—turned even gentler. He trailed a finger between my breasts, and fresh gooseflesh erupted in his wake. I shivered, my knees shaking. “Let me show you how much you mean to me. Let me show you how loved you are.” His lips followed after his hand, each kiss reverent. Each a vow. “I’ll never take you for granted. I’ll want you every day for the rest of my life, and I’ll love you even after.

According to Shelby, the longer you know someone, the longer they have to let you down. But sometimes, the longer you know someone, the more time they have to surprise you.

You gave me life,” I continued, stronger now, the words spilling faster than I’d intended. Cathartic. “Of course I loved you. Why do you think I allowed them to chain me to an altar? At sixteen years old, I was willing to die for you. My mother.

I loved him. Deeply. Such a love was not something of just the heart and mind. It wasn't something to be felt and eventually forgotten, to be touched without it in return touching you. No.....this love was something else. Something irrevocable. It was something of the soul.

Mallory, I lo—" "Wait!" This was from Amy, and she looked at Mallory. "I'm sorry, but don't you think you should tell him about the car before he finishes that sentence?" "No," Mallory said, giving Amy the evil eye. She wanted the rest of Ty's sentence, dammit! Ty frowned. "What's wrong with the Shelby?" "Nothing," Mallory said quickly. "Nothing," Amy agreed. "Except for the dinged door where she parked too close to the mailbox." "Oh my God," Mallory said to her. "What are you, the car police?" "The classic car police," Amy said smugly. "You parked the Shelby on the street?" Ty asked Mallory incredulously. She went brows-up. "Okay," he said, lifting his hands. "It's okay. Never mind about the car.

I’m a witch , Reid. A witch . I have the power to protect the ones I love, and I will sacrifice anything for them. If that makes me a monster—if that makes me aberrant —I’ll don the teeth and claws to make it easier for you. I’ll get worse, if that justifies your twisted rhetoric. Much, much worse.

C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans espoir de retour. That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return. —Albert Camus

Shelby handed off her bouquet and faced Luke, taking both his hands in hers. And she began: “Luke, I love you. I promise that each day I have you in my life, I will show you my love.” Noah's eyes drifted to Ellie's and a smile played about his lips as the bride and groom spoke. “Shelby, I love you. In each day of our lives together, I will show my love. And where there is injury, I will pardon without hesitation.” “Where there is doubt, Luke, I will have faith in you.” “In times of despair, you will be my hope.” “In times of darkness, I will find my light in you.” “When there is sadness, let me bring you joy.” “Luke, I will not so much seek to be consoled as to console.” “I will seek to understand, not just to be understood.” “I will love, not just crave love.” “I pledge you my heart, my life.” “And I pledge mine to you.” “I, Luke Riordan, take you, Shelby MacIntyre, to be wife, my best friend, my lover, my partner, the head of my family and other half of my heart. Forever.” He slid a ring on her finger. Shelby slid a ring onto his finger. “I, Shelby MacIntyre, take you, Luke Riordan, to be my husband, best friend, lover, partner, head of my family and other half of my heart. Forever.

Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t breathe.” My hand moved to his belt. “I can’t think. I can’t function until you look back. And when you give me this smile”—I brushed my knuckle against his dimple—“it’s like a secret just for the two of us. I don’t think I ever love you more than when you smile at me.

She was in love with a vampire. Bela Lugosi. Nosferatu. Vlad the Impaler. Count Chocula . The urge to laugh seized her and she buried her face in her hands and cried instead.

I knew who you were. I knew what you believed... and I fell in love with you anyway.

Artemis, age; She wishes there were entirely different schools of thought prescribed to marriage, union. To connection. There must be, out there, ways to die for someone that do not mean altruistic, all-encompassing, romantic, sexual, love.

Insisting that life stay the same post-loss is essentially the same as saying, “Let’s just pretend this never happened.” That’s an incredible disservice to the person, place, or thing that you lost. Did you love what you lost? If you didn’t love it, was it important, significant, influential, or a large chunk of your life? Did you have hopes, dreams, or expectations attached to it? Then it’s worth grieving its loss. And that loss will change your identity on some level.

God is. Because God is, I live, I love, I am. Does that mean that God exists? I do not know what that question means. I experience God; I cannot explain God. I trust my experience.

What else was first love good for but bumbling hands and breathless discovery?

What is happening here?” Her voice is unsteady as she says a line that’s not in the script. “You tell me,” I say, and I’m not even sure where my own voice is coming from. Then she turns around, uncrosses her legs, and mirrors me, kneeling. “You wrote that scene for me, didn’t you?” I nod. My throat is dry. I can barely speak. “That day you saw me with Shelby outside the theater, right?” “Yes.” I swallow. I’m an open book now. “Did you write it because it makes the show better? Or did you write it for me?

Jonah’s “sin,” as noted above, was that he dared to limit God’s definition of what is holy to his own definition of what is holy. He assumed that God had no ability to love beyond the boundaries of Jonah’s love.

Would my soul remember him? A small part of me prayed I wouldn’t, but the rest knew better. I loved him. Deeply. Such a love was not something of just the heart and mind. It wasn’t something to be felt and eventually forgotten, to be touched without it in return touching you. No...this love was something else. Something irrevocable. It was something of the soul.

It came to him then, permeated his disjointed thoughts. Billie was teaching him—him—how to make love. With a jolt of surprise at the crashing irony, Adrian realized he hadn’t known how until now. He, the consummate lover, so renown for his sexual skill, so proficient and controlled and practiced, had only played at making love, where Billie…God. Clearly, it was all she knew. Pretense just wasn’t in her spectrum of capabilities.

In Yom Kippur, the status of being unclean fades before the divine presence. Yet if one cannot distinguish between God and Satan, if one calls evil good, if one’s religion places limits on the love of God, if one claims that being God’s chosen means that all others are God’s rejected, then there can be no atonement, and Yom Kippur is a failure.

Do you want a heads-up when Luce and Daniel have their first date?" Annabelle asked. Miles pointed down to Earth. "Aren't we supposed to leave them alone?" "We'll be there," Shelby said. "Don't listen to him." To Miles, she said. "Don't talk." Roland wrapped the Nephilim under each arm and prepared to take flight. Then the angels, the demon, and the Nephilim flew off to distant corners of the sky, leaving a moment's brilliant flash of light behind them, as below, Luce and Daniel fell in love for the first-and the last-time.

Maybe all of life was just a giant struggle-a giant, beautiful, complicated struggle-and those who hurt the ones they loved the least were the winners.

Grief is pervasive. It cannot be quarantined any more than love can be quarantined. Grief affects all areas of life.

Our souls are transitory; one single life is fleeting. Based on some children’s accounts, not all souls are immediately reincarnated. Sometimes the consciousness can choose rebirth. What a lovely thought to look upon your child and realize that he entrusted you to raise him.   What a gift.

What if grief is not a consequence of love but another expression of it? What if our deep sorrow is a reflection of deep connection? There is no grief with- out attachment, investment, and some kind of emotional bond. The fact that we grieve is evidence of how completely we are able to love.

But you owe no one unconditional love. Take it from someone who knows—when a person brings you more hurt than happiness, you’re allowed to let them go. You do not have to follow them into the dark.

We don’t grieve things that don’t matter to us. Grieving is just another way of saying, “I care a whole, whole lot about the person I’ve lost, and it’s hard not having them here.” The next time you start to beat yourself up for feeling grief, gently remind yourself that grief is not a sign that something is wrong with you; it’s evidence that you had a strong connection to the person you’ve lost.

Deep down, I'd known how this would end all along. I'd sensed it from the moment we'd first met, from the time I'd first glimpsed the Balisarda in his bandolier- two star-crossed lover brought together by fate or providence. By life and by death. By gods, or perhaps monsters. We would end with a stake and match.

Can people be born evil?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so either. I think she lost herself somewhere along the way. It’s easy to do with magic.” When I tensed, she turned to face me. “It’s not like you think. Magic isn’t . . . well, it’s like anything else. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing. It can be addictive. My mother, she—she loved the power, I suppose.” She chuckled once. It was bitter. “And when everything is a matter of life and death for us, the stakes are higher. The more we gain, the more we lose.

It’s not any fun in the dark,” he said, and she saw his eyes brimming with tears that glistened in the moonlight. She really felt sorry for him—even she. For what could be more pitiful than a voyeur in the dark?

for men who a short time before had been shooting at him and doing all in their power to wreck his cause, I remembered what my father had said about the South bearing within itself the seeds of defeat, the Confederacy being conceived already moribund. We were sick from an old malady, he said: incurable romanticism and misplaced chivalry, too much Walter Scott and Dumas read too seriously. We were in love with the past, he said; in love with death.

He just can't let her go it's not the sound of her laugh or the softness of her skin that he misses the most it's the way she loved him like no one ever has the way she held him when he was hurting her the way she felt his pain like it was her own and he just wasn't ready to let all of that go yet this morning he opened his eyes and she was gone

What the hell did you see in me?” He tilted his head to the side, studying her. It both thrilled her and made her uncomfortable, like he was looking right into her. “I saw you, Claire,” he finally said. “That was all. Just you. Everything about you. And the entire package was everything I wanted. I didn’t want it altered or changed one bit. I just saw…you.

There is so much more to grief than just death. In losing someone, you lose their presence in every single moment and milestone that appears after their death. Every hope, dream, and expectation you had for the future must now be reworked, because the person you love can no longer be there. It’s normal to feel like you’re grieving multiple losses when someone dies.

Allow me to fill in the gaps for you.” I kissed his nose. “You are a huntsman.” Though he recoiled slightly, I didn’t let him escape, kissing his cheek. “You are a son.” I kissed his other cheek. “You are a brother.” His forehead. “You are a husband.” His eyelids and his chin. “You are brave and strong and good.” And, finally, his lips. “But most important, you are loved.

I have to know you'll be happy; have what you want,what you can live with. I want forever from you." "All right." Shelby lifted her hands to his wrists, holding them a moment before she backed away. "I considered the possibilties," she began. "I thought through all the ifs and the maybes.I didn't like all of them, but the one I hated the most was life without you. You're not going to play Parcheesi without me, MacGregor." His brow lifted. "I'm not?" "No." She brushed at her bangs with another unsteady laugh. "Marry me, Alan. I won't agree with all your policies, but I'll try to be tactful in print-some of the time. I won't head any committees, and I'll only go to luncheons if there's no way out, but my own career's an understandable excuse for that. I won't give conventional parties, but I'll give interesting ones If you're willing to take the risk of setting me loose on world politics, who am I to argue?" He hadn't thought he could love her any more than he already did. He'd been wrong.

Then too, and this was as romantic as the others, Briartree was the only thing she had ever really owned. Everything else had more or less been lent her; so it seemed. But this was hers, earned by blood, the only good she ever got from being kin to her mother.

Love is the great redeemer, the Franciscan had said. Through love, all things are possible. Gideon bit back the triumphant laughter rising in his chest. He’d beaten the monster. Just once, but if he’d restrained it once, he could do it again. Through love, all things are possible.

Grief ripples out and sends powerful tremors through our foundation, through our hobbies, through our loved ones, and through our minds. For the first time in our lives, we can- not compartmentalize the hard, the bad, or the sad. There’s nowhere to tuck it away because every single aspect of our lives is infected with and tainted by grief.

Death is an ending, but it is not the end. The day your loved one died marks the beginning of a new life for you, a life where your loved one is no longer present in the physical world. It’s a horrendously painful ending, and simultaneously, it marks a new beginning for you. Their death is not the end of your story as a whole, but the end of a very beautiful and important chapter in your life. Your task in this new beginning is to grieve the painful ending— and to learn how to navigate life in the aftermath of loss.

MY LATE BROTHER'S book, Heaven Inc., he wrote that the only resource on which God placed no limit is love. Thus, we are able to do as the theologian John Shelby Spong suggests and “love wastefully,” because if there is no limit on love, it cannot be wasted.   Can you be so trusting of others that you can love wastefully? If so, be grateful today for that gift.

To be near them is to love them. They're wild and free and excessive. Addictive. They consume us. They make us feel alive." My hands trembled. I clenched them into fists. "But they're also dangerous. This will always be your life with her - running, hiding, and fighting. You will never know peace. You will never know family. You will never grow old with her, son.

Sitting next to grief and allowing it to root through your former life while slowly unfurling into your new life requires the kind of patience, gentleness, and self-love that many of us have never had to summon before. Remember that at its core, permission is about telling the truth about where you are right now. And sometimes that truth means saying, “I don’t know.

I see two people in love," he said with his gaze fixed on hers in the glass. "Two very different people who look extraordinarily well together." Shelby leaned her head on his shoulder again, unsure if she was glad or annoyed that he read her so perfectly. "He would look very good, and much more suitable, with a cool blond in a very classic black dress." Alan seemed to consider for a moment. "Do you know," he said mildly. "That's the first time I've heard you sound like a complete ass." She stared back at his image,at the faintly interested, fully reasonable expression on his face. She laughed. There seemed to be nothing else for her to do. "All right,just for that,I'm going to be every bit as dignified as you are." "God forbid," Alan muttered before he pulled her out the front door.

I just want, she said when he’d finally broken down her defenses. And so had he. He’d wanted her to desire him, but truthfully, whether she knew it or not, any man’s tender arms would do. The woman was wounded and aching for love, and it didn’t matter who Adrian was, or that he was the one who held her. But it had mattered to him. His eyelids slid closed as he envisioned all the pleasure he could have shown her, if she hadn’t had the decency to decline. No toys or tricks needed for this one; just deep, primal fucking. Stripping away her inhibitions alone would have been erotic enough to test his endurance.

Recovery from the death of a loved one rarely looks like grand gestures and soaring moments of triumph. In fact, living well after loss more often looks like gradually giving ourselves and the people around us just a little more compassion, just a little more permission, and just a little more love every single day. Healing doesn’t need to be grand to be worthwhile; it’s the littlest moments that make the biggest difference.

We tell the story of our grief for two reasons: first, to solidify in our brains and hearts that life without our loved one is our new reality; and second, to realize that we are not alone. Just as grief is not a one-time event, telling the story of our loss is not a one-time event, either. We must share the story of what happened, to make sense of it for ourselves and to connect with others who are experiencing similar pain.

I meant to resist your charms; I really did.I wasn't going to do this." Alan took her wrist, guiding her hand over so that he could press a kiss to the palm. "Make love with me?" "No." Shelby's gaze traveled from his mouth to his eyes. "Be in love with you." She felt his fingers tighten on her wrist, then loosen slowly as his eyes stayed dark and fixed on hers. Beneath her, she felt the change in his heartbeart. "And are you?" "Yes." The word, hardly audible, thundered in his head. Alan brought her to him, cradling her head against his chest, feeling her low slow expulsion of air as his arm came around her. He hadn't expected her to give him so much so soon. "When?" "When?" Shelby repeated, enjoying the solid feel of his chest under her cheek. "Sometime between when we first stepped out on the Write's terrace and when I opened a basket of strawberries." "It took you that long? All I had to do was look at you.

They were Amy and Jeff Carruthers and they rode south out of Bristol, gravel chattering under the upswept fenders. After a while the man said suddenly, “Whats it like?” Amy glanced out at the fields. “Cotton. Everywhere nothing but cotton.

All my shrinks have told me I need to find a hobby. Something to focus on other than the torture and the pain, something to keep me grounded to the here and now and not stuck in the past, reliving every moment of hell. It’s probably not healthy that I’ve decided finding Shelby and convincing her to love me again is the perfect hobby for me, but that’s too damn bad. I’m broken and scarred and half the man I used to be, but if she’ll let me explain, I hope to God she can put me back together again.

The lucid, rational part of Billie wanted to laugh. Here she was, out in the woods of middle-class suburbia, with a man’s fingers inside her panties, inside her, a climax of unimaginable force trembling at the edge of her grasp. And the man who now plied her and played her…a prostitute. A gigolo. A beloved brother and son and uncle, and a suspect, with too many secrets and too much sexual prowess. A man she was falling in love with. The impossibility of it, the crazy, twisted potential swept over her, then ebbed, lost in the surge of unbelievable pleasure that built and built within her like strings drawn too tightly across a fine-tuned instrument. She would die from this, die and scatter into a million fragments and drift like dust on the wind.

At any rate, though he never succeeded in laughing at her, as she had done (and continued to do) at him, he fulfilled at least half of what he had predicted he would do when they were married; he beat her. The trouble was, she fought back. And ably, too: for she would snatch up any weapon that was handy, a table lamp, the nail scissors, one of her sharp-heeled shoes, an open box of dusting powder, and once her rubber douche bag. With Amy thus accoutered, husband and wife were about evenly matched. This

You are allowed to live and feel the experience of grief. By giving yourself permission to experience grief emotions and letting grief move through you, you are allowing grief (and by extension, yourself) to show up how it wants to, not how society wishes it would. There is immense self-love in that. In allowing yourself permission to feel, you are allowing your- self to show up as a whole human being, not just the parts of a human that you (or society) consider to be “appropriate,” “pretty,” or “worthy.

You may quickly realize after the death of a loved one that the day they died is not the hardest part. It may be the worst day of your life, but it is not the hardest part. The hardest part is returning to life again. Because while you had no say in your loved one’s dying, you do have a say in your living. And choosing to live after someone you love has died is one of the hardest choices we make. It’s okay if life after loss feels more like a struggle than the day your loved one died . . . because often, it is.

He looked at her in bittersweet despair. “Sometimes, Kate, when I’m inside you and your arms are around me, I’m human again. There’s a beginning and an end to my life again. And all because of your love. It’s been a gift to me, one I’ve never deserved. But I cherished it.” And maybe he’d destroyed it with the ungodly truth. He didn’t know. He drew a shaky breath, battered by a fresh wave of regret, and his voice trembled. “I thought I had broken your heart a while ago. I didn’t know how to make you hear me, and I knew that by telling you the truth, I’d lose you. But here you sit. You haven’t flipped out, not visibly anyway, nor accused me of being a liar. And you haven’t run in terror, now that you’re truly free to go. I don’t know what to think. Tell me, Kate…have I lost you?

I've always been his favorite." "Is that so?" Lazily Shelby folded her arms behind her head. She could picture him as a boy,seeing beyond what other boys saw and storing it. "Why?" "If I weren't modest,I'd confess that I was always a well-mannered, even-tempered child who never gave my parents a moment's trouble." "Liar," she said easily. "How'd you get the broken nose?" The grin became rueful. "Rena punched me." "Your sister broke your nose?" Shelby burst out with delighted and unsympathetic laughter. "The blackjack dealer, right? Oh,I love it!" Alan caught Shelby's nose between two fingers and gave it a quick twist. "It was rather painful at the time." "I imagine." She kept right on laughing as he shifted to her side. "Did she make a habit of beating you up?" "She didn't beat me up," he corrected with some dignity. "She was trying to beat Caine up because he'd teased her about making calf's eyes at one of his friends." "Typical brotherly intimidation." "In any event," Alan put in mildly, "I went to drag her off him,she took another swing,missed him, and hit me. A full-power roundhouse,as I remember. That's when," he continued as Shelby gave another peal of laughter, "I decided against being a diplomat. It's always the neutral party that gets punched in the face." "I'm sure..." Shelby dropped her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure she was sorry." "Initially.But as I recall, after I'd stopped bleeding and threatening to kill both her and Caine, her reaction as a great deal like yours." "Insensitive." Shelby ran apologetic kisses over his face. "Poor baby. Tell you what, I'll do penance and see about fixing you breakfast.

While some people are born with a greater propensity for resilience, resil- ience is not a static characteristic. Resilience can be practiced, nourished, and built across your lifetime. If you feel like you’re not bouncing back, well, you’re in good company. The death of a loved one often marks the first time that people are forced to come back from something hard, scary, and life- changing. Each day that you are living beyond the day of your loss is another day you’re building resilience. You’re teaching your heart, mind, and body what it means to continue to live after the very worst has happened.

There was beginning to be a sense of history, made immediate by the fact that an English king had given up his throne for a woman: “the woman I love,” the king said and they thrilled to hear him say it, huddled about their radios as for warmth. Romance wasnt dead, they told themselves. Even in their time such things could happen—and they were on hand, almost a part of it, leaning toward the loudspeakers. Yet there was something weak and sordid about the affair: they could not help but feel this and they were vaguely dissatisfied, knowing it would not have been so in their fathers’ and grandfathers’ time. Amy

When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, his eyes were closed, lashes like inky brushstrokes on his cheeks. His palms came up to cup the sides of her neck, and with a shaky sigh, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ll let you go, Billie.” His words poured against her lips, husky, raw. “I always keep my end of a deal. In exchange, you’ll come to Avalon as a client. Tomorrow. This week. Walk through those doors and send for me. I’ll be whatever you want. I’ll take you up to my room and turn you inside out. I’ll taste and touch and fuck you until you scream. And if you want control, it’s yours. A favor for a favor.” She clung to him to keep from collapsing, torn between tears and wild, wayward laughter. The scenario was unreal. And the only argument she could think of was a frail one, easily shot down. “Azure would never allow—” “It’s as good as done. I’ll put you in the book myself. Maria will call you with the date, and I’ll keep my distance from you until then.” His lips brushed her ear. “Please, Billie. Let’s end this before it kills us both. Say yes.” The truth wrapped itself around her. You’re hopelessly in love with this man, aren’t you, Billie Cort? “Yes,” Billie said, squeezing her eyes closed. “God, yes.

Alan stopped her in the hall by slipping his arms around her waist. "I haven't done this in one hour and twenty-three mintutes." His mouth covered hers, slowly, confidently. As her lips parted and offered he took, taking the kiss just to the border, but no further, of madness. "I love you." He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, then released her mouth only to change the angle and deepen the kiss. He felt her heartbeat sprint against his, felt that long, lazy meltng of her bones he knew happened just before she went from pliant to avid. "Tonight, no matter who you dance with,think of me." Breathless,she looked up.In his eyes, she saw that banked brooding passion she could never resist. He'd overwhelm her if she let him;absorb her. He had the power.Shelby tilted her head so her lips stayed within a whisper of his. "Tonight," she said huskily, "no matter who you dance with,you'll want me." Her arms stayed around him when she rested her head on his shoulder. "And I'll know.

His voice grew more remote. She wondered if he was calling from his condominium, where he’d lost his best friend, or from Avalon, where he’d lost himself. “I like you, Billie. You’re a nice person. Good company. But tonight was a mistake.” She flung an arm over her eyes and swallowed the lump of tears that had lodged in her throat. “Oh? Which part? The part where you introduced me to your family and exposed yourself as coming from a perfectly average, wholesome background? Or the part where you touched me and turned me inside-out while swaying in a hammock in the rich, beautiful woods—one of the most searing sexual experiences of my life? Which part do you regret, Adrian?” “All of it. I can’t have those things with you. You know what I am.” “Yes, Adrian, I know what you are. A gentle man. A likable one. Smart. Cultured. Sexy. I know what you are.” “But the other part—” “What about the other part? You hide behind the other part.” She yanked the pillow out from beneath her head and winged it across the bedroom, furious suddenly. “Did you call to tell me I’m not going to see you anymore? Because if that’s the case, hurry up and say it. Then hang up and go back to work, and don’t worry one bit about me. I’ve been on my own a long time, and I’m tougher than you think. I won’t cling to any man who’d rather be a-a—” She stumbled, bit back the ugly words rushing to her lips. “A what?” he countered softly. “A whore? A gigolo? Go ahead and say it, Billie. If you’re going to waste your time caring about me, then you’d better get used to the idea, because I can’t change. I won’t. Not for you or anyone.” She bit back a sound of pure derision. “How about for you? Think you could walk the straight and narrow for yourself?” He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Billie already knew the answer. “You’re afraid.” She sat up among the sheets as cold realization washed through her. “Afraid to live without women clambering to pay top dollar for you. All that money…it’s a measure of your value, right? It’s your self-esteem. What would happen if you were paid in love instead of cash? Would the world end? My God, Adrian. You’re running scared.” The half-whispered accusation seemed to permeate his impassivity. “I was fine before you.” His voice came low and furious. Finally, finally. True emotion. “Damn it, Billie. I want my life back.” “Then hang up and don’t call me again, because I’m not going to pay you for sex, Adrian. What I offer is a worthless currency in your world.

No,her mother was made for the life. Patient,with a rod of steel beneath the fragile skin. Shelby wouldn't choose it, nor would she let it choose her. She'd love no one who could leave her again so horribly. Letting the conversation flow around her, Shelby tilted back her glass. Her eyes met Alan's. It was there-that quietly brooding patience that promised to last a lifetime.She could almost feel him calmly peeling off layer after layer of whatever bits and pieces made up her personality to get to the tiny core she kept private. You bastard.She nearly said it out loud. Certainly it reflected in her eys for he smiled at her in simple acknowledgement.The siege was definitely under way. She only hoped she had enough provisions to outlast him.

There’s a misconception that grief is about “looking backward,” mourning someone whose life has been reduced to memories. But grief is also about “looking forward,” realizing and grieving all the future events that your loved one will never get to participate in. Grief is half about mourning the past that was and half about mourning the future that never will be. You’re not weird or crazy for jumping months, years, or decades ahead to envision a life without your loved one present. In fact, when loss happens, we often feel like we’re losing everything all at once—past, present, and future. Sometimes in these moments, it’s comforting to know that while your loved one can no longer follow you into the future, your memories and love for them can.

Baptize these others in the name of the “Father.” That word must not be thought of as the name of some external deity, but rather as the name of the Source of Life that inhabits the universe, calling us all to live fully. Baptize, too, in the name of the “Son.” That word must not be seen as the name of the founder of an exclusive religious system, but the name of the Source of Love, which embraces us all and then frees us to love wastefully, to love beyond every barrier. Baptize them in the name of the “Holy Spirit.” Those two words are not another name for God, but are rather the name of the Ground of Being, in whom we all are related and in which we find not only the courage to be all that we can be, but also, perhaps even more important, the courage to allow others to be all that they can be in the infinite variety of our humanity. The human community contains people of all races, genders, sexual orientations, ages, political persuasions and economic statuses. The call of God to us to be all that we can be is also the call to rejoice in the very being of all others. That is what forms the universal community of which the church is but a symbol; indeed, to build the universal community is the ultimate goal of the Christian church, and in the achievement of that goal the church itself will finally be dissolved.

I happened to be in Shelby's shop when a basket of strawberries was delivered," she added casually. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, dear?" "Strawberries?" Alan gave her another noncommittal smile. "I'm quite fond of them myself." "I'm much too clever to be conned," Myra told him, shaking her finger. "And I know you entirely too well.A man like you doesn't send baskets of strawberries or spend afternoons at the zoo unless he's infatuated." "I'm not infatuated with Shelby," Alan corrected mildly as he sipped his tea. "I'm in love with her." Myra's planned retort came out as a huff of breath. "Well then," she managed. "That was quicker than even I expected." "It was instant," Alan murmured, not quite as easy now that he'd made the statement. "Lovely." Myra leaned forward to pat his knee. "I can't think of anyone who deserves the shock of love at first sight more.

Lazily...possessively he ran a hand down her back. "Mmm, again," Shelby murmured. With a quiet laugh, Alan stroked up and down until she was ready to purr. "Shelby..." She gave another sigh as an answer and snuggled closer. "Shelby,there's something warm and fluffy under my feet." "Mmm-hmm." "If it's your cat, he's not breathing." "MacGregor." He kissed the top of her head. "What?" She gave a muffled laugh against his shoulder. "MacGregor," she repeated. "My pig." There was silence for a moment while he tried to digest this. "I beg your pardon?" The dry serious tone had more laughter bubbling up. Would she ever be able to face a day without hearing it? "Oh, say that again.I love it." Because she had to see his face, Shelby found the energy to lean across him and grope for the matches on the nightstand. Skin rubbed distractedly against skin while she struck one and lit a candle. "MacGregor," she said, giving Alan a quick kiss before she gestured to the foot of the bed. Alan studied the smiling porcine face. "You named a stuffed purple pig after me?" "Alan, is that any way to talk about our child?" His eyes shifted to hers in an expression so masculine and ironic, she collapsed on his chest in a fit of giggles. "I put him there because he was supposed to be the only MacGregor who charmed his way into my bed." "Really." Alan tugged on her hair until she lifted her face, full of amusement and fun,to his. "Is that what I dd?" "You knew damn well I wouldn't be able to resist balloons and rainbows foever.

Suppose..." And for the first time he linked his hand with hers. "He runs and wins and lives to a ripe old age writing his memoirs and traveling as an ambassador of goodwill or playing Parcheesi on the sun porch. You're going to be damned mad he had fifty years without you." She let out a long breath. "Yeah. But-" "We've already gone through the buts," he interrupted. "Of course, they're probably several million possibilities in between.He could get hit by a car crossing the street-or you could. He could lose the election and become a missionary or an anchor on the six o'clock news." "All right." Shelby dropped her forehead to their joined hands. "Nobody makes me see what a fool I am better than you." "One of my minor talents. Listen, walk out on the beach; clear your head. When you come back, eat something, then get about twelve hours' sleep, because you look like hell.Then..." He waited until she lifted her head to smile at him. "Go home.I've got work to do." "I love you,you creep." "Yeah." He shot her one of his quick grins. "Me too.

What the hell is all this I read in the papers?" "Narrow it down for me," Alan suggested. "I suppose it might have been a misprint," Daniel considered, frowning at the tip of his cigar before he tapped it in the ashtray he kept secreted in the bottom drawer of his desk. "I think I know my own flesh and blood well enough." "Narrow it just a bit further," Alan requested, though he'd already gotten the drift.It was simply too good to end it too soon. "When I read that my own son-my heir, as things are-is spending time fraternizing with a Campbell, I know it's a simple matter of misspelling. What's the girl's name?" Along with a surge of affection, Alan felt a tug of pure and simple mischief. "Which girl is that?" "Dammit,boy! The girl you're seeing who looks like a pixie.Fetching young thing from the picture I saw.Good bones; holds herself well." "Shelby," Alan said, then waited a beat. "Shelby Campbell." Dead silence.Leaning back in his chair, Alan wondered how long it would be before his father remembered to take a breath. It was a pity, he mused, a real pity that he couldn't see the old pirate's face. "Campbell!" The word erupted. "A thieving, murdering Campbell!" "Yes,she's fond of MacGregor's as well." "No son of mine gives the time of day to one of the clan Campbell!" Daniel bellowed. "I'll take a strap to you, Alan Duncan MacGregor!" The threat was as empty now as it had been when Alan had been eight, but delivered in the same full-pitched roar. "I'll wear the hide off you." "You'll have the chance to try this weekend when you meet Shelby." "A Campbell in my house! Hah!" "A Campbell in your house," Alan repeated mildly. "And a Campbell in your family before the end of the year if I have my way." "You-" Emotions warred in him. A Campbell versus his firmest aspiration: to see each of his children married and settled, and himself laden with grandchildren. "You're thinking of marriage to a Campbell?" "I've already asked her.She won't have me...yet," he added. "Won't have you!" Paternal pride dominated all else. "What kind of a nitwit is she? Typical Campbell," he muttered. "Mindless pagans." Daniel suspected they'd had some sorcerers sprinkled among them. "Probably bewitched the boy," he mumbled, scowling into space. "Always had good sense before this.Aye, you bring your Campbell to me," he ordered roundly. "I'll get to the bottom of it." Alan smothered a laugh, forgetting the poor mood that had plagued him only minutes earlier. "I'll ask her." "Ask? Hah! You bring the girl, that daughter of a Campbell, here." Picturing Shelby, Alan decided he wouldn't iss the meeting for two-thirds the popular vote. "I'll see you Friday, Dad.Give Mom my love." "Friday," Daniel muttered, puffing avidly on his cigar. "Aye,aye, Friday." As he hung up Alan could all but see his father rubbing his huge hands togther in anticipation. It should be an interesting weekened.

You'll make a good First Lady, Shelby Campbell." Shelby's fingers tightened on her wineglass, an involuntary gesture noticed only by Alan and his mother. "Perhaps," she returned calmly. "if it were one of my ambitions." "Ambitions or not,it's fate when you're paired with this one," Daniel stabbed his fork toward Alan. "You're a little premature." Alan cut cleanly through his meat, swearing fluidly in his mind only. "I haven't decided to run for president, and Shelby hasn't agreed to marry me." "Haven't decided? Hah!" Daniel silled down wine. "Hasn't agreed?" He set down the glass with a bang. "The girl doesn't look like a fool to me, Campbell or no," he continued. "She's good Scottish stock,no matter what her clan.This one'll breed true MacGregors." "He'd still like me to change my name," Justin commented, deliberately trying to shift the attention onto himself. "It's been done to ensure the line before," Daniel told him. "but Rena's babe'll be as much MacGregor as not. As will Caine's when he's a mind to remember his duty and start making one." He sent his younger son a lowered-brow look that was met with an insolent grin. "But Alan's the firstborn, duty-bound to marry and produce and sire..." Alan turned, intending on putting an end to the topic,when he caught Shelby's grin. She'd folded her arms on the table,forgetting her dinner in the pure enjoyment of watching Daniel MacGregor on a roll. "Having fun?" Alan muttered near her ear. "Wouldn't miss it.Is he always like this?" Alan glanced over, watching his father gesture with his lecture. "Yes." Shelby sighed. "I think I'm in love. Daniel..." She interrupted his flow of words by tugging sharply on his sleeve. "No offense to Alan,or to your wife,but I think if I were going to marry a MacGregor,he'd have to be you." Still caught up in his own diatribe, Daniel stared at her.Abruptly his features shifted and his laugh rang out. "You're a pistol,you are, Shelby Campbell.Here..." He lifted a bottle of wine. "Your glass is empty.

Atonement theology is not the pathway to life. The ability to give ourselves away to others in love is. It is not the winners who achieve life’s meaning; it is the givers. That is the basis upon which a new Christianity can be built for a new world. Atonement theology was born in Gentile ignorance of Jewish worship traditions. It was fed over the centuries by literalizing biblical narratives in ways that Jewish worshippers, who knew about storytelling, would never have understood. I say it again: Biblical literalism is nothing less than a Gentile heresy. Its results are now revealed in the fact that Christianity has been transformed into a religion of victimization. For centuries we have practiced our faith by building up ourselves as winners, survivors, the holders of ultimate truth, while we have denigrated the humanity of others. That is the source of evil. That is why Christianity has given birth to anti-Semitism. That is why the crusades were initiated to kill “infidels.” That is why we gave our blessing to such things as the divine right of kings, slavery, segregation, and apartheid. That is why we defined women as sub-human, childlike, and dependent. That is why we became homophobic. That is why we became child abusers and ideological killers. What human life needs is not a theology of human denigration. That is what atonement theology gives us. What we need is a theology of human fulfillment.

I can't remember when I've spent a more...enjoyable Saturday." She sighed, then teased his tongue with hers. "Since I don't intend to move for at least twenty-four hours,we'll see how you like Sunday as well." "I think I'm going to love it." She slid a hand over his shoulder. "I don't like to be pushy, Senator, but when are you going to marry me?" "I thought September in Hyannis Port." "The MacGregor fortess." He saw by her eyes the idea appealed to hre. "But September's two and a half months away." "We'll make it August," he said as he nibbled at her ear. "In the meantime, you and your roommates can move in here, or we can start looking for another place. Would you like to honeymoon in Scotland?" Shelby nestled into his throat. "Yes." She tilted her head back. "In the meantime," she said slowly as her hands wandered down to his waist. "I've been wanting to tell you that there's one of your domestic policies I'm fully in favor or,Senator." "Really?" His mouth lowered to hover just above hers. "You have-" she nipped at his bottom lip "-my full support.I wonder if you could just...run through the prodecure for me one more time." Alan slid a hand down her side. "It's my civic duty to make myself avaiable to all my constituents." Shelby's fingers ran up his chest to stop his jaw just before he captured her lips. "As long as it's only me, Senator." She hooked her arm around his neck. "This is the one-man one-vote system.

Remember the parable of the wheat and the tares (Matt. 13:24–30) they must grow together, Jesus said, until the harvest. We cannot remove the tares without destroying the wheat. Evil, like the tares, is part of the Ground of Being, the nature of reality, the meaning of God. My being is always light and darkness, love and hate, God and Satan, life and death, being and nonbeing—all in dynamic tension. I cannot split off part of who I am, confess it, be absolved of it, and seek to try again. I cannot pretend that I am made in God’s image until I own as part of my being the shadow side of my life, which reflects the shadow side of God. That is why evil is always present in the holy; that is why evil is perceived as relentless and inescapable; that is why Jesus and Judas have been symbolically bound together since the dawn of time. The Johannine myth was not wrong in suggesting that Jesus was the preexisting word of God who was enfleshed into human history. That is a very accurate conception of an ultimate truth. But it is not complete. Judas Iscariot was also mythically present in God at the dawn of creation, and he too was enfleshed in the drama played out in Judea in the first century. The mythical themes are woven together time after time. God and Satan, life and death, good and evil, sacrifice and freedom, light and darkness, Jesus and Judas—are all inextricably bound up with one another. I cannot finally step into the new being without bringing my own dark shadow with me.

Once I've made up my mind, I'm rock hard." "We've more than ancestry in common." He watched the sunlight add more heat to the flames of her hair. Touching it, lightly, fingertips only, Alan wondered how it would look after they'd made love. Wild strands of fire. "I wanted you from the minute I saw you, Shelby. I want you more with every minute that passes." She turned her head at that, surprised and unwillingly excited.It hadn't been an empty phrase or cliche.Alan MacGregor said precisely what he meant. "And when I want something that immediately and that badly," he murmured while his fingertips strayed to her jawline, "I don't walk away from it." Her lips parted as his thumb brushed over them.She couldn't prevent it, or the lightning-flash thrill of desire. "So-" Striving to be casual, Shelby dug out some more popcorn before she set the bucket on a bench. "You put your engergies into convincing me that I want you." He smiled.Slowly, irresistibly, he circled her neck with his fingers. "I don't have to convince you of that. What I have to convince you of," he began as he drew her closer, "is that the stand you're taking is unproductive, self-defeating, and hopeless.

You look a bit tired,love; haven't you been sleeping well?" "I've been sleeping just fine," she lied. "I was out late last night." Deliberately she turned to him. "On a date." Alan controlled the swift surge of jealousy. Her ability to push the right buttons to get under his skin was no longer a surprise.He met the simmering gray eyes briefly. "Have a good time?" "I had a marvelous time. David's a musician, very senstive.Very passionate," she added with relish. "I'm crazy about him." David might have been surprised, as he was engaged to one of Shelby's closest friends, but she doubted the subject would come up again. "As a matter of fact," she continued with sudden inspiration, "he's coming by to pick me up at seven.So, I'd appreciate it if you'd just turn around and take me home." Instead of obliging as she hoped or raging as she expected, Alan glanced at his watch. "That's too bad.I doubt we'll be back by then." While Shelby sat in stony silence he pulled up to the curb. "Better put on your jacket; we'll have to walk half a block." When she neither moved nor spoke, he leaned across her as if to open the door. His mouth brushed over her ear. "Unless you'd like to stay in the car and neck.

I was going to make a confession. Then I remembered I don't make them very well. We still need to see the monkeys." "You don't really think I'm going to let a provocative statement like that slip by,do you?" "Well...I thought the best way to discourage you was to agree to go out with you-to some place like this, which I thought would bore you to distraction-then be as obnoxious as possible." "Have you been obnoxious?" His tone was mild and entirely too serious. "I thought you've been behaving very naturally." "Ouch." Shelby rubbed at the figurative wound under her heart. "In any case, I get the distinct impression that I haven't discouraged you at all." "Really?" Reaching for more popcorn, he leaned close and spoke gently in her ear "How did you come by that?" "Oh-" She cleared her throat. "Just a hunch." He found that tiny show of nerves very rewarding. Yes, the puzzle was coming together, piece by careful piece. It was the way he'd always structured his life. "Odd.And not once since we've been here have I mentioned that I'd like to find a small, dim room and make love to you,over and over." Warily, Shelby slid her eyes to his. "I'd just as soon you didn't. "All right." Alan slipped an arm around her waist. "I won't mention it while we're here." A smile tugged at her mouth, but she shook her head. "It's not going to come to that, Alan.It can't." "We have a fundamental disagreement." He paused on a bridge. Beneath them, swans floated haughtily. "Because to my way of thinking it has to.

Well,that was fun," she said lightly as he maneuvered out of the lot. "I'm really glad you talked me into going out. My day was a blank page until seven." That long, quiet moment lingered in his mind even as it lingered in Shelby's. Alan shifted, hoping to ease the thudding in the pit of his stomach. "Always happy to help someone fill in a few empty spaces." Alan controlled the speed of the car through force of will. Holding her hadn't soothed him but rather had only served to remind him how much time had passed since he had last held her. "Actually you're an easy man to be with, Alan, for a politician." Easy? Shelby repeated to herself as she pressed the button to lower her window. Her blood was still throbbing from a meeting of eyes that had lasted less than ten seconds. If he was any easier, she'd be head over heels in love with him and headed for disaster. "I mean,you're not really pompous." He shot her a look, long and cool, that boosted her confidence. "No?" he murmured after a humming silence. "Hardly at all." Shelby sent him a smile. "Why,I'd probably vote for you myself." Alan paused at a red light, studying it thoughtfully before he turned to her. "Your insults aren't as subtle today, Shelby." "Insults?" Shelby gave him a bland stare. "Odd,I thought it was more flattery.Isn't a vote what it all comes down to? Votes, and that all-encompassing need to win." The light stayed green for five full seconds before he cruised through it. "Be careful." A nerve,she thought,hating herself more than a little. "You're a little touchy. That's all right." She brushed at the thigh of her jeans. "I don't mind a little oversensitivity." "The subject of my sensitivity isn't the issue,but you're succeeding in being obnoxious." "My,my,aren't we all Capitol Hill all of a sudden.