Should Question Mark Be Inside Quotes

I say go, go, be led. particularly If you're in your twenties, which I suspect a lot of you are in. I tell my kids it's a question Mark decade in a sense. and we're told we should know what we want to do. It's a terrible thing. 'what are you going to do?' 'what are you going to be?' 'how can you make a living at that' no, no, no, no, no it's your question mark. You're never gonna have this luxury again of not knowing and it is a luxury not to know. You can play, you can do that, you must because it's your only way not to go crazy. Because if you're- meaning if you're gonna wait for the job, you're gonna die

Loving or not loving should be like coffee or tea; people should be allowed to decide. How else are we to get over all our dead and the women we've lost?" Cunco whispered dejectedly. "Maybe we shouldn't." "You think so? Not get over it. but...then? What then? What task do the departed want us to do?" That was the question that Jean Perdu had been unable to answer for all these years. Until now. Now he knew. "To carry them within us—that is our task. We carry them all inside us, all our dead and shattered loves. Only they make us whole. If we begin to forget or cast aside those we've lost, then...then we are no longer present either. " Jean looked at the Allier River, glittering in the moonlight. "All the love, all the dead, all the people we've known. They are the rivers that feed our sea of souls. If we refuse to remember them, that sea will dry up too." He felt an overwhelming inner thirst to seize life with both hands before time sped past even faster. He didn't want to die of thirst, he wanted to be as wide and free as the sea—full and deep. He longed for friends. He wanted to love. He wanted to feel the marks that Manon had left inside him. He still wanted to feel her coursing through him, mingling with him. Manon had changed him forever—why deny it? That was how he had become the man whom Catherine had allowed to approach her. Jean Perdu suddenly realized that Catherine could never taken Mann's place. She took her own place. No worse, no better, simply different. He longed to show Catherine the full expanse of his sea!

She didn't realize she was weeping until the brother's pained whisper broke the choking silence. "Are they for me?" Her nose was running now. She sniffed, sniffed again, flashed a smile that was too quick, too false. "Are what for you?" "Why, your tears, of course." Oh, Lord. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak for fear she'd give in to the great, wracking pain that threatened to burst from her. This man, suffering so quietly, so bravely, did not deserve to see tears; he needed hope, comfort, encouragement from her, not an appalling display of weakness. She suddenly felt selfish and ashamed — and guilty, too. After all, the tears were not even for him, poor man. They were for Charles. "I'm not crying," she managed, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her sleeve and staring out the window to hide the evidence. "No?"  He gave a weak smile. "Perhaps I should see for myself." And then she felt them; his fingers, brushing her damp cheek with infinite softness and concern, tracing the slippery track of her sorrow. It was a caress — achingly kind, gentle, sweet. She stiffened and caught his hand, holding it away from her face and shutting her eyes on a deep, bracing breath lest that dam of her self-control break for good. She managed to get herself under control, and when she finally dared meet his gaze, she saw that he was looking quietly up at her, at her distressed face and the tears she was trying so valiantly to hold back. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, gently. She shook her head. "Are you quite certain?" "Lord Gareth, you're the one who's hurt, not me." "No. That is not true."  His eyes searching her face, he touched her other cheek, the one the highwayman had cuffed, his whole manner one of such gentle, selfless concern that she wanted to lash out at someone, something, for this injustice that had been done to him. "I saw that … that scoundrel strike you. If I could kill him all over again for that, I would. Why, your poor cheek still bears the mark of his hand...." "I am fine." "But —" "Dear heavens, Lord Gareth, must you keep at it so?" The words had come out angrier than she intended. She saw the sudden shadow of confusion that moved across his eyes, and a sharp pang of remorse lanced her heart for having put it there. Her anger was not for him, but at the fates that had taken first one of these dashing brothers and would now, most likely, take another. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. And here he was worried about her cheek, her silly, stupid cheek, when his life's blood was oozing all over her skirts and onto the seat, and his flesh was feeling colder and clammier by the moment. She wanted to cry. Wanted to put her head in her hands and bawl until all the grief and pain and rage and loneliness still locked inside her was purged. But she did not. Instead, she took a deep breath and met his questioning gaze. Same romantic eyes. Same kindness in their depths, same concern for other people. Oh, God ... help me. "I'm sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. "That was unfair. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm so sorry...." "Please, don't be."  He smiled, weakly. "Besides, if those tears are for me, I can assure you there is no need to waste them so. I shall not die.

I reached for the doorknob just as the doorbell sounded for the second time that afternoon. “What is this?” I said. “Grand Central Station?” I pulled the door open. Mark London was standing on the porch. At the sight of Alex, his face shuttered. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad timing.” “Nope,” Alex said cheerfully. He stepped around me, then past Mark, and moved to the edge of the porch. “Try not to be stupid, London. If I hear you’ve hurt her, I may feel compelled to do something macho like break both your arms. I’m a jock. We can do things like that, you know.” Then he sauntered down the porch and out into the rain. “So,” Mark said after a moment. “You guys kiss and make up or something?” “You are an idiot,” I said. “You know perfectly well he and Elaine are crazy for each other. He’s probably heading next door right now. If the only reason you’re here is to be a pain, you’d better watch out because I’m planning to slam the door in your face.” “Don’t,” Mark said suddenly. “Don’t make me go away, Jo.” I felt the breath back up in my lungs. “Just tell me what you want, London.” “To see you, for one thing,” Mark said explosively. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.” “I’ve been avoiding you!” I all but shouted. “Who stopped talking to me as soon as his award-winning articles came out? What happened? You got what you wanted so you didn’t need me anymore?” “I can’t believe you’d think that,” Mark said. “What am I supposed to think?” I said. “I don’t even know you!” “Stop,” Mark said suddenly. “Just stop.” With one quick motion he reached out and pulled me onto the porch and into his arms. “I didn’t come to fight. God, you feel good.” “I am not a pushover,” I mumbled against his chest. I felt, as well as heard, the rumble of his laughter. “No, I know you’re not.” He eased back, taking my face between his hands, running one thumb along my right cheekbone. “I know we don’t know each other very well,” he said. “That’s going to change, beginning now. I want to spend as much time with you as possible.” “What about what I want?” He kissed me then. Long and deep and slow. I felt my heart roll over inside my chest, then settle down to beat in time to his. “What do you want?” Mark said when the kiss was over. “I don’t know,” I confessed. If ever there was a moment for absolute truth, I figured now was the time. “Not altogether. But I’m pretty sure you’re a part of it.” His lips twitched, with suppressed laughter or irritation, I couldn’t quite tell. “When do you think you’ll know for sure?” “Are we going to stand here and play twenty questions all day? How the heck should I know?” He laughed then, the sound unlike anything I’d ever heard from him before. Open and joyous. “I think I’m going to enjoy the next few months,” he said. I smiled. “Just so long as you don’t mind a few surprises.

The Scriptures tell us that right and wrong do exist. Our duty is to do what is right, and it is not too difficult to discern. For example, look at the issue of transgendered people and using bathrooms. Just because someone is confused, doesn’t mean we give up our common sense. Many who have had sex-change surgery want to change back. They have big regrets. They may change their looks on the outside, but their chromosomes stay the same on the inside. Figuring out which bathroom to use should be a pretty simple matter, if you think about it. God has given each of us a certain kind of plumbing. Guys go to one bathroom and ladies go to another. You see, bathrooms are supposed to be biological and not social. But, of course, there is much more to this agenda than meets the eye. This is the breakdown of the family. This is an assault on what God says is right and wrong. God says man and woman in marriage, and the world says any combination of genders in marriage is fine. The Bible says to have kids within a heterosexual family, and the world says to have kids within any kind of family structure you want. On a recent plane flight, a guy named John was sitting next to me. He loved logic. Everything had to be logical for him. When I asked him, “If you could have any job on planet Earth and money wasn’t an issue, what would you want to do?” He didn’t hesitate. He said, “Philosophy professor at a university!” I already knew this was going to be a good conversation, but his reply was icing on the cake! Then out of nowhere he asked me, “What do you think about gay marriage?” This seems to be the only question on people’s minds these days! Some people are interested in your answer; others just want to label you a bigot. Whether or not they want to categorize you doesn’t matter; our job is to tell people the truth. So I asked him, “When people get married, how many people get married?” He responded that he didn’t understand my question. So I said, “When you go to a marriage ceremony in India, China, Russia, Canada, or the United States, how many people are in that ceremony?” He replied, “Two.” I then continued, “Where did the number come from?” You should have seen the look on his face. He didn’t have a clue. I let him know it came from the oldest writing ever on the subject of marriage. It came from the Jewish Torah, and in the book of Genesis, it says: Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. Genesis 2:24 The interesting thing was that John knew the verse! When I said it out loud, he finished it by saying, “one flesh.” Someone had taught him that verse at some point through the years. Then I said, “Whoever gets to tell you how many people can get married can also tell you who gets to be in that number.” He loved the logic. But, of course, God is logical. That is why it is logical to believe in Him. I also read somewhere: Whoever designs marriage gets to define marriage! That is a good statement, and I have been using it as I talk with people about this subject.

couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’d wake up at night with that taste on my tongue—wake up thinking about your foul, beautiful mouth.” He traced his thumb over her lips. “You don’t want to know the depraved things I’ve thought about this mouth.” “Hmmm, likewise, but you didn’t answer my question,” Aelin said, even as her toes curled in the wet sand and warm water. “Yes,” Rowan said thickly. “Some males enjoy doing it. To mark territory, for pleasure…” “Do females bite males?” He began to harden again inside her as the question lingered. Oh, gods—Fae lovers. Everyone should be so damn lucky to have one. Rowan rasped, “Do you want to bite me?” Aelin eyed his throat, his glorious body, and the face she had once so fiercely hated. And she wondered if it were possible to love someone

Uncertainty is a tender state, and there is infinite beauty inside that tenderness. But like all tender things, it is fragile. A question mark can be steamrolled into something flat, unless someone is willing to say that sometimes the mystery is enough, and that, until we can do better, we should let it be what it is.

What to do next What do you do when you’ve found a baby business you think may be a star? ★ Talk to them. Find a reason to talk to everyone in and around the company, to express your interest and learn more. ★ Do them a favour. If you can, buy something from them. Point them towards other customers. Advise them on how to expand. ★ Discreetly verify that it is a star. Ask questions suggested in the section above, ‘What are you looking for?’ ★ Work out a job you could do for them. Don’t wait for them to post a vacancy. Tell them what you can do, why they should hire you. Stress the benefits you bring. ★ Make your mark. When you join the firm, work out one thing you can do within your first month that will visibly benefit your colleagues and the venture. ★ Check again from the inside that it really is a star. If the business isn’t really growing very fast, or doesn’t fit the bill in any other way, don’t hang around. If it really is a star, work out how far the star could rise. ★ Raise ambition within the firm. Sometimes the founders of a star don’t see its potential. Open their eyes.Tell them how valuable the firm could become, if expanded to its maximum potential. Consider whether the idea can be exported to other countries, and/or franchised. Would other channels of distribution (such as the phone with Betfair) enlarge the market? ★ Consider making an offer for the firm. If the founders really don’t ‘get it’, put together a group to buy the firm. Remember the astronomical return Ray Kroc achieved from buying McDonald’s from the founders, when it was already highly successful.

Up till now some of it will endure in my reminiscence unflinching and vibrant. (I may have passed on reading a bewitched story with I was never- ever meant to read about my family, and the hex of losing everything that I loved, I wonder if the girls set me up for this one?) I can hear whispers, whispers I can feel, whispers that used to give me a thrill, whispers from the ones that kill, whispers that give me a chill, I recall whispers while trying to find love, I hear them whispering, just like the girl in the story that I should have known, that I may need to find. Even so, I have to comprehend it is all that I want to think of, and not what they choose for me to arouse, I was forbidden to see her… nevertheless, I did, the day before my end. I hear a soft voice! After that moment with her- You know I think that life is all optimal; one can either select to live comfortably or choose to live in fear, and that is what I did the fear of not fitting in and they kill me for it. They're still killing me, every day not to find out what I love the most, and that is not my girlfriends, it comes down to two. I ask him to do more for me, yet is he? Or has he, or has she done it all for me, that is the question. I know that someday he will answer me, and if he doesn’t, she will! I feel I want her to; she is the one the most like me, and I feel she needs me more. And I love that about her she needs me, and that is love. Yet I feel like this- There is nothing to do in this here for me, or then her or should it be him? I know that my dad would disown me for dating a girl, so- I don’t get what I should do. I use things like with a boy anyway, so I should just go with the real thing inside me, I am not a lez-bo! But that girl could sway me- I don’t know. There is just a glow in my mouth- like all the white teeth teens want me to be, it’s all spitting out, yet I have swallowed it, yet they don’t. Look at my eyes with bloodshot eyes, with tears running down her cheeks, and everything in-between feeling the same, you could even see all the welt markings of all their words, yet you can’t see them. She did not even know her name… so she was named after his favorite flower, which he had everywhere in his home as I remember. There is nowhere to go, no one to see… and no one or two, which cares about me. How can I live a life of ecstasy? If infrequently one cannot have a choice, yet I want to pick this if I have anticipation, if I have the preference to. Well, I have to live with the consequences of an entity life with me next to me and even inside me and some, I call my friends. Everyone has to bow down to them, I have been blown to yet not always the way you think I have, my live a life abortion, ripping out my heart blood dripping down my arm, and the demons I just hoping fly out of my piss so, I can strangle them with my come! Yeah, I am the only girl that will say that out loud!

Naomi stretched as she woke with an exaggerated yawn in her own bed. How the hell did I get here? Recollection of the dirty trick the two men played on her the previous night made her sit up abruptly. The sheet fell away and she noticed her clothing of the previous eve gone, replaced with a t-shirt and shorts. “Those dirty, rotten pigs,” she cursed as she swung her legs out of bed and sat on the edge. “You called?” A head topped with tousled hair poked out from around the door frame of the bathroom. Number sixty-nine’s dark eyes twinkled and his lips curled in a sensual smile. Despite her irritation, her body flooded with warmth. “You!” She pointed at him and shot him a dark glare. He grinned wider. “What about me, darling?” “I’m going to kick your balls so hard you’re going to choke on them. How dare you drug me and then do despicable things to my body while I was unconscious?” Stepping forward from the bathroom, he raised his arms in surrender and her eyes couldn’t help drinking in the sight of him. No one should look that delicious, especially in the morning, was her disgruntled thought. Shirtless, Javier’s tight and toned muscles beckoned. Encased in smooth, tanned skin, his muscular torso tapered down to lean hips where his jeans hung, partially unbuttoned and displayed a bulge that grew as she watched. Unbidden heat flooded her cleft and her nipples shriveled so tight she could have drilled holes with them. She forced herself to swallow and look away before she did something stupid— say, like, licking her way down from his flat nipples to the dark vee of hair that disappeared into his pants. “It would take a braver man than me to disobey your mother’s orders. Besides, you needed the sleep,” he added in a placating tone. Scowling, Naomi mentally planned a loud diatribe for her mother. “Let me ask you, how does your head feel now?” His question derailed her for a second, and she paused to realize she actually felt pretty damned good— but now I’m horny and it’s all his friggin’ fault. She dove off the bed and stalked toward him, five foot four feet of annoyed woman craving coffee, a Danish, and him— naked inside her body. The first two she’d handle shortly, the third, she’d make him pay for. He stood his ground as she approached, the idiot. “What did you do to me while I was out?” she growled as she patted her neck looking for a mating mark. “Nothing. Contrary to your belief, snoring women with black and blue faces just don’t do it for me.” His jibe hurt, but not as much as her foot when it connected with his undefended man parts. He ended up bent over, wheezing while Naomi smirked in satisfaction. “That’s for knocking me out. But, if I find out you did anything to me other than dress me, like cop a feel or take nudie pictures, I’m going hurt you a lot worse.” “Has anyone ever told you you’re hot when you’re mad?” said the man with an obvious death wish. Only his speed saved him from her swinging fist as she screeched at him. “Go away. Can’t you tell I’m not interested?” “Liar.” He threw that comment at her from the other side of her bed. “I can smell your arousal, sweetheart. And might I say, I can’t wait to taste it.

Raven felt a stirring in her mind. Raven? You fear for your safety. Mikhail was heavy with sleep, fighting his way up through the layers to the surface. Now she was worried. Mikhail was a question mark in her mind. She didn’t know what he would do, only that he felt protective toward her. For herself, for Mikhail, for Jacob, she needed to make Jacob understand that she wanted no part of him. I can handle this, she sent a sharp reassurance. “Jacob.” She used a firm schoolmarm tone. “I think you should leave and go back to the inn. I’m not the kind of woman to be bullied by your attitude. This is harassment, and I”ll have no compunction about registering a complaint with the local police, or whatever they’re called.” She held her breath. Deep inside her mind, she could feel Mikhail. Still like a predator. “Fine, Raven, sell yourself to the highest bidder like some whore. Try to find yourself a rich husband. He’ll use you and dump you, that’s what men like Dubrinsky do! The two of you deserve one another. And don’t come crying to me when he leaves you pregnant and alone.” Jacob shouted. He spat out a few additional ugly words and stomped away. Raven let out her breath slowly, thankfully. See--she forced laughter into her thoughts--I took care of the problem all by my little feminine self. Amazing, isn’t it?

Later that month, the State Department’s inspector general reported that a handful of Hillary’s e-mails contained information that was classified at the time the messages were sent. While it’s not possible to send e-mails directly from the government’s classified systems to outside accounts, there are a few ways in which classified material can end up in outside e-mail—for example, information that should have been classified was not categorized that way by the sender, or someone unwittingly included secret or sensitive passages in a message sent outside the classified systems. Hillary and her aides argued that she was being railroaded by agencies retroactively classifying information in some cases, and, in others, citing material that was not marked classified when it passed into and out of her in-box. Ultimately, what they were saying was that Hillary clearly didn’t intend to transmit classified information—a legal distinction that would become important when federal investigators considered whether to charge her with a crime. In addition, the vast majority of the e-mails that included classified material were traded with people who had security clearances consistent with the levels at which the information in question was classified. That is, Hillary wasn’t giving out secrets to people who shouldn’t have had them; she was just e-mailing the right people on the wrong system. But from a public relations perspective, the technicalities didn’t matter. Hillary had told the nation that she didn’t traffic in classified information, and government investigators put the lie to that assertion day after day. In many cases, the twists and turns—the discovery of more highly classified material—played out first in stories leaked to the media for maximum impact.

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