Smile Infectious Quotes

Smiling is infectious, you catch it like the flu, When someone smiled at me today, I started smiling too.

Not long enough,” he said. His green eyes smiled at me. “And no giggling. You girls and your incessant giggling. If it wasn’t so cute, I’d give you all detention for it.” “I ...” “And you’re the worst. Your giggling’s infectious and it sets everyone else off. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. First Luke breaks out, and then the rest of them start.

Rob smiled his slow, infectious smile-and suddenly everything was all right.

A smile is the only infectious affliction everyone is encouraged to spread.

His smile is infectious. But again, so was the plague.

Hey, pal," Matthew whispered. He was the only person who could get away with calling Ronan pal. Matthew Lynch was a bear of a boy, square and solid and earnest. His head was covered with soft, golden curls completely unlike any of his other family members. And in his case, the perfect Lynch teeth were framed by an easy, dimpled smile. He had two brands of smile: the one that was preceded by a shy dip of his chin, a dimple, and then BAM, smile. And the one that teased for a moment before BAM, an infectious laugh. Females of all ages called him adorable. Males of all ages called him buddy. Matthew failed at many more things than either of his older brothers, but unlike Declan or Ronan, he always tried his hardest. Ronan had dreamt one thousand nightmares about something happening to him.

He backed up, smiling so wide that I couldn’t help my own lips from grinning, he was that infectious. “Hi Peanut.” “Hi Honey. What are you doing to your bathroom?

Most of all, I remember her laughing. It filled my ears. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, and her infectious laughter, along with the vistas, were limitless and unending and powerful.

Smile because it's infectious. Love because it's contagious.

A woman's assets are her infectious smile and bulletproof love.

He grinned. It was the sort of grin that Agnes supposed was called infectious but, then, so was measles.

Autumn. A season. A girl. A memory. Autumn. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Her smile was infectious. Her laugh was a cure. Autumn. She broke me.

A well-dressed, self-assured business executive steps into a quiet corner of the conference room, crowded with people. Everyone there is aware of her presence. She's dark-haired, petite, and alluring. She is quick to smile, and when she does, her whole face lights up. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Young men and women nod as they pass by, briefly breaking off their conversations with colleagues. The executive looks down at her compact electronic device and quickly texts: "Smile. Talk into the mic. Good luck.

And then, that feeling comes again when you seem invincible and totally awesome. You simply can't hold it in and you just smile to everyone you come across; infectiously, they have no choice but to smile back. You are more than convinced in your guts that something beautifully indescribable is coming your way. You just drown yourself in the feeling of awesomeness. Faith, probably . . . or the hands of providence?

When I got to school the next morning I had stepped only one foot in the quad when he spotted me and nearly tackled me to the ground. “Jamie!” he hollered, rushing across the lawn without caring the least bit about the scene he was creating. The next thing I knew, my feet were off the ground and I was squished so tightly in Ryan’s arms that I could barely breathe. “Okay, Ryan?” I coughed in a hushed tone. “This is exactly the kind of thing that can get you killed.” “I don’t care, I’m not letting go. Don’t ever disappear like that again!” he scolded, but his voice was more relieved than angry. “It’s been days! You had your mother worried sick!” “My mother?” I questioned sarcastically. Ryan laughed as he finally set me back on my feet. “Okay, fine, me too.” He still wouldn’t let go of me, though. He was gripping my arms while he looked at me with those eyes, and that smile… You know, being all Ryan-ish. And then, when I got lost in the moment, he totally took advantage of how whipped I was and he kissed me. The jerk. He just pulled my face to his right then and there, in the middle of a crowded quad full of students, where I could have accidentally unleashed an electrical storm at any moment. And okay, maybe I liked it, and maybe I even needed it, but still! You can’t just go kissing Jamie Baker whenever you want, even if you are Ryan Miller! “Ryan!” I yelled as soon as I was able to pull away from him—which admittedly took a minute. “I’m sorry.” Ryan laughed with this big dopey grin on his face and then kissed me some more. I had to push him away from me. “Don’t be sorry, just stop!” I realized I was screaming at him when I felt a hundred different pairs of eyes on me. I tried to ignore the audience that Ryan seemed oblivious to and dropped the audio a few decibels. “I wasn’t kidding when I said this has to stop. Look, I will be your friend. I want to be your friend. But that’s it. We can’t be anything more. It’ll never work.” Ryan watched me for a minute and then whispered, “Don’t do that.” I was shocked to hear the sudden emotion in his voice. “Don’t give up.” It was hopeless. “Fine!” I snapped. “I’ll be your stupid girlfriend!” Big shocker, me giving Ryan his way, I know. But let’s face it—it’s just what I do best. I had to at least act a little tough, though. “But!” I said in the harshest voice I was capable of. “You can’t ever touch me unless I say. No more tackling me, and especially no more surprise kissing.” He actually laughed at my request. “No promises.” Stupid, cocky boyfriend. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?” Ryan got this big cheesy smile on his face and said, “Crazy about you.” “Ugh,” I groaned. “Would you be serious for a minute? Why do you insist on putting your life in danger?” “Because I like you.” His stupid grin was infectious. I wanted to be angry, but how could I with him looking at me like that? “I’m not worth it, you know,” I said stubbornly. “I have issues. I’m unstable.” “You’re cute when you’re unstable,” Ryan said, “and I like your issues.” The stupid boy was straight-up giddy now. But he was so cute that I cracked a smile despite myself. “You really are crazy,” I muttered.

By the time we burst into the patisserie, our cheeks and noses were red. Our throats ached from laughter. I stared at her as she swept the cloak from my shoulders. She smiled with her whole face. I'd never seen such a transformation. It was... infectious.

There was a nebulous, infectious energy to her, as if she were somehow more *alive* than everyone else. As if all her nerves were sparking at once, just below the surface.

I always loved his little laughs. They were infectious, even when you were in a bad mood. You couldn’t help but smile.

Her smile was infectious. Like a light that only glowed for me.

Sometimes, all it takes is your smile (even if forced) & a domino effect of smiles happen ... infectious.

I had seen the struggle to love and make one's self understood, the refusal of two persons in conversation to give themselves to each other, the coming together of two lovers, the lovers with an infectious smile, who are lovers in name only, who bury themselves in kisses, who press wound to wound to cure themselves, between whom there is really no attachment, and who, in spite of their ecstasy deriving light from shadow, are strangers as much as the sun and the moon are strangers.

Finally, he smiled, and although his smile was bumpy because some of his teeth were jagged and broken, it was a warming, infectious smile that was reflected in his eyes. It made her smile widely in return. She felt as if the room had been lit up. He held out his arms, and she went across the room to him, almost running. She buried her face in his shirt, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of his cologne mixed with the nutty, sourish smell of camphor that filled the room. He put his arms around her, but gently, so that there was space between his forearms and her back, holding her as if she was to fragile to hug properly. Awkwardly, he patted her light, bushy aureole of dark brown hair, repeating: "Good girl. Fine daughter.

He could no longer deny that for the rest of his life, he would measure every other woman against her, and find them all lacking. Her smile, her sharp tongue, her temper, her infectious laugh, her body and spirit, everything about her struck a pleasurable chord in him.

I will serve up delights you've never imagined,' Locke's smile is infectious. He will serve up trouble, that's for sure. Trouble I have no time for. 'Have a care,' I say, drawing Locke's attention to me for the first time. 'I am sure you would not wish to insult the High King's imagination.' 'Indeed, I'm sure not,' Cardan says in a way that's difficult to interpret.

I arched a brow. “Something funny?” Her mouth formed a tight line. “Nope.” I approached her. “You sure?” Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Uh-huh.” “Okay, then.” I turned and headed over to grab the last of our things. “It’s just . . .” Eilish began and then trailed off. “Yes?” She shook her head and finally let her giggles flow free. I couldn’t help smiling, too, even though I wasn’t entirely sure an inconvenient hard-on warranted so much laughter. It was infectious all the same. She gestured to the retreating group of tourists. “I studied German at school, so I can pick out certain words. One of the women commented about you to her friend.” I smirked. “Oh yeah? What did she say?” She dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “Something along the lines of a bratwurst big enough to feed an army.” My smirk died. “I wish I hadn’t asked.” “Really? I thought men enjoyed compliments about that . . . particular area.” “They do. But armies are generally made up of a bunch of blokes.” I arched a brow meaningfully. A loud burst of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her hand over mouth. God, she was too fucking adorable. She sucked in a breath, finally calming down from her fit of giggles. “You’re too much, Bryan Leech.” “That’s what the German ladies think anyway,” I deadpanned, my smirk returning. Eilish burst into laughter all over again.

John “Jack” Brown was my dad. I have always called him Dad and will remember him as Dad. Fathers can be anything, but dads are always loving, tender and sensitive even when they’re angry with you. No matter how angry Dad got or how much I disappointed him, a simple “LuvYa” would calm him down. His down-to-earth smile would transform my unpleasant mood and lift me from my doldrums. His irresistible smile was infectious, while his love for Mom and me was genuine.

It’s a shame you don’t laugh more often.' 'Don’t get used to it.' 'I wouldn’t dare. I kind of like the fact that it’s a rarity because it makes it even more special.' Her smile is infectious, making the corners of my lips turn up in return. No one has called my laugh special. Hell, I don’t think I’ve been labeled special in any other way that wasn’t derogatory. It makes me feel…good. Appreciated. Valued in a way that has nothing to do with how much money I make or what kind of job I have.

And I am still exploring, The darkest corners of her soul, Of what lay beneath those eyes, And I am still exploring, The mysticism she practices with her smile, Her incandescent calligraphic elegance, Her magnetism has pulled me in her labyrinthine life, I still walk those virgin forest she drew for me, Where the words that kissed her lips, Still echoes like an infectious melody, Oh her beauty and my youth, Had led me into believing that life would go on forever, Oh to love her is like a journey, A journey of a million miles…

He could no longer deny that for the rest of his life, he would measure every other woman against her, and find them all lacking. Her smile, her sharp tongue, her temper, her infectious laugh, her body and spirit, everything about her struck a pleasurable chord in him. She was independent, willful, stubborn… qualities that most men did not desire in a wife. The fact that he did was as undeniable as it was unexpected. There were only two ways to manage the situation. He could either continue trying to avoid her, which had been a spectacular failure so far, or he could simply give in. Give in… knowing that she would never be the placid, proper wife he had always envisioned having. In marrying her, he would defy a fate that had been scripted for him before he had even been born. He would never be entirely certain what to expect from Lillian. She would behave in ways that he would not always understand, and she would bite back like a half-tamed creature whenever he tried to control her. She was a creature possessed of strong emotions and an even stronger will. They would quarrel. She would never allow him to become too comfortable, too settled. Dear God, was that truly the future he wanted? Yes. Yes. Yes. -Marcus' thoughts

5. Be the Most Enthusiastic Person You Know My mum and dad gave me a few bits of great advice as a young boy (along with a fair amount of scolding for being an idiot, but that’s another story!), but there is one thing my late father told me that has affected my outlook and approach to life more than almost anything else, and it was this: If you can be the most enthusiastic person you know, then you won’t go far wrong. It was always said to me with a wry smile, as if I was being told something of infinite power. And he was right. Enthusiasm so often makes the critical difference: it sustains you when times are tough, it encourages those around you, it is totally infectious and it rapidly becomes a habit! In turn, that enthusiasm adds the extra 5 per cent sparkle to everything we do - and life is so often won or lost in that little extra bit that carries us home over the finish line.

Can I get a regular skim cap?” I didn’t get coffee here every day—because I had my coffee machine, or used to have—how depressing—but I visited regularly enough that they knew me. Sometimes I wanted something frothy with chocolate on the top, and I was too lazy to do that at home. Frances was in her mid-thirties, had gorgeous straight blonde hair, which was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and an infectious smile. “Hey, chicky. Coming right up. A little birdie told me it was your birthday yesterday. Happy birthday!” She banged used coffee grounds out of the thingamajig and filled it with new ones. “Aw, thanks. Did you run into the girls last night?” The girls being my besties, Sophie and Michelle. “Yep. How come you weren’t there? They told me you piked.” She screwed the thingamajig into the machine and pressed the button. And wouldn’t you know, it worked. I wish my machine still worked. “Big day photographing a wedding. One drink and I would have fallen asleep.” I laughed—it wasn’t too far from the truth. So what if I left out the bit where I had a pity party because my brother hadn’t called. I’d try calling him later. Knowing him, he had a good

IN THE SMALL Ohio town where I grew up, many homes had parlors that contained pianos, sideboards, and sofas, heavy objects signifying gentility. These pianos were rarely tuned. They went flat in summer around the Fourth of July and sharp in winter at Christmas. Ours was a Story and Clark. On its music stand were copies of Stephen Foster and Ethelbert Nevin favorites, along with one Chopin prelude that my mother would practice for twenty minutes every three years. She had no patience, but since she thought Ohio—all of it, every scrap—made sense, she was happy and did not need to practice anything. Happiness is not infectious, but somehow her happiness infected my father, a pharmacist, and then spread through the rest of the household. My whole family was obstinately cheerful. I think of my two sisters, my brother, and my parents as having artificial, pasted-on smiles, like circus clowns. They apparently thought cheer and good Christian words were universals, respected everywhere. The pianos were part of this cheer. They played for celebrations and moments of pleasant pain. Or rather, someone played them, but not too well, since excellent playing would have been faintly antisocial. “Chopin,” my mother said, shaking her head as she stumbled through the prelude. “Why is he famous?

Acquiring a blissful brain and in peace, is when I think positively, the sounds around and within me become music, my movement as one of a conscious dance, my smile breaking in to an infectious laughter, my mind transcending in meditation, and my life grows and becomes a celebration!

Gaby rolled her eyes to the way his words, laced with the origin of wherever the hell he was from, made everything sound so much more patronizing. This, she was not doing. She was not going to debate with him while Jamie and Sheryl pretended not to eavesdrop as they organized the countertop displays. His slick talk reminded her why she requested to avoid future interactions with him. He was an arrogant prick; although something about him told her that his arrogance came from what he thought of himself, versus 99% of the population’s, which was fueled by others’ opinions. “Look… can I help you with something?” Gaby asked with a smile dripping with sarcasm. “I mean… are you having some type of issue? Perhaps a burning…or an itching sensation? Are you looking for some type of medical assistance? Because I can tell you right now, we’re not a clinic, so...” Power began to laugh. He tilted his head back, face to ceiling and laughed, and Gaby realized it was the first time she’d seen him do so. To see his face softened beyond its usual rigid state was truly captivating. It was almost infectious. She let out a little snigger and looked off trying to keep from engaging completely. When she looked back to him, the laughter slowed but remained in his eyes. He licked his lips, and then pointed. “You’re funny. Very. You should’ve been a comedian.” “Yeah, well… I guess I missed my calling. Seriously…can I help you?” This time she was truly inquiring, no attitude, no jokes.

Here, I'll take her," her husband said. He scooped the baby from Juliet's arms and cradled her to his chest. Immediately the whimpering stopped. Charlotte stared at him in wide-eyed fascination. Juliet watched a passing carriage, too ashamed of herself, and her conflicting feelings, to meet Gareth's blue, blue eyes. "She's wet," she warned. "Ah, well, we've got more important things to worry about than that, don't we, Charlotte?" he said lightly, adjusting the baby's frilly bonnet around her tiny face. Juliet caught the double meaning and the tension in his words, knowing well what he meant. She threw him a quick, guilty glance, but Gareth didn't see it. He was too busy ignoring her, playing with the baby, swinging her high over his head and laughing as she broke out in a smile as bright as the sunshine blazing down from above. Juliet looked on a little wistfully. What she wouldn't give to be so happy, so carefree; what she wouldn't give to be able to take back that terrible moment in the church when he'd discovered Charles's ring still on her finger. Why hadn't she removed it once and for all this morning? She had hurt him — deeply. And she felt sick about it. "Like that, do you?" Charlotte chortled in glee. "Here, let's do it again," he said cheerfully, and out of the corner of her eye, Juliet saw that Perry was watching him with those cool gray eyes of his that didn't miss a trick. Perry knew that all was not right here, and Juliet suspected he knew Lord Gareth's sudden silliness with the baby was just a cover for the pain he had to be feeling. And now her husband was swinging Charlotte up and over his head once more, making foolish faces and even more foolish noises at her until he had her shrieking in delight. "Watch this — wheeeeeee!" Perry, observing, just shook his head. "If anyone knows how to act like a juvenile, it's you, Gareth." "Yes, and the day one forgets how to be young is the day one gets old. Let's do it again, Charlie-girl. Ready, now? Here ... we ... go!" Again he swung the infant — high, high, higher. Once more, Charlotte shrieked with glee, and even Juliet felt a reluctant smile creep over her face. Forced or not, her husband's good humor was infectious. The Den members were also grinning, elbowing each other and eyeing him as though he had lost his mind along with his bachelorhood. "I don't believe I'm seeing this," murmured Chilcot. "Yes, what would they say down at White's, Gareth?" Perry was shaking his head. "Well, all I can say is that I'm exceedingly grateful I don't know anyone on this side of town," he drawled. "I daresay you are making a complete arse of yourself, Gareth." "Yes, and enjoying it immensely. I tell you, dear fellow, someday you, too, shall make an arse of yourself over a little one, if not a woman, and then we shall all have the last laugh!" A

I had just gotten home from having lunch with Lisa and she’d mentioned sending you a care package. Your name just popped into my head when Gram asked what my boyfriend’s name was.” He shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You told your grandmother that a guy you’ve never met is your boyfriend?” “I just wanted her to worry less.” “Maybe she’s right to worry about you.” Ouch. “I’m not crazy, you know.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her. “You made up an imaginary boyfriend.” “You’re not imaginary. Just uninformed.” He didn’t even crack a smile. “What do you want from me?” And here came the crazy part—the more crazy part, anyway. “Gram’s coming home. She wants to check on the house and...she wants to meet you.” As she spoke, Emma made sure none of her body parts were breaking the plane of the doorway, just in case he slammed the door in her face. It was something she might do, if some strange guy showed up on her doorstep and told her they were in a deep, meaningful relationship. “So…what? You want me to have dinner with you guys? Pretend I’m your fiancé for a few hours?” “She’ll be here for a month.” He laughed at her then. A deep, infectious laugh that made her want to join in even though he was laughing at her.

The light in Meg’s infectious smile had shown him how far he’d sunk into the darkness and despair of the criminal underworld.

Let your infectious smile infect the whole world with love and joy.

Show your infectious smile and infect everyone with joy.

Rafe fought back a surge of lust at her proximity. Perhaps he agreed to this ordeal out of a perverse desire for self-torture. Perhaps it was impossible to resist her infectious smile. Or maybe it was because she’d said he wasn’t grotesque with such sincerity in her sparkling eyes that he could almost believe it.

My child, I have called you by name and I have purposely chosen you to be Mine! I have always wanted you to be with Me, and I want to be with you forever. I like you! I like you a lot. I like everything I made about you—the color of your eyes, your infectious laugh, the quirks that are uniquely yours—everything! I like hanging out with you, whether we’re doing something or doing nothing together. I enjoy looking at you—you make Me smile. Let’s enjoy life a whole lot more together.

His smile is infectious. Then again, so was the plague.

We hear so much about the sanitary qualities of laughter, we have been taught so seriously the gospel of amusement, that any writer, preacher, or lecturer, whose smile is broad enough to be infectious, finds himself a prophet in the market-place. Laughter, we are told, freshens our exhausted spirits and disposes us to good-will–which is true. It is also true that laughter quiets our uneasy scruples and disposes us to simple savagery. Whatever we laugh at, we condone, and the echo of man’s malicious merriment rings pitilessly through the centuries. Humour which has no scorn, wit which has no sting, jests which have no victim, these are not the pleasantries which have provoked mirth, or fed the comic sense of a conventionalized rather than a civilized world.

I don't come from money," Curran said. His voice rolled, filling the space. "Everything I have I made with my own two hands, and I have to work hard every day for it." "Even Daniels?" another merc asked. That got some giggles. Curran cracked a smile. It was a bright, infectious smile. "Especially Daniels. I work to keep her daily. Otherwise she wouldn't put up with me.

He has dark hair and a perpetual five o’clock shadow that seems studied and neat. His eyes are an electric blue without a hint of madness behind them. His smile is infectious

A smile is infectious and contagious. Pass it on!

My Lovely Grandson Your lovely smile that warms my heart Your infectious laughter that brings me joy I fell in love in with your charming character Grandma's little boy May God protect you in every aspect of your life May He give you wisdom in everything you do May He bless you and keep you All the days of your life.

The psychologists have a term — emotional contagion. When other people are acting a certain way around you, you tend to absorb some of those emotions. This has been known in less-fancy less-sophisticated terms for just about forever. Victories and triumphs lead to smiling and cheering amongst one’s group, pessimism is likely infectious.

Nana Mama always said my aunt Connie had never met a stranger. My grandmother was right. All my memories of her were filled with smiles and infectious laughter.

And maybe you can tell me all about the hot Aussie you spent the afternoon with.” She shook her hand next to her chest. “I heard he’s pretty hubba-hubba.” You have no idea, Kerry thought, and in the face of Maddy’s charming, infectious smile, couldn’t squelch her own. “It was a passable way to spend an afternoon.” Maddy hooted a laugh. “I’ll bet.

The first hints of this emerged in the early and mid-1990s, at the tail end of the crack epidemic. Suniya Luthar is now sixty-two, with an infectious smile, bright brown eyes, and short snow-white hair. Back then, she was a fledgling psychologist working as an assistant professor and researcher in the department of psychiatry at the Yale School of Medicine. She was studying resiliency among teenagers in low-income urban communities, and one of her early findings was that the most popular kids were also among the most destructive and aggressive at school. Was this a demographic phenomenon, she wondered, or merely an adolescent one, this tendency to look up to peers who acted out? To find out, she needed a comparison group. A research assistant suggested they recruit students from his former high school in an affluent suburb. Luthar’s team ultimately enlisted 488 tenth graders—about half from her assistant’s high school and half from a scruffy urban high school. The affluent community’s median household income was 80 percent higher than the national median, and more than twice that of the low-income community. The rich community also had far fewer families on food stamps (0.3 percent vs. 19 percent) and fewer kids getting free or reduced-price school lunches (1 percent vs. 86 percent). The suburban teens were 82 percent white, while the urban teens were 87 percent nonwhite. Luthar surveyed the kids, asking a series of questions related to depression and anxiety, drug use ranging from alcohol and nicotine to LSD and cocaine, and participation in delinquent acts at home, at school, and in the community. Also examined were grades, “social competence,” and teachers’ assessments of each student. After crunching the numbers, she was floored. The affluent teens fared poorly relative to the low-income teens on “all indicators of substance use, including hard drugs.” This flipped the conventional wisdom on its head. “I was quite taken aback,” Luthar recalls.

—though the witchman greatly covetous and greedy for gold be,” mumbled the old woman, half-closing her eyes, “giveth ye not such a one more than: for a drowner, one silver penny or three halves; for a werecat, silver pennies two; for a plumard, silver pennies—” “Those were the days,” muttered the witcher. “Thank you Grandma. And now show us where it speaks of the devil and what the book says about devils. This time ‘tis grateful I’d be to heareth more, for to learn the ways and means ye did use to deal with him most curious am I.” “Careful Geralt,” chuckled Dandelion. “You’re starting to fall into their jargon. It’s an infectious mannerism.” The woman, controlling her shaking hands with difficulty, turned several pages. The witcher and the poet leaned over the table. The etching did, in effect, show the ball-thrower: horned, hairy, tailed and smiling maliciously. “The deovel,” recited the woman. “Also called willower” or “sylvan”. For livestock and domestic fowl, a tiresome and great pest is he. Be it your will to chase him from your hamlet, tamest thou—” “Well, well,” murmured Dandelion. “—takers thou of nuts, one fistful,” continued the woman, running her fingers along the parchment. “Next, takest thou of iron balls a second fistful. Of honey and utricle, of birch tar a second. Of grey soap a firkin; of soft cheese another. There where the deovel dwelleth, goest thou when ‘tis night. Commenceth then to eat the nuts. Anon, the deovel who hath great greed, will hasten and ask if they are tasty indeed. Givest to him then the balls of iron—” “Damn you,” murmured Dandelion. “Pox take—” “Quiet,” said Geralt. “Well, Grandma. Go on.” “…having broken his teeth he will be attentive as thou eatest the honey. Of said honey he will himself desire. Givest him of birch tar, then yourself eateth soft cheese. Soon, hearest thou, will the deovel grumbleth and tumbleth, but makest of it as naught. Yet if the deovel desireth soft cheese, givest him soap. For soap the deovel withstandeth not—” “You got to the soap?” interrupted Geralt with a stony expression turning toward Dhun and Nettly. “In no way,” groaned Nettly. “If only we had got to the balls. But he gave us what for when he bit a ball—” “And who told you to give him so many?” Dandelion was enraged. “It stands written in the book, one fistful take. Yet ye giveth of balls a sackful! Ye furnished him with ammunition for two years, the fools ye be!” “Careful,” smiled the witcher. “You’re starting to fall into their jargon. It’s infectious.

Jack flashes me her full, goofy, infectious smile, and I feel like that is written on my bones. Her smile is stamped on every nerve ending in my body.

Fae of the match,” she said and I flinched in surprise as her voice rang out over the whole stadium. “Goes to Geraldine Grus.” I could finally let my smile free as I looked around to see Geraldine leaping out of her spot in the line up, her eyes glimmering with emotion. “Oh sweet onion balls!” she gasped as she rushed towards us. “Congratulations!” I said enthusiastically as I placed the medal over her head. She crushed me in an embrace, lifting me clean off of my feet as she celebrated. Darcy wrapped her arms around us too and we laughed as Geraldine descended into happy tears. “And congratulations to the winners of the match: Starlight Academy!” Nova added loudly when we didn’t seem likely to break free of Geraldine any time soon. The crowd from Starlight went crazy, their applause deafening as the team jumped up and down in ecstatic celebration. A low growl caught my attention and I glanced to my right where Darius stood almost close enough to touch. His jaw was locked tight, his spine rigid and his eyes burning with rage. I looked away from him quickly, though I couldn’t help but feel glad that this was upsetting him. Poor little Darius lost his favourite game. Imagine how bad you’d feel if someone tried to drown you though? Not that I’m bitter at all... Nova passed Darcy a bunch of flowers and gave me a medal on a green ribbon as the Starlight Airstriker stepped up to claim them. The guy pulled both of us into an exuberant hug as he claimed his prizes and I couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased for the team as we worked our way through the line, handing over flowers and medals to each of them as they approached. I imagined beating a team filled with the Celestial Heirs was something that none of them would ever forget. I could feel heat radiating off of Darius beside me as he fought to maintain his composure while the line worked its way past us but I didn’t look his way again. The last Starlight player to approach us was the Captain, Quentin. He smiled widely as he accepted the flowers from Darcy, tossing her a wink. As I placed the medal around his neck he pulled me into a tight hug, his hand skimming my ass less than accidentally. I pushed him off with a laugh, his excitement infectious in a way that made me think he was a Siren but it didn’t feel invasive like the way it always did with Max. Maybe because he wasn’t trying to force any emotions onto me, just sharing his own. “Why don’t you two girls come back and party with us at Starlight tonight?” he offered and I didn’t miss his suggestive tone. “Why don’t you fuck off while you’ve still got some teeth left?” Darius said before we could respond. I frowned at him but his gaze was locked on Quentin. To my surprise, Quentin laughed tauntingly. “And to think, we were worried about facing off against the Celestial Heirs,” he said, aiming his comments at me and Darcy. “Turns out they really aren’t that impressive after all. It would be a shame if Solaria ended up in their loser hands. Maybe the two of you should reconsider the idea of taking up your crown?” I laughed at his brazen behaviour, wondering how much more it would take for Darius to snap. “Yeah,” I replied jokingly. “Maybe we should take our crowns back after all.” Darcy laughed too, flicking her long hair. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “I think a crown would suit me actually.” Quentin yelled out in surprise as a shot of heated energy slammed into him like a freight train and he was catapulted halfway across the pitch before falling into a heap on the ground. Before I could react in any way, I found a severely pissed off Dragon Shifter snarling in my face. My breath caught in my lungs and I blinked up at him as he growled at me. Seth moved in on Darcy beside me, his face set with the same enraged scowl while the other two drew close behind them. “Do you want to say that again?” Darius asked, his voice low, the threat in it sending a tremor right through my core. (tory)

There was something infectious about her smile, made all the more so because it was so rare. Already an attractive woman, a smile transformed her features in a way he couldn't explain, rendering her truly, radiantly beautiful.

Smiling is infectious, you catch it like the flu, when someone smiled at me today, I started smiling too. I passed around the corner and someone saw my grin. When he smiled, I realized, I’d passed it on to him. I thought about that smile, then I realized its worth. A single smile, just like mine could travel round the earth. So, if you feel a smile begin, don’t leave it undetected. Let’s start an epidemic quick, and get the world infected”! Spike Milligan

I am in love with Darcy Vega, heir to the throne of Solaria, daughter of the Savage King – who by the way was tricked by Lionel Acrux into being an evil sonuvabitch. And I know you all think I’m a complete waste of oxygen.” He kicked a bread roll into Justin Masters’ face and it bounced off his forehead as he tried not to react. “That my shame is infectious and you don’t want it anywhere near you, let alone your precious princess.” He leapt from one table to another, making his way towards us and I got up, a smile nearly splitting my cheeks open. “But it turns out she wants me anyway. And I’m done making decisions for a girl who has always made better ones than I do. So if this is what she wants, then she can have it. Because she owns me right down to my black heart.” He leapt forward again, a round of cursing and outrage sounding as he landed on my table, looking down at me and holding out his hand with a piece of paper folded inside it.

You're still smiling," I said. My attempts to remain professional were made difficult by the infectious, joy-filled grin across Declan's face. "I can't stop." He laughed. "I'm sorry, but I really can't." I couldn't keep myself from smiling at this. "What if you don't look at me?" I tried. Declan shook his head. "I see you everywhere I look.

Despite your Brokenness and Circumstances, you can still Beam and infect others with it.

Every picture of me as an infant with my parents reveals them smiling at me like I am the centre of their world. I was. I am. This is part of my truth I know with real clarity—everything good and strong about me starts with my parents, absolutely everything. Almost every picture of me as an infant shows me smiling a smile so infectious that when I look at them I cannot help but smile too. There are happy babies and there are happy babies. I was a happy baby. This is indisputable.

Jesus did not call them—or you and me—to ditch their smiles and to wear sackcloth. His mission was not to turn people into “stick-in-the-muds.” Jesus Himself was not very conventional! The disciples caught His infectious spirit, one that would challenge the stuffy establishment. He showed them new things, especially faith and love, by which, they would conquer the world.

Infectious smile has infected tears The laughter strikes with spears I am not dear and they are not sincere Feeling fear I must perform For when I stop the stage is gone

When he saw me, his smile was sudden and infectious and made me briefly glad that someone uncomplicated was pleased to see me in a world that felt impossibly messy.

Among the prominent continuing characters were Ace’s boss (who had “a child for every occasion”) and Jane’s brother Paul (who hadn’t worked in twelve years “because he’s waiting for the dollar to settle down”). The theme, as always, was Manhattan Serenade. The Aces, with more than a little justification, were billed as “radio’s original comedy couple.” Ace was known as “Goody” to his friends. In appearance he was lanky and professorial. Jane looked nothing like her radio self. Pretty, perhaps striking in her youth, she had creamcolored blond hair and an ever-present, infectious smile. She died Nov. 11, 1974. Ace died March 25, 1982.

His grin was infectious. Soon she had to smile with him.

I must see that you survive. Again. And you must see that the Farseer heir inherits the throne.” “And the thought of my survival makes you sad?” I demanded in perplexity. “Oh, no. Never that. The thought of what you must go through to survive fills me with foreboding.” I pushed my plate away, my appetite fled. “I still don’t understand you,” I replied irritably. “Yes you do,” he contradicted me implacably. “I suppose you say you don’t because it is easier that way, for both of us. But this time, my friend, I will lay it cold before you. Think back in the last time we were together. Were there not times when death would have been easier and less painful than life?” His words were shards of ice in my belly, but I am nothing if not stubborn. “Well. And when is that ever not true?” I demanded of him. There have been very few times in my life when I had been able to shock the Fool into silence. That was one of them. He stared at me, his strange eyes getting wider and wider. Then, a grin broke over his face. He stood so suddenly he nearly overturned his chair, and then lunged at me to seize me in a wild hug. He drew a deep breath as if something that had constricted him had suddenly sprung free. “Of course that is true,” he whispered by my ear. And then, in a shout that near deafened me, “Of course it is!” Before I could shrug free of his strangling embrace, he sprang apart from me. He cut a caper that made motley of his ordinary clothes, and then sprang lightly to my tabletop. He flung his arms wide as if he once more performed for all of King Shrewd’s court rather than an audience of one. “Death is always less painful and easier than life! You speak true. And yet we do not, day to day, choose death. Because ultimately, death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice. Death is what you get when there are no choices left to make. Am I right?” Infectious as his get mood was, I still managed to shake my head. “I have no idea if you are right or wrong.” “Then take my word for it. I am right. For am I not the White Prophet? And are you not my Catalyst, who comes to change the course of all time? Look at you. Not the hero, no. The Changer. The one who, by his existence, enables others to be heroes. Ah, Fitz, Fitz, we are who we are and who we ever must be. And when I am discouraged, when I lose heart to the point of saying, ‘But why cannot I leave him here, to find what peace he may?’, then lo and behold you speak with the voice of the Catalyst, and change once more what I must be. The White Prophet.” I sat looking up at him. Despite my efforts, a smile twisted my mouth. “I thought I enabled other people to be heroes. Not prophets.” “Ah, well.” He leapt lightly to the floor. “Some of us must be both, I fear.

Your smile is as infectious as the corona virus. keep that ugly ass mistake away from me you horse