Smile Regardless Quotes

Not one day in anyone’s life is an uneventful day, no day without profound meaning, no matter how dull and boring it might seem, no matter whether you are a seamstress or a queen, a shoeshine boy, or a movie star, a renowned philosopher or a Down’s-syndrome child. Because in every day of your life, there are opportunities to perform little kindnesses for others, both by conscious acts of will and unconscious example. Each smallest act of kindness—even just words of hope when they are needed, the remembrance of a birthday, a compliment that engenders a smile—reverberates across great distances and spans of time, affecting lives unknown to the one whose generous spirit was the source of this good echo, because kindness is passed on and grows each time it’s passed, until a simple courtesy becomes an act of selfless courage years later and far away. Likewise, each small meanness, each thoughtless expression of hatred, each envious and bitter act, regardless of how petty, can inspire others, and is therefore the seed that ultimately produces evil fruit, poisoning people whom you have never met and never will. All human lives are so profoundly and intricately entwined—those dead, those living, those generations yet to come—that the fate of all is the fate of each, and the hope of humanity rests in every heart and in every pair of hands. Therefore, after every failure, we are obliged to strive again for success, and when faced with the end of one thing, we must build something new and better in the ashes, just as from pain and grief, we must weave hope, for each of us is a thread critical to the strength—to the very survival of the human tapestry. Every hour in every life contains such often-unrecognized potential to affect the world that the great days and thrilling possibilities are combined always in this momentous day.

All southern girls are raised to be nice and polite, can't be anything but, regardless of how meanspirited we might be deep down. The illusion of sweetness, that's all that counts. We don't have to be sincerely sweet, but by God we have to be good at faking it. Southern girls will stab you in the back, same as anyone else, but we'll give you a sugary smile while doing it. -Corrine, "Same Sweet Girls

Choose to be good and kind and tolerant regardless of the situation or who's involved, because life is more a matter of developing character than of dishing out just rewards.

Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.” Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?” Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, "Regardless, he’s staying for tea.” “Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?” “I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.” Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.

Are you what others say and think you are?  Or are you who you are regardless of what others say and think?

You're still lovely," Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. "I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant." Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. "Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.

You're still lovely," Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. "I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant." Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. "Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.

I believe in giving kindness, regardless of how unreasonable and self-centered a person is. Kindness is a gift of sanctity for a person. It has the goal of making the soul smile.

There will be times of fear and trembling. There will be times of discouragement and disillusionment. Have courage, smile, keep your chin up, laugh often, be kind to yourself, stay focused, be gracious and appreciative, think happy thoughts, and carry on regardless.

After we become a daughter, we become a wife to our husbands and a mother to our children. I believe that is why a woman smiles through the pain because she was always told what she couldn’t or shouldn’t do. Regardless of this, she believed in herself and made it happen.

Only the young think being called old is an insult,” I said, still smiling. “I am what I am, regardless of what anyone calls it. No one can change it, regardless of what anyone calls it. And it mostly means that nothing has managed to kill me yet.

I claim the right to be who I want to be. Regardless of my choice, I will find those who agree and those who don't. I will gain support, and I will confront opposition, but I will stand firmly as me. It is my choice. It is the only real choice I have to make.

Books or people, you ask. It's a difficult choice, I've got to say. I don't know whether people mean more than books - they're definitely not nicer or funnier or more comforting ... but still, however much I twist and turn the question, I've got to opt for people in the long run. I hope you don't lose all confidence in me now that I've admitted that. I can't for the life of me explain why I have the bad sense to prefer people. If you went purely by numbers, then books would win hands down. I've loved maybe a handful of people in my entire life, compared with tens or maybe even hundreds of books (and here I'm counting only those books I've really loved, the kind that make you happy just to look at them, that make you smile regardless of what else is happening in your life, that you always turn back to like an old friend and can remember exactly where you first "met" them - I'm sure you know just what I'm talking about). But that handful of people you love ... they're surely worth just as much as all those books.

These women lived their lives happily. They had been taught, probably by loving parents, not to exceed the boundaries of their happiness regardless of what they were doing. But therefore they could never know real joy. Which is better? Who can say? Everyone lives the way she knows best. What I mean by 'their happiness' is living a life untouched as much as possible by the knowledge that we are really, all of us, alone. That's not a bad thing. Dressed in their aprons, their smiling faces like flowers, learning to cook, absorbed in their little troubles and perplexities, they fall in love and marry. I think that's great. I wouldn't mind that kind of life. Me, when I'm utterly exhausted by it all, my skin breaks out, on those lonely evenings when I call my friends again and again and nobody's home, then I despise my own life - my birth, my upbringing, everything. I feel only regret for the whole thing.

There will be tough times—there are for everyone. There will be times of fear and trembling. There will be times of discouragement and disillusionment. Have courage, smile, keep your chin up, laugh often, be kind to yourself, stay focused, be gracious and appreciative, think happy thoughts, and carry on regardless.

She has a fiery soul that cannot be tamed. She has free spirit that cannot be maimed. She moves with the wind and flows with the river. She howls at the moon and smiles at the sun. Just when you think she is finished, she declares, “I’ve just begun.” Like wild flowers, she grows where she decides to push through fallow ground. Like wild fires, she spreads with speed that can’t be drowned. She has mystery in her blood, magic in her touch and regardless of her frame she can be too much-wild woman. She is not predictable, controllable nor the people pleasing kind. That’s why she is called wild woman and can never be defined.

Hello, yes, you. I just wanted to remind you that even if your scars aren't visible, they are still real. They still have weight, they still hurt. Regardless of them, you are worthy. Of every smidgen of love, of every awkward moment, of every tear and honesty. You are worthy. And if you don't remember that, just hit me up. I'll remind you. I'll remind you that your smile has value. That your pain has a place. Has a destination. I'll remind you that it won't last. Nothing lasts forever. Not even sadness. I'll remind you when you're in need of feeling understood. Of fangirling for a while. I'll remind you, don't worry. Even if all that I can do is be present. I'll remind you. To all those people whom I have seen but truly didn't see

When you open your mouth, listeners are offended.  When you close your mouth, the expectant are offended.  If a person seeks misdoing from you they will find it regardless of whether or not you deliver. 

Typically, in politics, more than one horse is owned and managed by the same team in an election. There's always and extra candidate who will slightly mimic the views of their team's opposing horse, to cancel out that person by stealing their votes just so the main horse can win. Elections are puppet shows. Regardless of their rainbow coats and many smiles, the agenda is one and the same.

You aren’t running from me, are you?” (Chase) Her eyes meet mine and she smiles softly. “No. No running.” “Good,” I say. “Because, regardless of my name, with this hard-on, I don’t think I could chase you.

if the storm of life gives you a big blow, don't worry, just give it a great smile and pursue to leave distinctive footprints with perseverance and tenacity regardless of how arduous the errand may be. It may not be so easy but, dare to win!

If you truly loved someone and they couldn't be in your life you won't hurt them. You will pray for them. You will hope that they find their happiness and place in this world. You will want them to have the best life because love isn't about possession, fear or desperation. When you have a grasp on eternity you don't need to feel time is running out. Time is all you have. Love isn’t a game of musical chairs--grab a partner and sit down. It is a search for the right fit for your soul and life purpose. In a life that never ends you will either find the one that sees you as much as you see them, 0r who knows? Maybe, if there are such things as soulmates, God will introduce you, but keep you far enough apart, until each of you fulfill something more important for your growth or God’s plan. Regardless, when you can face eternity alone you will know what true love is and that letting go is not an insult to your soul. You can smile because the person you loved has your blessings of protection with them and God has your best interest also in mind. You will find that person to complete you because God wants you to, as much as you do.

It is a terrible smudge on grace and unconditional love to think that God simply winks and smiles at our poor choices; that God must rubber stamp everything we do or else He is unloving. God loves us unconditionally regardless of our performance - good or bad. When God challenges us or corrects us He does not stop loving us. In the safety of His love we can receive correction and challenge without shame or feelings of rejection.

The most beautiful thing about life is this; regardless of how ugly life might seem be, once there is breath, life is beautiful!

If your children know who God is they will know who they are, regardless of where you or they call home.

Real mentoring is less of neither the candid smile nor the amicable friendship that exists between the mentor and the mentee and much more of the impacts. The indelible great footprints the mentor live on the mind of the mentee in a life changing way. How the mentor changes the mentee from ordinariness to extra-ordinariness; the seed of purposefulness that is planted and nurtured for great fruits; the payer from afar from the mentor to the mentee; and the great inspirations the mentee takes from the mentor to dare unrelentingly to face the storms regardless of how arduous the errand may be with or without the presence of the mentor.

What is Destiny? Is it a doctrine formulated by aristocrats and philosophers arguing that there is some unseen driving force predicting the outcomes of every minuscule and life altering moment in one's life? Or is it the artistry illustrated by those under-qualifed and over-eager to give their future meaning and their ambitions hope? Is it a declaration by those who refuse to accept that we are alone in this universe, spinning randomly through a matrix of accidental coincidences? Or is it the assumptions made by those who concede that there is a divine plan or pre-ordained path for each human being,regardless of their current station? I think destiny is a bit of a tease.... It's syndical taunts and teases mock those naive enough to believe in its black jack dealing of inevitable futures. Its evolution from puppy dogs and ice cream to razor blades and broken mirrors characterizes the fickle nature of its sordid underbelly. Those relying on its decisive measures will fracture under its harsh rules. Those embracing the fact that life happens at a million miles a minute will flourish in its random grace. Destiny has afforded me the most magical memories and unbelievably tragic experiences that have molded and shaped my life into what it is today...beautiful. I fully accept the mirage that destiny promises and the reality it can produce. Without the invisible momentum carried with its sincere fabrication of coming attraction, destiny is the covenant we rely on to get ourselves through the day. To the destiny I know awaits me, I thank you in advance. Don't cry because it's over....smile because it happened.

He was very well aware that in their eyes the position of an unsuccessful lover of a girl, or of any woman free to marry, might be ridiculous. But the position of a man pursuing a married woman, and, regardless of everything, staking his life on drawing her into adultery, has something fine and grand about it, and can never be ridiculous; and so it was with a proud and gay smile under his mustaches that he lowered the opera glass and looked at his cousin. "But

You know the saying that nothing can last forever? It's partly true. Feelings can stop, people can leave us, but regardless, a piece of them is always with us, in some way. Maybe it's in a song, or a forgotten note, a picture. Even when you no longer love someone or can't be with them, you still remember them, you still remember good parts of them, and you smile. “Why worry about it lasting or not? Even if it doesn't, you'll still have a part of him. And he'll still have a part of you. And isn't that what's really important? Holding the best pieces of someone in our hearts so that the love never really fades, so that we don't forget that we once knew them, and they were special to us.

Lorraine once told me, smile big when you’re sad. Smile big when you’re happy. Smile big when you’re bored. Because regardless how you feel, your face could use a stretch.

What shall we say when people ask us how we met?” The corners of her mouth twitched. “We’ll say I was in my nightrail, brushing my hair in peaceful solitude, when you climbed up to my balcony and—” “Do you even have a balcony?” She pursed her lips. “You’re not invited upon it, regardless.” He gave her a slow, naughty smile. “No one’s ever *invited* to scale a balcony.

It is a solemn duty to change lives positively.It is a noble honor to inspire and be there for others.It is an irresistible necessity to have empathy; to understand the situations and the reasons for the actions of others. Real mentoring is less of neither the candid smile nor the amicable friendship that exists between the mentor and the mentee and much more of the impacts. The indelible great footprints the mentor lives on the mind of the mentee in a life changing way. How the mentor changes the mentee from ordinariness to extra-ordinariness; the seed of purposefulness that is planted and nurtured for great fruits; the prayer from afar from the mentor to the mentee; and the great inspirations the mentee takes from the mentor to dare unrelentingly to face the storms regardless of how arduous the errand may be with or without the presence of the mentor

The vicious demand for happiness, regardless of circumstance, is not what one expects from one's own. Life is hard enough. Requiring a loved one to always be happy-happy-joy in the face of that strain, that cruelty, is not love. It is unforgivable narcissism." She smiled sourly. "The greastest gift you could give someone is space to be sad. Or tired. The failure to understand that simple fact may be why your generation doesn't seem able to form lasting bonds. You all seem to be in it for what the other person can give you, here and now—resources, time, transient euphoria. Not for what you can be together. Over the decades." –Christopher Zenos Autumn in Carthage

Regardless of my flaws in knowing how to relate to him, there is something about this little boy that captivates me. Maybe it’s his willingness to listen or his eagerness to share. Maybe it’s the subtle way he asks every so often if I’m sure I’m not here for his dad. Maybe it’s that shy little smile he gives me as he bumps his shoulder against mine when he shows me a character he deems as “really cool” that has me actually enjoying my time with him.

Don't say much, do you?" Lars shrugged. "My English." "Yeah, your English, but you ain't much for talking regardless. I can tell." Lars offered a thin smile. "People can always tell." "What's that mean?" "People say...much to me, because...eh...they know I do not stop them.

life becomes beautiful when we see and understand the true essence and beauty of life, regardless of life circumstances! Look and see, and you shall see the true beauty of the gift of life God presents to us each new day! Appreciate the gift of God with your smiles and live inspired each new day! Life is not, without life! Rejoice!

I wanted him to meet Ainsley. She was super important to me. I made my decision. “I...I would like that.” Rider’s reaction was immediate. He smiled and the dimple appeared. My breath caught. I’d actually invited Rider along to meet Ainsley. I wanted that. Really wanted that, but I had no idea what to do with that. Regardless, excitement hummed through me. Hanging out with Rider and Ainsley was normal. Something a million people probably did every day, because they were actually living life, but it was a first for me—a huge first. It was my best friend and it was the guy...the guy who’d been my best friend and who now, despite everything, felt like something deeper, richer and more intricate, hanging out together. It felt important.

Sometimes you welcome people only for them to show you how unwelcoming you are. Sometimes you generously help people only for them to show you how extravagant and evil you are. Sometimes you teach people only for them to show you how ignorant you are. Sometimes you open your doors to people only for them to show you how dirty your room is. Sometimes you make way for people only for them to block your ways. Sometimes you draw people closer to you only for them to teach you the real meaning of betrayal and loneliness. Sometimes you smile to people only for them to show you the color of your teeth. Sometimes you play with people only for them to show you how uncouth you are. In life, sometimes, your very best intentions shall be seen as woefully bad. Sometimes in life, your very good deeds and acts would see another meaning, but no matter how people perceive, accept and treat you or your good intentions, acts and deeds, know yourself, and dare not to be changed by circumstances so easily! Regardless of how hurtful circumstances might be, dare to guard your heart and your tongue, so you may not speak what you should never say that can make you miss your reward from the Sovereign Lord. Keep doing what you have to do, as you have to do, as a living sacrifice to your Father who is in Heaven, knowing that your reward is from Him alone, and wait patiently with a calm and an understanding heart for your reward from Him, regardless of the arduous nature of the hurt and trials!

Have you ever entered a kitchen to find a woman, her legs crossed while the rest of her body is dressed in colourful khanga, smiling at you while her hands are making a melodious song with a coconut grater? Have you ever wondered how any woman size can fit on that grater regardless of their body size? The time for wondering is over. East Africa heartily welcomes you to see for yourself. Go and visit it.

When the week begins, think of how you will end it. When the week ends, think of how you did begin it. Start your week with joy. Smile at the storms in the week and though they might be so strong, be stronger than ever. Disregard disadvantages regardless of the situation and see 'this - advantage'. Don't be easily irritated by people or the actions of people; you harm your own emotions by doing so. Pardon people for their mistakes and do not give a precious thinking time to the mistakes of other. Life is all about learning lessons; only learn the lessons of life in every situation of life you meet. There is nothing so noble than working to please your solemn Maker. Think of the distinctive footprint you must live and leave. Know who your are; be who you are. Know what you want; live for what you want. Focus on the mission and don't lose focus of the vision. Enjoy a great week!

The culture at large had exerted the same pressure on her that it exerts on all women, namely to feel insecure about herself regardless of what she was doing, to feel that simply by being a woman in the world she was necessarily doing something wrong and could only correct her wrongness via endless consumerism and an array of contradictory neuroses. She’d been socialized to always apologize, to smile when a man told her to smile, to believe men who told her she was doing something wrong. Before

One day, this child will tell those who follow him, ‘If ye love me, keep my commandments.’ And what will he command them? ‘This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you.’ If this is truly the Son of God, then there is no worldly gift that he needs. He does not ask for gold, or wealth, or money. He asks only that we love others. And so, that will be my gift to him. I will try harder to love everyone, regardless of who they are or what they look like.” Madhu turned slightly to the left and smiled directly at Katrina, then went on speaking. “And I will try to overlook the few things that make us different and focus instead on the many things that make us all the same.

She took the bird to her worktable and put a rubber tube into its beak. With the end of the tube in her mouth, she massaged its ribs with her finger as she puffed, very gently, into the tube. The little swallow kicked, and she held it gently between her hands. “Just like resuscitating a person,” murmured Bern. “Exactly like that,” agreed the Lady. “Most animals want to live. They struggle toward life regardless of their surroundings.” She deposited the bird in the cage, a sad smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Human beings are more difficult. At some point of trauma, most people just give up and die.” Bern’s face changed, something like guilt shadowing his eyes. “Only if they’re let to, Mistress.

I'm curious,' he said casually. The amber in his green eyes was glowing. Perhaps not all traces of that beast-warrior were gone. 'Are you ever going to use that knife you stole from my table?' I stiffened. 'How did you know?' Beneath the mask, I could have sworn his brows were raised. 'I was trained to notice those things. But I could smell the fear on you, more than anything.' I grumbled. 'I thought no one noticed.' He gave me a crooked smile, more genuine than all the faked smiles and flattery he'd given me before. 'Regardless of the Treaty, if you were to stand a chance at escaping my kind, you'll need to think more creatively than stealing dinner knives. But with your affinity for eavesdropping, maybe you'll someday learn something valuable.

Regardless, his crankiness had hit a level not previously documented in the history of the universe. That was saying something, considering I’d grown up with three older sisters who all had periods at the same time. Because of them, most things—most people—didn’t bother me. I knew what it was like to be bullied, and Aiden never crossed the line into being unnecessarily mean. He was just a jackass sometimes. He was lucky I had a tiny, itty, bitty crush on him; otherwise, he would have gotten the shank years ago. Then again, just about everyone with eyes who happened to also like men, had some kind of a thing for Aiden Graves. When he raised his eyebrows and looked at me from beneath those curly black eyelashes, flashing me rich-brown eyes set deep into a face that I’d only seen smile in the presence of dogs, I swallowed and shook my head slowly as I gritted my teeth and took him in. The size of a small building, he should have had these big, uneven features that made him look like a caveman, but of course he didn’t. Apparently, he liked to defy every stereotype he’d ever been assigned in his life. He was smart, fast, coordinated, and—as far as I knew—had never seen a game of hockey. He had only said ‘eh’ in front of me twice, and he didn’t consume animal protein. The man didn’t eat bacon. He was the last person I would ever consider polite, and he never apologized. Ever. Basically, he was an anomaly; a Canadian football-playing, plant-based lifestyle—he didn’t like calling himself a vegan—anomaly that was strangely proportional all over and so handsome I might have thanked God for giving me eyes on a couple of occasions.

She woke to find dawn light, pearly silver tinged with pink, washing into the room. For a moment, she wondered what had woken her, then she glanced at Breckenridge-into his hazel eyes. "You're awake!" She only just managed not to squeal. The joy leaping through her was near impossible to contain. He smiled weakly. His lids drooped, fell. "I've been awake for some time, but didn't want to wake you." His voice was little more than a whisper. She realized it was the faint pressure of his fingers on hers that had drawn her rom sleep. Those fingers, his hand, were no longer over-warm. Reaching out, she laid her fingers on his forehead. "Your temperature's normal-the fever's broken. Thank God." Retrieving her hand, refocusing on his face, she felt relief crash through her in a disorienting, almost overpowering wave. "You have to rest." That was imperative; she felt driven by flustered urgency to ensure he understood. "You're mending nicely. Now the crisis has passed, you'll get better day by day. Catriona says that with time you'll be as good as new." Algaria had warned her to assure him of that. He swallowed; eyes closed, he shifted his head in what she took to be a nod. "I'll rest in a minute. But first...did you mean what you said out there by the bull pen? That you truly want a future with me?" "Yes." She clutched his hand more tightly between hers. "I meant every word." His lips curved a fraction, then he sighed. Eyes still closed-she sensed he found his lids too heavy to lift-he murmured, "Good. Because I meant every word, too." She smiled through sudden tears. "Even about our daughters being allowed to look like Cordelia?" His smile grew more definite. "Said that aloud, did I? Yes, I meant that, but for pity's sake don't tell her--she'll never let me hear the end of it, and Constance will have my head to boot." His words were starting to slur again; he was slipping back into healing sleep. Catriona's words, her warning, rang in Heather's head. She remembered her vow. Rising, she leaned over him; his hand still clasped between hers, and kissed him gently. "Go to sleep and get well, but before you do, I need to tell you this. I love you. I will until the end of my days. I don't expect you to love me back, but that doesn't matter anymore. You have my love regardless, and always will." She kissed him again, sensed he'd heard, but that he was stunned, surprised. He didn't respond. She drew back. "And now you need to put your mind to getting better. We have a wedding to attend, after all." She knew he heard that-his features softened, eased. As he slid into sleep, he was, very gently, smiling.

Then, consciously decide that throughout the day: 1. I will be as cheerful as possible. 2. I will try to feel and act a little more friendly toward other people. 3. I am going to be a little less critical and a little more tolerant of other people, their faults, failings, and mistakes. I will place the best possible interpretation on their actions. 4. Insofar as possible, I am going to act as if successes are inevitable, and I already am the sort of personality I want to be. I will practice “acting like” and “feeling like” this new personality. 5. I will not let my own opinion color facts in a pessimistic or negative way. 6. I will practice smiling at least three times during the day. 7. Regardless of what happens, I will react as calmly and as intelligently as possible. 8. I will ignore completely and close my mind to all those pessimistic and negative “facts” that I can do nothing to change.

A Remarkable Woman She is so exquisite Even without make-up on her face She is very special Even if she lets others seem important She is selfless Even when the selfish surround her She offers a lot of love Even so, she needs it often She has a big heart Even though she appears small She lets others belong But she longs to be appreciated She adds value Despite her own worth being undermined She is attentive Nonetheless; no one pays attention to her needs She is patient No matter how long it takes, she waits She is giving While no one could be willing to give She is forgiving Much as the worst was done against her She is trusting Albeit her trust was broken a countless times She is wise In spite of being treated otherwise by some She works hard Notwithstanding that she requires to rest She is helpful Yet, there is none to lend her a hand She makes life seem easy Whilst going through difficult times herself She stands by others Although there is no one to stand by her She chooses to be peaceful Against being somehow provoked She is calm Undeterred by what is not She is bold In defiance of tough battles ahead She shows bravery Still in the presence of adversity She is fearless Though she may seem helpless She is spirited Contrary to attempts to bring her down She is never destroyed Irrespective of storms she faces sometimes She keeps moving forward Granting the hindrances along the way She does not look down on others Regardless of some doing so to her She recognizes those who shielded her on rainy days Whenever the sun shines upon her She keeps on running her race Because she knows for her, grace is abundant She puts a smile on, always Since prayer keeps her in the right place She is an inspiration A pioneer of transformation True leader of economic revolution How the world aspires for such A remarkable woman!

Dhiren broke the silence by starting to hum a tune under his breath,,,, 'The smile of the moon has spilled over its banks'......I was filled with - with what? An affectionate contempt? A sense of ridicule? Shock that Dhiren, the earthy, self-styled tough guy, had any truck with the kind of music he'd consider effeminate? Tagore seemed to be carried inside all Bengalis, regardless of class or social background, like some inheritable disease, silent, unknown, until it manifested itself at the unlikeliest of times. How irredeemably middle class all this was: The Little Red Book and On Practice on the one hand; on the other hand, the poetry of Jibanananda Das in his cloth sidebag and a coy, cloying Tagore song almost involuntary on his lips. There really was no hope of escape for us. ...... For god's sake, Mao by day and Tagore by moonlight? Dhiren didn't miss a beat - That's quintessential Bengali soul for you.

We’re just discussing details of Bronte’s wedding.” Rose’s lips curved as she walked toward him. “Gentlemen discussing wedding details? I think the world must be ending.” Picking up his glass, she took a drink of lemonade. It was an innocent, innocuous gesture-and one of the most arousing things he’d ever seen. Archer chuckled, seemingly obviously to Grey’s dumb state. “Lucifer is putting on his ice skates as we speak. And on that note, I’m afraid it is time for me to take my leave. I promised Mama I would escort both she and Bronte to the ball tonight, and I have yet to find a suitable mask.” “I look forward to trying to ascertain your identity this evening,” Rose remarked with a smile that seemed only slightly strained. Regardless, the sight filled Grey with unease. “As do I.” Archer bowed over her hand before leaning down to whisper, “Arse,” in Grey’s ear and punched him in the arm. Hard. Sometimes, Grey hated his brother.

I am your wife, but I will do as I please, I raged, and the spell rose in my head without effort. Belt that holds my husband’s pants, Loosen now and make him dance. Tiras’s belt flew from his breeches like a sea serpent, slithering through the air only to strike at him with its tail. He stepped back from me, his eyes growing wide as he gripped the gyrating length of leather, holding it at arm’s length with one hand as he held up his pants with the other. But I wasn’t finished. Boots upon my husband’s feet, Kick him so he’ll take a seat. Tiras fell flat on his behind as his boots shimmied and wriggled free, throwing him off balance. His boots then proceeded to kick him on his back and his thighs as he yowled in stunned outrage. “Lark!” Shirt upon my husband’s chest, Wrap yourself around his head. His tunic promptly rose like Tiras was shrugging it off, only it wrapped itself around him, obscuring his angry face. I started to laugh then. I couldn’t help it. He looked so ridiculous sitting on the floor of the library, his socks hanging from his feet, his breeches falling around his hips, his shirt over his head, and his boots and belt attacking him. Tiras lashed out and grabbed my skirts, yanking me down beside him. “Call off the hounds, Lark!” he bellowed, and I laughed even harder, shaking with mirth even as he rolled himself on top of me and valiantly fought the tunic that kept wrapping itself around his face. The tunic was slightly dangerous, the boots weren’t very accurate, and the tail end of the belt had made a welt across my cheek. I decided enough was enough. I performed a sloppy rhyme, and Tiras let out a stream of profanities as the shirt ceased its murderous attempts and the belt and boots fell to the floor, inanimate once again. Tiras’s breathing was harsh and fast, his hair mussed and falling over his eyes as he braced his forearms on either side of my head. His big body pressed me into the floor, making it hard to draw breath. I was well and truly trapped, but I felt like the victor regardless. Are you injured, husband? He was glaring and angry for all of three seconds. Then the lines around his eyes deepened and a smile broke out across his face. He laughed with me, but he kept me pinned beneath him, his face inches from mine. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Immensely. “Tell me this, wife. Is there a spell to quickly remove your dress?” he whispered, still smiling, his breath tickling my mouth. I felt my face grow hot, and I closed my eyes, trying to retreat, even as I immediately considered a spell to render us both naked.

It was the morning when she went confront my father's killer. I asked her why she wouldn't let one of the soldiers or gerents handle his rescue. And she said to me that all little girls, regardless of what they say, dream of a prince to come in and sweep them off their feet and save the day. But what no one ever mentions is that all little boys dream of a princess to do the same thing for them. But the problem with princes and princesses is that they're spoiled and self-absorbed. They act in their own best interest. They don't go after their loved ones to rescue them so much as they do it for their own vainglory, and to serve themselves. While she'd had many princes try for her hand, it was a king who had claimed her heart. Unlike princes, kings take responsibility. they think of others instead of themselves and they will risk everything, even their very lives , for those they love. It is never about them, but rather about the ones they cherish most. they love to such depth that they would sacrifice all just to see their family smile. For every thousand princes, there is only one king. And such rare men do not deserve a useless princess who sits on her duff and orders others to worship her and do her bidding. Kings deserve queens- rare women who never flinch to do whatever it takes to keep their king safe. Women who have the courage to face any attacker and to rally to whatever challenge life throws at them. I will not sit here, she said to me, and let your father suffer while I hide in comfort. He risked his life to keep us safe and I will do no less for him. If it means my life, so be it. After all, he is my life and I don't want to live without him. He deserves only my best and that's exactly what he's going to get, no matter the personal cost.

So what did you and Landon do this afternoon?” Minka asked, her soft voice dragging him back to the present. Angelo looked up to see that Minka had already polished off two fajitas. Damn, the girl could eat. “Landon gave me a tour of the DCO complex. I did some target shooting and blew up a few things. He even let me play with the expensive surveillance toys. I swear, it felt more like a recruiting pitch to get me to work there than anything.” Minka’s eyes flashed green, her full lips curving slightly. Damn, why the hell had he said it like that? Now she probably thought he was going to come work for the DCO. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, not after just reenlisting for another five years. The army wasn’t the kind of job where you could walk into the boss’s office and say, “I quit.” Thinking it would be a good idea to steer the conversation back to safer ground, he reached for another fajita and asked Minka a question instead. “What do you think you’ll work on next with Ivy and Tanner? You going to practice with the claws for a while or move on to something else?” Angelo felt a little crappy about changing the subject, but if Minka noticed, she didn’t seem to mind. And it wasn’t like he had to fake interest in what she was saying. Anything that involved Minka was important to him. Besides, he didn’t know much about shifters or hybrids, so the whole thing was pretty damn fascinating. “What do you visualize when you see the beast in your mind?” he asked. “Before today, I thought of it as a giant, blurry monster. But after learning that the beast is a cat, that’s how I picture it now.” She smiled. “Not a little house cat, of course. They aren’t scary enough. More like a big cat that roams the mountains.” “Makes sense,” he said. Minka set the other half of her fourth fajita on her plate and gave him a curious look. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?” His mouth twitched as he prepared another fajita. He wasn’t used to Minka being so reserved. She usually said whatever was on her mind, regardless of whether it was personal or not. “Go ahead,” he said. “The first time we met, I had claws, fangs, glowing red eyes, and I tried to kill you. Since then, I’ve spent most of the time telling you about an imaginary creature that lives inside my head and makes me act like a monster. How are you so calm about that? Most people would have run away already.” Angelo chuckled. Not exactly the personal question he’d expected, but then again Minka rarely did the expected. “Well, my mom was full-blooded Cherokee, and I grew up around all kinds of Indian folktales and legends. My dad was in the army, and whenever he was deployed, Mom would take my sisters and me back to the reservation where she grew up in Oklahoma. I’d stay up half the night listening to the old men tell stories about shape-shifters, animal spirits, skin-walkers, and trickster spirits.” He grinned. “I’m not saying I necessarily believed in all that stuff back then, but after meeting Ivy, Tanner, and the other shifters at the DCO, it just didn’t faze me that much.” Minka looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re a real American Indian? Like in the movies? With horses and everything?” He laughed again. The expression of wonder on her face was adorable. “First, I’m only half-Indian. My dad is Mexican, so there’s that. And second, Native Americans are almost nothing like you see in the movies. We don’t all live in tepees and ride horses. In fact, I don’t even own a horse.” Minka was a little disappointed about the no-horse thing, but she was fascinated with what it was like growing up on an Indian reservation and being surrounded by all those legends. She immediately asked him to tell her some Indian stories. It had been a long time since he’d thought about them, but to make her happy, he dug through his head and tried to remember every tale he’d heard as a kid.

Your house is lovely, ma’am.” The duchess gave her a radiant smile. “If you like, I’ll take you on a tour later this afternoon. We have some very good art, and interesting old f-furniture, and some beautiful views from the second floor.” “Oh, that would be—” Pandora began, but to her annoyance, Lord St. Vincent interrupted from behind them. “I had already planned to take Lady Pandora on an outing this afternoon.” Pandora glanced over her shoulder with a quick frown. “I would prefer a tour of the house with the duchess.” “I don’t trust you around unfamiliar furniture,” Lord St. Vincent said. “It could be disastrous. What if I have to pull you out of an armoire, or God forbid, a credenza?” Embarrassed by the reminder of how they’d met, Pandora said stiffly, “It wouldn’t be proper for me to go on an outing without a chaperone.” “You’re not worried about being compromised, are you?” he asked. “Because I’ve already done that.” Forgetting her resolution to be dignified, Pandora stopped and whirled to face the provoking man. “No, you didn’t. I was compromised by a settee. You just happened to be there.” Lord St. Vincent seemed to enjoy her indignation. “Regardless,” he said, “you have nothing to lose now.” “Gabriel—” the duchess began, but fell silent as he slid her a glance of bright mischief. The duke regarded his son dubiously. “If you’re trying to be charming,” he said, “I should tell you that it’s not going well.” “There’s no need for me to be charming,” Lord St. Vincent replied. “Lady Pandora is only pretending disinterest. Beneath the show of indifference, she’s infatuated with me.” Pandora was outraged. “That is the most pomposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” Before she had finished the sentence, however, she saw the dance of mischief in Lord St. Vincent’s eyes. He was teasing, she realized. Turning pink with confusion, she lowered her head. Within a few minutes of arriving at Heron’s Point, she had tumbled on the drive, lost her hat and her temper, and had used a made-up word. It was a good thing Lady Berwick wasn’t there, or she’d have had apoplexy. As they continued to walk, Lord St. Vincent fell into step beside Pandora while the duchess followed with the duke. “Pomposterous,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “I like that one.” “I wish you wouldn’t tease,” Pandora muttered. “It’s difficult enough for me to be ladylike.” “You don’t have to be.” Pandora sighed, her momentary annoyance fading into resignation. “No, I do,” she said earnestly. “I’ll never be good at it, but the important thing is to keep trying.” It was the statement of a young woman who was aware of her limitations but was determined not to be defeated by them. Gabriel didn’t have to look at his parents to know they were thoroughly charmed by Pandora. As for him . . .

He hadn’t been aware of staring, but when her questioning gaze locked with his, Grey felt as though he’d been smacked upside the head by the open palm of idiocy. “Is something troubling you, Grey?” He loved the sound of his name on her tongue, and hated that he loved it. She made him weak and stupid. One sweet glance from her and he was ready to drop to his knees. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even infatuation. It was pure unmitigated lust. He could admit that. Hell, he embraced it. Lust could be managed. Lust could be mastered. And lust would eventually fade once she was out of his care and out of his life. That was the cold, hard, blessed truth of it. “I was wondering if you were eagerly anticipating Lady Shrewsbury’s ball tomorrow evening?” How easily the lie rolled off his tongue as he lifted a bite of poached salmon to his mouth. She smiled softly, obviously looking forward to it very much. “I am. Thank you.” Camilla shared her daughter’s pleasure judging from her coy grin. “Rose has renewed her acquaintance with the honorable Kellan Maxwell. He requested that she save the first waltz of the evening for him.” The fish caught in Grey’s throat. He took a drink of wine to force it down. “The same Kellan Maxwell who courted you during your first season?” Rose’s smile faded a little. No doubt she heard the censure in his tone, his disapproval. “The same,” she replied with an edge of defensiveness. The same idiot who abandoned his pursuit of Rose when Charles lost everything and scandal erupted. The little prick who hadn’t loved her enough to continue his courtship regardless of her situation. “Mm,” was what he said out loud. Rose scowled at him. “We had no understanding. We were not engaged, and Mr. Maxwell behaved as any other young man with responsibilities would have.” “You defend him.” It was difficult to keep his disappointment from showing. He never thought her to be the kind of woman who would forgive disloyalty when she was so very loyal herself. She tilted her head. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m no debutante, Grey. If I’m to find a husband this season I shouldn’t show prejudice.” Common sense coming out of anyone else. Coming out of her it was shite. “You deserve better.” She smiled a Mona Lisa smile. “We do not always get what we deserve, or even what we desire.” She knew. Christ in a frock coat, she knew. Her smile faded. “If we did, Papa would be here with us, and Mama and I wouldn’t be your responsibility.” She didn’t know. Damn, what a relief. “The two of you are not a responsibility. You are a joy.” For some reason that only made her look sadder, but Camilla smiled through happy tears. She thanked him profusely, but Grey had a hard time hearing what she was saying-he was too intent on Rose, who had turned her attention to her plate and was pushing food around with little interest. He could bear this no longer. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, or why she seemed so strange with him. And he couldn’t stand that he cared. “Ladies, I’m afraid I must beg your pardon and take leave of you.” Rose glanced up. “So soon?” He pushed his chair back from the table. “Yes. But I will see you at breakfast in the morning.” She turned back to her dinner. Grey bid farewell to Camilla and then strode from the room as quickly as he could. If he survived the Season it would be a miracle.

What would the ton do without us to feed them scandal broth?” Grey returned her grin. “The lot of them would starve.” They chuckled and as the humor faded, Grey tilted his head to look at her. “You look beautiful tonight.” She flushed, pleasure lighting the dark depths of her eyes. “You don’t have to say such things.” “I know I don’t, but you are my fiancée and it’s perfectly acceptable for me to voice my thoughts aloud. It’s rather refreshing after keeping them to myself for so long.” That got her attention. One of her fine, high brows twitched. “How long?” He grinned. “Since you were old enough for me to think such thoughts without being lecherous.” They stood no more than six inches apart. Close enough that he could see how amazingly flawless her skin was-not a freckle in sight. Close enough that she could see every twist and knot in his scar-and yet she barely glanced at it. Her gaze was riveted on his. She didn’t care that he was disfigured-at least not on the outside. Not on the inside either, so it seemed. “I’ve never been a good man,” he confessed-a little more hoarse than he liked-“but I promise to be a faithful husband.” It was the best he could offer, because as much as he would like to be the man she wanted, it wasn’t going to happen. Her smooth brow puckered. “I haven’t actually consented, you know.” “Rose, we have to marry.” “No.” She raised sparkling eyes to his. “I want you to ask me to marry you-not demand it. I don’t care if it has to be done. I want to feel like I have a choice.” “If you did have a choice, what would it be?” He was on dangerous ground with her, inching into territory better left unexplored for both their sakes. Rose smiled, and everything was right with the world. “Ask me and find out.” His hands came up, seemingly of their own volition, to cup her face. She was so delicate, yet so strong. Her entire world had been turned upside down, and yet she faced him with a teasing glint in her eyes and a soft flush of color in her cheeks. “Rose Danvers, will you do me the extreme honor of becoming my wife?” Were those tears dampening her eyes? And was it joy or sorrow that put them there? “I will.” He knew that they had to marry regardless, but hearing her say those two little words was like someone kicking his heart through his ribs. It hurt, but there was such unfathomable joy that came with it-such terrible happiness that Grey had no idea what to do with it. He’d never felt anything like it before. Holding her face, he lowered his head and hungrily claimed her mouth with his own. Her lips parted for his tongue as her fingers bit into his arms. A trickle of warm wetness brushed against his thumb. She was crying. A sharp gasp came from the open door. “What the devil is going on here?” The kiss and its magic were broken. Rose stepped back, and Grey dropped his hands, but he wasn’t willing to let her go just yet. He placed one arm behind her back, holding her close so that they faced her mother together. Camilla did not look happy. In fact, she looked like any mother would to walk into a room and find her daughter being molested. “Mama,” Rose begun. “It’s not what you think.” “It is exactly what you think,” Grey countered, drawing his friend’s stormy and narrow gaze. “I have asked Rose for her hand in marriage and she has accepted. I regret that you had to find out this way, but I was too overcome with joy to contain my feelings.” He could feel Rose gaping at him. He didn’t look at her, not because the words were a lie, but because they were all too damnably true.

work-worn, on a gingham towel draped over the cupboard. “All of them stillborn.” I smother a sigh with a smile, weak and resigned. He takes it regardless. “Yeah …” He too smiles soft, a hand letting

The vicious demand for happiness, regardless of circumstance, is not what one expects from one’s own. Life is hard enough. Requiring a loved one to always be happy-happy-joy in the face of that strain, that cruelty, is not love. It is unforgivable narcissism.” She smiled sourly. “The greatest gift you could give someone is space to be sad. Or tired. The failure to understand that simple fact may be why your generation doesn’t seem able to form lasting bonds. You all seem to be in it for what the other person can give you, here and now—resources, time, transient euphoria. Not for what you can be together. Over the decades.

Thomas Bowman had a contentious relationship with both his daughters, alternately ignoring them and subjecting them to harsh criticisms. The older daughter Lillian responded to Bowman with surly impudence. But Daisy, the fifteen year-old, regarded her father in a speculative, rather cheerful way that seemed to annoy him beyond his ability to bear. She had made Matthew want to smile. With her luminous skin, her exotic cinnamon-colored eyes and quicksilver expressions, Daisy Bowman seemed to have come from an enchanted forest populated with mythical creatures. It had immediately become apparent to Matthew that any conversation Daisy took part in was apt to veer into unexpected and charming directions. He had been secretly amused when Thomas Bowman had chastised Daisy in front of everyone for her latest mischief. It seemed that the Bowman household had lately become overrun with mice because all the traps they set had failed. One of the servants had reported that Daisy had been sneaking around the house at night, deliberately tripping all the traps to keep the mice from being killed. “Is this true, daughter?” Thomas Bowman had rumbled, his gaze filled with ire as he stared at Daisy. “It could be,” she had allowed. “But there is another explanation.” “And what is that?” Bowman had asked sourly. Her tone turned congratulatory. “I think we are hosting the most intelligent mice in New York!” From that moment on Matthew had never refused an invitation to the Bowman mansion, not just because it pleased the old man but because it gave him the chance to see Daisy. He had collected as many stolen glances as possible, knowing it was all he would ever have of her. And the moments he had spent in her company, regardless of her cool politeness, had been the only times in his life he had come close to happiness.

You have always embodied the worst of my father,” Lillian said. “The coldness, the ambition, the self-centeredness. Except you’re worse because you’re able to disguise it far more adeptly than he does. You’re what my father would have been if he’d been blessed with good looks and a little sophistication. I think that in winning you Daisy must somehow feel she has finally succeeded with Father.” Her brows came together as she continued. “My sister has always compelled to love unlovable creatures…the strays, the misfits. Once she loves someone, no matter how many times they betray or disappoint her, she will take them back with open arms. But you won’t appreciate that any more than Father does. You’ll take what you want, and give her very little in return. And when you inevitably hurt her, I will be the first in a line of people waiting to slaughter you. By the time I finish with you, there won’t be enough left for the others to pick over.” “So much for impartiality,” Matthew said. He respected her brutal honesty even though he was smarting from it. “May I respond with the same frankness you’ve just shown me?” “I hope you will.” “My lady, you don’t know me well enough to assess how much like your father I may or may not be. It’s no crime to be ambitious, particularly when you’ve started with nothing. And I’m not cold, I’m from Boston. Which means I’m not prone to displaying my emotions for all and sundry to see. As far as being self-centered, you have no way of knowing how much I’ve done, if anything, for other people. But I’ll be damned if I recite a list of my past good deeds in hopes of winning your approval.” He leveled a cool stare at her. “Regardless of your opinions, the marriage is going to happen, because both Daisy and I want it. So I have no reason to lie to you. I could say I don’t give a damn about Daisy, and I would still get what I want. But the fact is, I’m in love with her. I have been for a long time.” “You’ve been secretly in love with my sister for years?” Lillian asked with blistering skepticism. “How convenient.” “I didn’t define it as ‘in love.’ All I knew was that I had a persistent, all-consuming…preference for her.” “Preference?” Lillian looked momentarily outraged, and then she surprised him by laughing. “My God, you really are from Boston.” “Believe it or not,” Matthew muttered, “I wouldn’t have chosen to feel this way about Daisy. It would have been far more convenient to find someone else. The devil knows I should be given some credit for being willing to take on the Bowmans as in-laws.” “Touché.” Lillian continued to smile, leaning her chin on her hand as she stared at him.

April 14 MORNING “All they that see me laugh me to scorn: they shoot out the lip, they shake the head.” — Psalm 22:7 MOCKERY was a great ingredient in our Lord’s woe. Judas mocked Him in the garden; the chief priests and scribes laughed Him to scorn; Herod set Him at nought; the servants and the soldiers jeered at Him, and brutally insulted Him; Pilate and his guards ridiculed His royalty; and on the tree all sorts of horrid jests and hideous taunts were hurled at Him. Ridicule is always hard to bear, but when we are in intense pain it is so heartless, so cruel, that it cuts us to the quick. Imagine the Saviour crucified, racked with anguish far beyond all mortal guess, and then picture that motley multitude, all wagging their heads or thrusting out the lip in bitterest contempt of one poor suffering victim! Surely there must have been something more in the crucified One than they could see, or else such a great and mingled crowd would not unanimously have honoured Him with such contempt. Was it not evil confessing, in the very moment of its greatest apparent triumph, that after all it could do no more than mock at that victorious goodness which was then reigning on the cross? O Jesus, “despised and rejected of men,” how couldst Thou die for men who treated Thee so ill? Herein is love amazing, love divine, yea, love beyond degree. We, too, have despised Thee in the days of our unregeneracy, and even since our new birth we have set the world on high in our hearts, and yet Thou bleedest to heal our wounds, and diest to give us life. O that we could set Thee on a glorious high throne in all men’s hearts! We would ring out Thy praises over land and sea till men should as universally adore as once they did unanimously reject. “Thy creatures wrong Thee, O Thou sovereign Good! Thou art not loved, because not understood: This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile Ungrateful men, regardless of Thy smile.

In light of the well’s legendary status,” Swift said, “I’d hate to overlook a good opportunity.” He reached into a pocket, rummaged briefly and pulled out a large silver coin. It had been forever since Daisy had seen American money. “You’re supposed to throw in a pin,” she said. “I don’t have a pin.” “That’s a five-dollar piece,” Daisy said in disbelief. “You’re not going to throw that away, are you?” “I’m not throwing it away. I’m making an investment. You’d better tell me the proper procedure for making wishes—it’s a lot of money to waste.” “You’re mocking me.” “I’m in deadly earnest. And since I’ve never done this before, some advice would be welcome.” He waited for her reply, and when it became evident that none was forthcoming, a touch of humor lurked in one corner of his mouth. “I’m going to toss the coin in regardless.” Daisy cursed herself. Even though it was obvious he was mocking her, she could not resist. A wish was not something that should be wasted, especially a five-dollar wish. Drat! She approached the well and said curtly, “First hold the coin in your palm until it’s warm from your hand.” Swift came to stand beside her. “And then?” “Close your eyes and concentrate on the thing you want most.” She let a scornful note enter her voice. “And it has to be a personal wish. It can’t be about something like mergers or banking trusts.” “I do think about things other than business affairs.” Daisy gave him a skeptical glance, and he astonished her with a brief smile. Had she ever seen him smile before? Perhaps once or twice. She had a vague past memory of such an occasion, when his face had been so gaunt that all she had received was an impression of white teeth fixed in a grimace that owed little to any feeling of good cheer. But this smile was just a bit off-center, which made it disarming and tantalizing…a flash of warmth that made her wonder exactly what kind of man lurked behind his sober exterior. Daisy was profoundly relieved when the smile disappeared and he was back to his usual stone-faced self. “Close your eyes,” she reminded him. “Put everything out of your mind except the wish.” His heavy lashes fell shut, giving her the chance to stare at him without having him stare back. It was not the sort of face a boy could wear comfortably…the features were too strong-boned, the nose too long, the jaw obstinate. But Swift had finally grown into his looks. The austere angles of his face had been softened by extravagant sweeps of black lashes and a wide mouth that hinted of sensuality. “What now?” he murmured, his eyes still closed. Staring at him, Daisy was horrified by the impulse that surged through her…to step nearer and explore the tanned skin of his cheeks with her fingertips. “When an image is fixed in your mind,” she managed to say, “open your eyes and toss the coin into the well.” His lashes lifted to reveal eyes as bright as fire trapped in blue glass. Without glancing at the well, he threw the coin right into the center of it.

Alec had been so fun to be around, always smiling joyously at even the smallest thing, regardless of what happened around him. That was the worst part: he had gone away with the blue-coated guards happily, the sunny smile still on his face, as the guards’ rough hands grabbed and pulled, taking him out and up to the gates, where the guards had held him until Alec had been zeroed at a gate ceremony that night—all while little Charley had been forced to remain in the underground dorms—bedtime as usual.

You had a habit of repeating aloud the sentences you found most striking, regardless of how silently other people might be reading other things. I’d muster my best fake smile, saying, “That’s nice, really nice.

He is going to live healthily, even though he has to face depression. We may see him struggle, but we will never see him fall. You may see his struggle. You may see his pain. You may see his sadness. You may see his broken heart. You may see his depression. You may see his misery. You may see his melancholy. You may see his grief. Regardless of he is weak, he is going to stand tall. He is going to wear the biggest smile, even though he wants to cry. He is going to fight for his life, even though he is destined to die. He is going to live happily, even though he has to be in pain for while. He is going to live healthily, even though he has to face depression. We may see him struggle, but we will never see him fall. - Shwin J Brad

You'll see him again soon enough,' Gerty put her arm around Alice's shoulders. 'How could anyone resist those shoes,' Stef grinned. 'Do you think that's the only reason he liked me? I can't possibly wear the same pair twice,' Alice looked worried. 'He liked you for you, regardless of your sparkly shoes,' Charlotte said. 'Yes, you're right,' Alice smiled. 'What was your boy like?' Charlotte asked Stef. 'He was okay,' she smiled. 'Just okay?' Gerty asked. 'Not, just okay, but okay,' she grinned.

Are you sure, stranger?” The guard’s voice was as dry as the ground underneath his feet. “No one will take your dead body back to Lidus to bury it next to your ancestors.” Hadjar was once again surprised at how quickly his nationality had been identified. “As far as I know, honorable overseer, any man or woman who has reached the Formation Stage can participate in the selection process, regardless of what country they were born in or how old they are.” The guard smiled awkwardly, revealing an uneven row of yellow teeth. They weren’t yellow because he was sick or didn’t take care of himself, but because the local food was saturated with special spices that colored one’s teeth. However, without these spices, food ended up being tasteless. “Go away, stranger,” a second guard said. He looked at Hadjar far less amiably than his partner had. “The smell of your incense makes my eyes water. If I stand next to you any longer, your stench will cling to me and my wife won’t make love to me tonight.” A dragon stirred in Hadjar’s blue eyes, but only one of the four guards noticed it. The one who’d tried to be polite, although he also didn’t like white-skinned northerners. “Your wife? Forgive me, honorable overseer, but I left her exhausted before coming here. She won’t be able to make love to you either way.

he was afraid to break off their relationship completely “because I don't know if there will ever be another girl who will care about me.” At first, I thought Eric was joking. He was a handsome, witty, charming young man with a winning smile and excellent manners and conversation skills. It was hard to imagine that he would not be very appealing to most people he met. Yet Eric quickly made it clear that regardless of what others might actually believe, he worried chronically and intensely that other people, male or female, did not really like him, “I always think that if they say they like me or seem friendly, they are just acting that way because they feel sorry for me and don't want to hurt my feelings.

I want you, and you say you want me, and the only thing standing in our way is you. Don’t tell me that you survived all those battles, and suffered through so much, merely to come home for this--” He laid his fingers against her mouth. “Quiet. Let me think.” “What is there to--” “Beatrix,” he warned. She fell silent, her gaze locked on his severe features. Christopher frowned, weighing possibilities, inwardly debating the issue without seeming to come to any satisfactory conclusion. In the silence, Beatrix rested her head on his shoulder. His body was warm and comforting, the deep-flexing muscles easily accommodating her weight. She wriggled to press closer to him, until she felt the satisfying hardness of his chest against her breasts. And she adjusted her position as she felt the firm pressure of him lower down. Her body ached to gather him in. Furtively she brushed her lips against the salt-scented skin of his neck. He clamped his hand on her hip. Amusement threaded through his voice. “Stop squirming. There is no possible way a man can think when you’re doing that.” “Haven’t you finished thinking yet?” “No.” But she felt him smile as he kissed her forehead. “If you and I marry,” he said eventually, “I would be put in the position of trying to protect my wife against myself. And your well-being and happiness are everything to me.” If…Beatrix’s heart leaped into her throat. She began to speak, but Christopher nudged his knuckles beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. “And regardless of what fascinating ideas your family may have about the marital relationship,” he continued, “I have a traditional view. The husband is master of the household.” “Oh, absolutely,” Beatrix said, a bit too quickly. “That’s what my family believes, too.” His eyes narrowed skeptically. Perhaps that had been taking it a bit far. Hoping to distract him, Beatrix nuzzled her cheek into his hand. “Could I keep my animals?” “Of course.” His voice softened. “I would never deny something so important to you. Although I can’t help but ask…is the hedgehog negotiable?” “Medusa? Oh, no, she couldn’t survive on her own. She was abandoned by her mother as kit, and I’ve taken care of her ever since. I suppose I could try to find a new home for her, but for some reason people don’t take readily to the idea of pet hedgehogs.” “How odd of them,” Christopher said. “Very well, Medusa stays.” “Are you proposing to me?” Beatrix asked hopefully. “No.” Closing his eyes, Christopher let out a short sigh. “But I’m considering it against all better judgment.

I’ve just been to see Audrey,” Beatrix said breathlessly, entering the private upstairs parlor and closing the door. “Poor Mr. Phelan isn’t well, and--well, I’ll tell you about that in a minute, but--here’s a letter from Captain Phelan!” Prudence smiled and took the letter. “Thank you, Bea. Now, about the officers I met last night…there was a dark-haired lieutenant who asked me to dance, and he--” “Aren’t you going to open it?” Beatrix asked, watching in dismay as Prudence laid the letter on a side table. Prudence gave her a quizzical smile. “My, you’re impatient today. You want me to open it this very moment?” ”Yes.” Beatrix promptly sat in a chair upholstered with flower-printed fabric. “But I want to tell you about the lieutenant.” “I don’t give a monkey about the lieutenant, I want to hear about Captain Phelan.” Prudence gave a low chuckle. “I haven’t seen you this excited since you stole that fox that Lord Campdon imported from France last year.” “I didn’t steal him, I rescued him. Importing a fox for a hunt…I call that very unsporting.” Beatrix gestured to the letter. “Open it!” Prudence broke the seal, skimmed the letter, and shook her head in amused disbelief. “Now he’s writing about mules.” She rolled her eyes and gave Beatrix the letter. Miss Prudence Mercer Stony Cross Hampshire, England 7 November 1854 Dear Prudence, Regardless of the reports that describe the British soldier as unflinching, I assure you that when riflemen are under fire, we most certainly duck, bob, and run for cover. Per your advice, I have added a sidestep and a dodge to my repertoire, with excellent results. To my mind, the old fable has been disproved: there are times in life when one definitely wants to be the hare, not the tortoise. We fought at the southern port of Balaklava on the twenty-fourth of October. Light Brigade was ordered to charge directly into a battery of Russian guns for no comprehensible reason. Five cavalry regiments were mowed down without support. Two hundred men and nearly four hundred horses lost in twenty minutes. More fighting on the fifth of November, at Inkerman. We went to rescue soldiers stranded on the field before the Russians could reach them. Albert went out with me under a storm of shot and shell, and helped to identify the wounded so we could carry them out of range of the guns. My closest friend in the regiment was killed. Please thank your friend Prudence for her advice for Albert. His biting is less frequent, and he never goes for me, although he’s taken a few nips at visitors to the tent. May and October, the best-smelling months? I’ll make a case for December: evergreen, frost, wood smoke, cinnamon. As for your favorite song…were you aware that “Over the Hills and Far Away” is the official music of the Rifle Brigade? It seems nearly everyone here has fallen prey to some kind of illness except for me. I’ve had no symptoms of cholera nor any of the other diseases that have swept through both divisions. I feel I should at least feign some kind of digestive problem for the sake of decency. Regarding the donkey feud: while I have sympathy for Caird and his mare of easy virtue, I feel compelled to point out that the birth of a mule is not at all a bad outcome. Mules are more surefooted than horses, generally healthier, and best of all, they have very expressive ears. And they’re not unduly stubborn, as long they’re managed well. If you wonder at my apparent fondness for mules, I should probably explain that as a boy, I had a pet mule named Hector, after the mule mentioned in the Iliad. I wouldn’t presume to ask you to wait for me, Pru, but I will ask that you write to me again. I’ve read your last letter more times than I can count. Somehow you’re more real to me now, two thousand miles away, than you ever were before. Ever yours, Christopher P.S. Sketch of Albert included

Obviously you have no liking for Prudence,” he began, “but if you--” “I’ve tried my best to like her. I thought if one peeled away the layers of artifice, one would find the real Prudence beneath. But there’s nothing beneath. And I doubt there ever will be.” “And you find Beatrix Hathaway superior to her?” “In every regard, except perhaps beauty.” “There you have it wrong,” he informed her. “Miss Hathaway is a beauty.” Audrey’s brows lifted. “Do you think so?” she asked idly, lifting the teacup to her lips. “It’s obvious. Regardless of what I think of her character, Miss Hathaway is an exceptionally attractive woman.” “Oh, I don’t know…” Audrey devoted careful attention to her tea, adding a tiny lump of sugar. “She’s rather tall.” “She has the ideal height and form.” “And brown hair is so common…” “It’s not the usual shade of brown, it’s as dark as sable. And those eyes…” “Blue,” Audrey said with a dismissive wave. “The deepest, purest blue I’ve ever seen. No artist could capture--” Christopher broke off abruptly. “Never mind. I’m straying from the point.” “What is your point?” Audrey asked sweetly. “That it is of no significance to me whether Miss Hathaway is a beauty or not. She’s peculiar, and so is her family, and I have no interest in any of them. By the same token, I don’t give a damn if Prudence Mercer is beautiful--I’m interested in the workings of her mind. Her lovely, original, absolutely compelling mind.” “I see. Beatrix’s mind is peculiar, and Prudence’s is original and compelling.” “Just so.” Audrey shook her head slowly. “There is something I want to tell you. But it’s going to become more obvious over time. And you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, or at least you wouldn’t want to believe it. This is one of those things that must be discovered for oneself.” “Audrey, what the devil are you talking about?” Folding her narrow arms across her chest, his sister-in-law contemplated him sternly. And yet a strange little smile kept tugging at the corners of her lips. “If you are at all a gentleman,” she finally said, “you will call on Beatrix tomorrow and apologize for hurting her feelings. Go during one of your walks with Albert--she’ll be glad to see him, if not you.

Good afternoon,” came a pleasant feminine voice. It was the oldest Hathaway sister, Amelia. She was shorter and more voluptuous than her younger sister. There was a warm maternal air about her, as if she were prepared to ladle out sympathy and comfort at a moment’s notice. “Mrs. Rohan,” Christopher murmured, and bowed. “Sir,” she replied with a questioning lilt. Although they had met before, she clearly didn’t recognize him. “This is Captain Phelan, Amelia,” Beatrix said. The blue eyes widened. “What a lovely surprise,” she exclaimed, giving Christopher her hand. “Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.” Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?” Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, “Regardless, he’s staying for tea.” “Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?” “I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.” Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.’” “I’ve never understood,” Beatrix said, “why people have such unreasonable dislike of hedgehogs.” “They dig up the garden,” Amelia said, “and they’re not what one would call cuddlesome. Captain Phelan has a point, dear--you might have brought your cat to the picnic instead.” “Don’t be silly. Cats don’t like picnics nearly as much as hedgehogs.” The conversation proceeded at such quicksilver speed that there was little opportunity for Christopher to break in. Somehow he managed to find an opening. “I apologized to Miss Hathaway for my remarks,” he told Amelia uncomfortably. This earned an approving glance. “Delightful. A man who’s not afraid to apologize. But really, apologies are wasted on our family--we’re usually pleased by the things we should be offended by, and vice versa.

Would you like to talk about it?” This too was met with deafening silence. Because no matter how much Susannah might like to confide in her Aunt Julia, she just couldn’t. No one could understand how she felt, deep inside. It was too powerful, too unpronounceable, too unwieldy a thing, and if she said it out loud it would just explode like a cannon. “Well,” Julia said with a sigh. “Perhaps I can guess.” She paused to think, but only for a moment. “You are sad because Sebastian has left for his Grand Tour, and you are afraid he will go away and forget you and meet some other young woman. Perhaps she’s Parisian. Or Belgian. Those Belgian girls do have forthrightness that comes with being from such a small country. But regardless of the nationality of this young lady, she is sophisticated and fashionable and she’ll have Sebastian wrapped around her finger. And he’ll never see you as anything other than a little sister.” Susannah’s head came up. She stared at her aunt, her tear-stained cheeks flushed, but her eyes unblinking and suddenly quite dry. “By the time he comes back, your young Mr. Beckett will be married to said Belgian girl, who you will be forced to smile at and visit with at Custard House, even as your heart breaks with every love-coo she sends her henpecked Sebastian.” Susannah gaped. Her mind reeled at the exposure of her deepest, darkest fears. “That was the most terrible thing you could have possibly said,” she blurted out, slapping a hand over her mouth in horror. But Julia just smiled. “It’s also the most unlikely to happen. Good English boys don’t go on their Grand Tour and come back married.” “But… it could. Belgian girls, and all.” “True, but it doesn’t happen to good English boys who rely on their good English fathers for income, at least,” her aunt said wryly.

But then his tongue moved over me and started to lick the whipped cream over my sex, making my legs fall open, swiping the creamy coolness down and over my cleft, making a long, ragged moan escape me, dragging a rumbling sound from his chest that made another rush of wet pool as his mouth closed over my clit and sucked hard. Then he devoured me, drove me up fast and unrelenting until the orgasm started to crest, seeming to start at the base of my spine and exploding outward until it took over whole body, making me cry out his name as he took possession of my clit and sucked it in pulses as the waves washed over me, dragging it out, intensifying everything. As soon as the waves lessened, he released me and licked a line back upward, taking the whipped cream off my breasts then pressing up to balance over me, wicked look in his eyes. "Tell me." "Tell you what?" I asked, brain nothing but sparking misfirings right then. He smiled at that, either delighted with his prowess or glad to torture me more. Or, more likely, both. I grabbed the can of whipped cream as I moved to straddle him, watching as his eyes went knowing just a second before I started making a line down his stomach with the cream, then down the little happy trail, over his balls, and then up the underside of his cock until there was a large amount on the swollen head. Then I tossed the can to the side and gave him a smile before ducking my head and starting my path down, deciding that while foreplay was always good, it was infinitely better with food involved as my tongue licked the cream off his balls then his shaft before closing my lips around the head and licking it off from there as well, making Brant let out a deep, primal groan that spurred me on, made me work him faster, deeper. "Maddy..." he warned, but I didn't need a warning. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to give him the selfless orgasm he gave me. "Fuck," he growled, his hand crushing into the back of my head as he came down my throat. I worked him for a long moment before letting him slide away, looking up at him to find an intense weight in his gaze. "From now on, we only ever eat dessert off of each other," he said a second later, his hand going under my chin and pulling me until I moved to straddle him, bringing my face close to his. "I can get behind that plan," I agreed with a smile before he yanked me forward and our lips crashed together. It wasn't a slow, sweet, post-orgasm kiss. It was still wild, hungry, primal. It said we weren't done. "Come on," he said when he pulled away, a little out of breath. "Let's go take a shower. That was hot as fuck but we're both sticky now." Thank God. I didn't want to complain, but every time I moved, my skin got stuck to his skin and it was weird and decidedly unsexy. I went to move off him, but his arms went to slip around my lower back, holding me to him as he stood and started walking around the house. Then up the stairs. I was generally not the kind of girl who got carried around. I was fit, sure, but I was tall and leggy and most guys wanted to carry around the short, lithe little women. But since Brant was a huge wall of muscle, he didn't seem bothered by my height and less than dainty limbs. He set me on my feet outside the shower and reached in to put the water on, water I knew would take a couple of minutes to warm up. But he stepped in regardless, cursing at the cold spray. "Yeah, I think not," I said when he looked at me expectantly. I should have known to step away. I really should have. But I didn't and the next thing I knew, he was yanking me in with him, making me let out a string of incredibly unladylike curses before I felt the water get warmer against my back.

And so it will be with your life. There will be tough times—there are for everyone. There will be times of fear and trembling. There will be times of discouragement and disillusionment. Have courage, smile, keep your chin up, laugh often, be kind to yourself, stay focused, be gracious and appreciative, think happy thoughts, and carry on regardless.

Gentlemen, thank you for waiting, and you too, Mom, Janice," Avery said, giving his mom a warm smile before he continued. He didn't take his chair. Instead, he stood at the head of the table, looking down the row of people. "I've met a man, not a woman. Someone I see a long-term future with." Avery kept his gaze focused, looking each person in the eye, refusing to look at his mother. This would mean more to her. He'd wait to talk this through with her later. "They discussed this with you from the beginning, Mr. Adams. You can't be openly gay and have any chance of winning," Mr. Joslin said. "I understand that, but it doesn't change the facts," Avery argued. "Do you understand what we are telling you? There is no way you would be supported if you ran as a gay man. How long could you have possibly known him if you talked about this before and he wasn't a factor?" Mr. Joslin asked. "The length of the relationship isn't important," Avery replied. "So we hide him. You aren't the only gay man in office. We can find a nice filler woman to stand in. No one has to know…" Mr. Freeport was on a roll, the other two nodding along with him. He could see their minds ticking away with the possibilities. "I'm not interested in hiding him. I'm not unsympathetic to the complications this poses or unfamiliar with the odds of running a viable campaign as a homosexual. Regardless, it doesn't change the facts, I refuse to hide him." Avery left no further room for discussion on the subject. "Avery…" Kennedy Adams said from across the table. Finally, he looked over at her, and based on the look in her eyes, he couldn't tell where she was headed with her line of thinking, but whatever she had to say, needed to be said in private. "Mother, I'm not hiding him," Avery said, just as stoned-faced and hard as he had said to the three political strategists in front of him.

Despite the brightness of the sun, I shivered in the brisk November air, for I had not taken a cloak with me when I had left my parlor. As if by magic, one fell about my shoulders, and I knew without looking that Narian had joined us. His mere presence bolstered my courage and brought my thoughts into focus. I scanned the throng of eager Hytanicans, some of whom were gathered inside the Central Courtyard with more outside its walls, then raised my hands to quiet them. Taking a deep breath, I began to speak. “Spread the word. Tell your families and friends. Let it be known across the Recorah River Valley that I am proud to be Queen of this Kingdom of Hytanica!” Cheers exploded, rising and falling in waves, and I let myself enjoy the sights and sounds of victory for several minutes. Then I once more raised my hands to quell the crowd. “Be it known that Commander Narian stands with me as a loyal citizen of Hytanica. Without him, I would not have been able to travel to Cokyri and safely return. And without him, I would not have been able to begin negotiations for lasting peace with the High Priestess. I believe a trade treaty that is fair for both of our countries will soon be signed. Regardless, we stand here now and forevermore as a people free of Cokyrian rule.” Jubilant shouts greeted these words, and I took Narian’s hand in mine, raising it high into the air. The people did not know that we were in love. They did not know that we were bound to each other according to Cokyrian custom and would soon be joined in marriage under Hytanican law. But this was a step forward, and that was enough for now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother appear at Narian’s other side to likewise take his hand and hold it aloft in a show of support. When the rest of my family followed her lead, my father next to my mother, Miranna and Temerson at my side, tears spilled down my cheeks. I met Narian’s mystified blue eyes and smiled, then gazed out at our people, a member of a united royal family, the man I loved among us. When the noise had subsided, I addressed the sorrow that hid beneath the joy, for it was essential to pay tribute to those who had fought bravely and tirelessly, but had not lived to see this day. “We all know the terrible price that was paid for our freedom. Remember those who died in the war. Honor them in your hearts, and join with me in honoring them with a memorial on the palace grounds. Let those who gave their lives for this kingdom never be forgotten.” I paused, permitting a moment of silence for our lost loved ones, then finished, “Embrace your families. Return to your homes. And know that you go in peace.” This received perhaps the greatest response of anything I had said, and to the tumultuous cries of my tired but elated people, Narian and I reentered the palace.

How’s it going so far?” “Eh.” I examined my hair for split ends. “That good, huh?” “Well, let’s see. My sister just called my ex ‘babe,’ my mom may have suggested I got fat, and my dad might think I’m a lesbian.” Cade laughed. Like hard. “Okay. First off, you’re not fat. I should know. I’ve seen you naked.” My face warmed. “That you have.” “Very naked. In fact, picturing it right now.” He made a low satisfied sound. “Nope, definitely not fat.” I laughed. “Focus, Cade.” “Sorry, so, um, lesbian? What’s that about?” “Dad was teasing me, asking a bunch of questions about you. I told him if he mentioned anything to Mom, I’d tell her I was into girls—it would totally freak her out—then he gets all supportive of my lifestyle choices and says he’d love me no matter my orientation.” “So you told him about me?” I could tell he smiled by the sound of his voice. “Yeah. Though I’m not sure I’ve convinced him of your gender. On a good note, he approves of you, regardless.” Cade chuckled. “Good to know. Guess you said something right.

No. Listen to me,” growled Baltsaros. “I am sorry. I’ve never told you enough how thankful I am that you came into my life—” “Or ever,” interrupted Tom with a twisted grin. He closed his callused fingers over Baltsaros’s and squeezed softly. “Save yer godsdamned words, old man. I ain’t a soft thing that needs to be coddled, aye?” However, the tears that threatened to spill from Tom’s eyes belied his words. The first mate dashed them away with his wrist and clenched his jaw. Baltsaros lay there holding Tom’s hand and closed his eyes. “When Jon wanted to leave, just you and him together, how long were you tempted?” he said. He felt Tom tense and he smiled. “Not a godsdamned bloody second, Da,” said the first mate. It was a lie, Baltsaros was sure of it, but he liked the answer regardless.

So are you going to tell me why Ronowski pulled you into the break room when we got back today?” God asked watching Day closely. Day shook his head at him, smiling wickedly. “It was about sex.” “No fucking way. He came to you about sex?” God said, not hiding his shock. “Who else is he going to ask…his priest?” Day said and quickly dodged the piece of garlic bread God threw at his head. “Do I want to know?” God said. “It wasn’t too bad. He wanted to know the best way to pleasure Johnson.” Day laughed when God balled up his face and made a gagging sound. “There intimacy has been pretty one-sided from what I could understand. Ro was still pretty shy about telling me stuff, so I was mostly guessing.” Day wiped his mouth with his napkin before continuing. “Being the stud that I am…I gave the kid a few pointers.” “Stud, huh?” God smiled. “Yeah. I don’t mind taking the little tike under my homosexual wing and showing him how to fly.” Day grinned. “You’re twisted. And isn’t Ro like the same age as you,” God said. Day blew an exasperated breath. “Regardless of age, Cash. I have more experience. Way more. Way, way, way more experience with fucking men than anyone I—” “I fucking got it, Leo.” God scowled at him. Day laughed hysterically. “I told him all about how I make you scream my name every night.” Day chuckled and bolted up from his chair when God took off after him. Day ran back into the kitchen, jumping and gliding across the kitchen island on his hip and racing into the den. God was hot on his heels. “I’ll catch you, you quick little bastard. And when I do, I’m going to show you just how loud I can make you scream,” God said in his sexy rough-hewn voice. “Oh fuck.” Day was laughing so hard he could barely just keep out of God’s grip. He dodged him in the living room, leaping over the coffee table heading fast toward the stairs when he was caught around his waist with a strong arm and dragged back down the two steps he’d cleared.

The right side of his face was sore, the left side tender with beard burn. Regardless that smiling made his face ache; he couldn’t stop it when he thought about his and Judge’s kiss. That mind-consuming-all-encompassing-soul-searching kiss. And did Judge say that Michaels was his?

Your Grace, I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. Quite frankly, I don’t want, nor do I need, the acceptance of people whose primary concern is whether my blood is blue enough or if I’m titled. If Edmund loves me, as you say he does,” I began thinking, because he sure hasn’t said anything to me, “he’ll love me regardless of what his friends say. Otherwise, he’s not worthy of my time.” My hand was on the doorknob when she chuckled. “Despite her not raising you for long, you are your mother’s daughter. You’re just like Lilliana. She couldn’t be forced or coerced into anything and you appear to be the same.” Clarice’s face softened and she actually smiled. Without a thought, I went to the bed and sat. I’m really like my mother? Warm fuzzies sprang up all over my body.

I heard all these birds singing and singing so loud and so cheerful. Little birds were chirping and chirping. Big birds were making a melody. It was like they were having a big party. I wanted to say to them, “Hey, birds. Have you read the newspapers lately? Did you see the stock market last year? You’re not supposed to be singing, enjoying life. What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like everything will be all right.” What was it with those birds? They know a secret. They know their heavenly Father is in control. They know God has promised to take care of them, so they go through the day singing and enjoying life, regardless of the circumstances. That’s how to start off each day. Get up in the morning and have a song of praise in your heart. Put a smile on your face. Go out into the day and be determined to enjoy it. The apostle Paul wrote: “Be happy [in your faith] and rejoice and be glad-hearted continually (always)” (1 Thessalonians 5:16 AMP). How long are we supposed to be glad-hearted? How long are we supposed to have a smile on our faces? As long as people treat us right? As long as we feel okay? As long as the economy is up? No, the Scripture says, “Be glad-hearted continually (always).” That means in the good times and in the tough times, when it’s sunny and when it’s raining. When dark clouds are over your head and you feel like life is depressing and gloomy, always remember that right above those dark clouds the sun is shining. You may not be able to see the sun in your life right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not up there. It’s just blocked by the dark clouds. The good news is, the clouds are temporary. The clouds will not last forever. The sun will shine in your life once again. In the meantime, keep your joy. Be glad-hearted continually. Don’t let a few clouds darken your life. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. That means we all face disappointments, unfair situations, tests, trials, and temptation. But know this: Right past the test is promotion. On the other side of every difficulty is increase. If you go through adversity with a smile on your face and a song in your heart, on the other side there will be a reward.

I’m not bad enough for you,” James said with a soft chuckle. Luke’s thing for bad boys was well-documented. Luke groaned. “I don’t pick them on purpose. It just happens.” “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” James pulled his phone out and shot a quick text to Ryan. You can’t be taking a leak for an hour. If you think you’re being subtle, you’re not. Ryan returned to their secluded corner in the pub five minutes later and actually had the nerve to look displeased when he saw how far apart James and Luke were sitting. Taking one look at his face, Luke started laughing. “You were at the pub across the road, weren’t you?” Ryan didn’t even crack a smile. James had noticed that his mood was getting worse with the continued failure of his matchmaking efforts. James wasn’t sure what to think of it: he still tried not to be too obvious about his feelings in order to make Ryan more comfortable, but Ryan’s mood seemed to be darkening regardless of that. James had even tried to pretend to be enamored with the previous guy Ryan had pushed at him, but Ryan had seen through his bullshit immediately and they had a big, ugly fight. It looked like they were going to have another one tonight. Sighing, James decided they had better get somewhere private first. He made their excuses while Ryan remained silent and stony-faced by his side. They left the pub in silence.

He also has Sadie,” Kerry added. “Unless Big Jack is so old-school that he can’t picture a woman running the family empire.” Cooper shot her a quick smile. “I think we both know that Sadie’s not meant to live her whole life on Cameroo Downs. I can’t even--don’t want to--think about the time when she’ll be wanting to head off, but I’m fair to certain she will.” “What makes you say that?” He glanced at Kerry again. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Starfish. She’s got a bit of the wanderlust herself. You’re her hero.” Kerry ducked her chin, but she was smiling. When he looked at her again, she was staring through the front windshield, a mix of wistfulness and guilt on her face. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad.” “I know,” she said. “But I do, all the same.” She shifted in her seat so she was angled more toward him. “Whatever happens between us, I’d like it if--do you think she’d still want to hear from me?” He nodded immediately. “She’s got a huge heart, as you know, and she misses you greatly. She’d be over the moon.” “She’s counting on you to bring me home, isn’t she.” She didn’t make it a question. “They all are,” he said quite honestly. “But they won’t hold it against you if your heart says otherwise. They--we--wouldn’t want you there if it’s not where you want to be.” He looked back to the road. “You’ve two families who support your life choices now, you know, regardless of their own wants or desires.” He didn’t look at her then, well aware that he’d added to the guilt and fear she already was feeling. He supposed, if he were being brutally honest, she’d earned a bit of the guilt where it concerned not staying in touch with Sadie as she’d promised, but the rest…well, it was all water under the bridge now. “I appreciate that,” she said in a quiet but steady voice. “More than you know. More than I knew.

You really told them you wanted to marry me?” I asked. The smile had taken over his whole face now. “I told you before: I fell under your spell before you even knew you had magic, before you saved a kingdom, back when there was no chance you would be allowed to marry me. Nothing’s really changed since then, except that now any children we have might be wizards themselves, and I’ll be hopelessly outnumbered. “So, yes, I want to marry you. Someday. If you’ll have me,” he said modestly. “Of course I will, you idiot,” I said with a shriek, and threw myself into his arms. Some things, though, never change, regardless of how many countries you save. I tripped at the last moment, and we both went down in a laughing heap. It didn’t stop me from kissing him for so long that we both were gasping by the time it ended. “So what should I call you now?” he said when we had our breath back. “Savior of Thorvaldor? Soon-to-Be-Master Wizard? Chief Councillor of Wise Words? My own love?” “Sinda,” I said, without the slightest twinge of old memories, or something lost, or regret. “Just Sinda. Though I like that last one almost as much.” Kiernan reached out and tucked a strand of escaping hair behind my ear. “I think I like Sinda best myself,” he said. We hauled ourselves up and, still laughing, brushed grass and sticks from our clothes. Then, arms around each other, we began the walk back to Philantha’s house to tell her that her scribe had just gotten a new job and become engaged in the same afternoon. I looked back up the hill once, toward the palace, and then turned away. I would go there tomorrow, but right now, it didn’t matter. Today I only had to walk with Kiernan, to visit Philantha, to finally be just myself. For once, for the first time, it was enough.

The South is known for its "Southern Hospitality," and I feel fortunate to have grown up in such a friendly and caring culture. Our remarkable mother has always exemplified these qualities and has been a consistent role model for making other people feel valued and important. She will approach new people in most any situation to gift them with a smile and a moment of her time. Regardless of their role, position, or stature, she confidently engages others with animation, enthusiasm, and interest. Her gentility makes people feel emotionally safe and cared for. This degree of friendliness melts resistance, lowers barriers, and opens hearts by valuing humanity. Almost always, her personal connections develop with feelings of mutual respect, appreciation, and friendship.

It is a mortal sin to be a Jew?” I blurted out. His face softened as he stood there looking at me. When he finally spoke, he spoke very slowly and quietly: “No, son, it isn’t. It couldn’t be. You see a lot of us are prone to forget Jesus Christ was a Jew.” “But, Brother, if I’m a Jew and I live with my folks, I could not come here to church. And I would not attend confession and be absolved of my sins. Then when I die I would surely burn in hell.” He came back to me and took my arm. “Francis,” his voice was very low, “as much as we like to think it is, heaven is not a private preserve of us Catholics. It is a place where all good people are welcome. I like to believe that it is open to all mankind regardless of the manner in which they worship our Lord, as long as they do believe in Him and live according to His lights. Be a good lad, Francis, and love your people. Do what is right and ye’ll have naught to fear.” He smiled. “Do ye understand me, son?

John Noa moved slowly toward the window. Old age had not been kind to him, and though he could still sit a horse, his rigid joints grew more painful by the day. Looking down from his lofty vantage point, he could see the town below on the cusp of waking. A lone wolf stood in the square, his head tilted to one side. The old man smiled. He had always loved animals and none more than the gray wolf. Before the Melting, they had been almost eradicated, hunted to extinction. Extinction: the saddest word of all. Using science and with great care and attention, they had bred five pairs of wolves in captivity, producing fifteen new cubs, and then released them into the wild. Since then, the wolves had thrived. Amid all the destruction, it had seemed like a miracle to him. He loved the view from the high window at this time of day. The workers not yet awake and only the comforting sound of the water bubbling in the great tank. He sighed. Sadly, he couldn’t stay. He had work to do. Work! Always work. Problems to be solved, plans to be made. He had never expected it to be this difficult. On his bad days, he wondered if it had been worth it at all. Another glance at the wolf brought a smile to his lips. Yes. It was all worth it. He firmly believed that it was his passion for Ark that had kept him alive when so many had been lost. The images of death and destruction were always with him. Floods, earthquakes, famine, as livid in daylight as they were in his nightmares. Images of the past. But there were nightmares in the present too. Bandits. Desecrators. Tintown. People intent on destroying what he had built. People intent on going their own way regardless of the price. He felt the old rage stir in his heart. They would be dealt with. In the end, they would find

Of course, for all their counterculture pretensions, corporations like Google, Amazon, and Apple are still corporations. They seek profits, they try to maximize their monopoly power, they externalize costs, and, of course, they exploit labor. The American technology sector has externalized the cost of industrial pollution to Chinas cities, where people live in a pall of smog but no one - certainly not Apple - has to bear the cost of cleanup. Apple/Foxconn’s dreadful labor practices in China are common knowledge, and those Amazon packages with the sunny smile issue forth from warehouses that are more like Blake’s “dark satanic mills” than they are the new employment model for the internet age. The technology industry has manufactured images of the rebel hacker and hipster nerd, of products that empower individual and social change, of new ways of doing business, and now of mindful capitalism. Whatever truth might attach to any of these, the fact is that these are impressions carefully managed to get us to keep buying products and, just as importantly, to remain confident in the goodness and usefulness of the high-tech industry. We are being told these stories in the hope that we will believe them, buy into them, and feel both ip and spiritually renewed by the association. Unhappily, in this view of things, mindfulness can be extracted from a context of Buddhist meanings, values, and purposes. Meditation and mindfulness are not part of a whole way of life but only a spiritual technology, a mental app that is the same regardless of how it is used an what it is used for. Corporate mindfulness takes something that has the capacity to be oppositional - Buddhism - and redefines it. Eventually, we forget that it ever had its own meaning.

age. Andrew had once shown us pictures of his mother as a young woman: young Andrea McDougal at the 1921 Ashes, a toothy smile framed by blonde curls, white skin bright even in the sepia photograph. Thomas had said that she had been, in her time, “a tall drink of water.” I wouldn’t admit this to Thom or anybody else but personally I thought Lady Fife was actually more striking now. She seemed more serious, no more toothy grins, her curls pinned back in a no-nonsense style, but she had a knowing quality that I couldn’t help but be drawn to. Lady Fife came to us, smiling. Her smile dropped when she saw the shattered statue. Whispers stated that Andrea McDougal was a scryer, a foreseer, a practitioner of the illegal art of divination. I was grimly pleased that she seemed surprised by this turn of events. Next to me the maid sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. I certainly didn’t envy her having Lady Fife as a mistress. I might have had to deal with her frosty acquaintance, but we were merely that—acquaintances. The laws of decorum demanded that we be polite and civil to each other regardless of our

Dare to be the most charitable friend that one can know - therefore, care for the orphan and the poor and the widow - share everything through prayers from your heart to spare a soul, so that you barely do it for the credit or for show (hardly for rarity, too, although you reap what you sow). Through sincerity do what you trust; it scares many foes. Also, show no partiality: 'too unfair' must go. Plus know it's a slow, terrible thing to love just to boast; there's no scarcity of things true being cut in the throat: and blown up, such harsh realities roast us coast to coast (as though love's some dark noir since neither good nor bad may gloat (doesn't matter if you sacrifice your sun or a goat)). But regardless, much to the contrary, all seeds need growth; thus, deplorable, horrible or not, we'll bleed love's flow. More pouring out meaningful ways to keep the boat afloat; less rowing for it seems eternal days around a moat: because good deeds, clichés, these are what make the world still glow, placing smiles on its face while it toasts to our Lord of hosts. It's like grace is needed most when even one's been brought low, so dare to be the most charitable one you will know.

He flicked back the bedcovers and patted the spot beside him. "Come here so I can impress you with how metrosexual I am and spoon you." "You've impressed me enough," she said, with a coquettish smile, before slipping into bed and pulling up the covers. "Come here." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled in, terrified by how good this felt but loving it regardless. "This is nice," he murmured, dropping a kiss on top of her head that made her eyes prickle with tears.

I rang out a couple more customers as I thought about it, and...he slowly walked up to the counter and set down two spools of line. I should really figure out what the point of one being thicker than the other was. “Hi, Mr. Rhodes,” I greeted him with a smile. He’d taken his sunglasses off and slid them through one of the gaps between the buttons of his work shirt. His gray eyes were steady on me as he said in that same uninterested, stern tone from before, “Hi.” I took the first package of fishing line and scanned it. “How is your day going?” “Fine.” I scanned the next package and figured I might as well go in for the kill since no one was around. “You remember that time you said you owed me?” A day ago. He didn’t say anything, and I peeked up at him. Since his eyebrows couldn’t talk, they formed a shape that told me exactly how distrustful he was feeling right then. “You do, okay. Well,” and I lowered my voice, “I was going to ask if I could redeem that favor.” Those gray eyes stayed narrowed. This was going well. I glanced around to make sure no one was listening and quickly said, “When you aren’t busy… could you teach me about all this stuff? Even if it’s just a little bit?” That got him to blink in what I was pretty sure was surprise. And to give him credit, he too lowered his voice as he asked slowly and possibly in confusion, “What stuff?” I tipped my head to the side. “All this stuff in here. Fishing, camping, you know, general knowledge I might need to work here so I have an idea of what I’m doing.” There was another blink. I might as well go for it. “Only when you aren’t super busy. Please. If you can, but if you can’t, that’s okay.” I’d just cry myself to sleep at night. No biggie. Worst case, I could hit up the library on my days off. Hang out in the grocery store parking lot and google information. I could make it work. I would, regardless. Dark, thick, black eyelashes dipped over his nice eyes, and his voice came out low and even. “You’re serious?” He thought I was shitting him. “Dead.” His head turned to the side, giving me a good view of his short but really pretty eyelashes. “You want me to teach you to fish?” he asked like he couldn’t believe it, like I’d asked him to… I don’t know, show me his wiener. “You don’t have to teach me to fish, but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I haven’t been in forever. But more about everything else. Like, what is the point of these two different kinds of line? What are all the lures good for? Or are they called flies? Do you really need those gadgets to start a fire?” I knew I was whispering as I said, “I have so many random questions, and not having internet makes it hard to look things up. Your total is $40.69, by the way.” My landlord blinked for about the hundredth time at that point, and I was pretty sure he was either confused or stunned as he pulled his wallet out and slipped his card through the reader, his gaze staying on me for the majority of the time in that long, watchful way that was completely different from the way the older men had been eyeballing me earlier. Not sexually or with interest, but more like I was a raccoon and he wasn’t sure if I had rabies or not. In a weird way, I preferred it by a lot. I smiled. “It’s okay if not,” I told him, handing over a small paper bag with his purchases inside. The tall man took it from me and let his eyes wander to a spot to my left. His Adam’s apple bobbed; then he took a step back and sighed. “Fine. Tonight, 7:30. I’ve got thirty minutes and not one longer.” What! “You’re my hero,” I whispered. He looked at me, then blinked. “I’ll be there, thank you,” I told him. He grunted, and before I could thank him again, he was out of there so fast I had no chance to check out his butt in those work pants of his.

NEED, a voice rumbled in the ground beneath his feet. Leo staggered, suddenly feeling like he was standing on the surface of a trampoline. NEED is an overused word. A swirling human figure erupted from the sand—Leo’s least favorite goddess, the Mistress of Mud, the Princess of Potty Sludge, Gaea herself. Leo threw a pair of pliers at her. Unfortunately she wasn’t solid, and they passed right through. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look asleep, exactly. She had a smile on her dust devil face, as if she were intently listening to her favorite song. Her sandy robes shifted and folded, reminding Leo of the undulating fins on that stupid shrimpzilla monster they’d fought in the Atlantic. For his money, though, Gaea was uglier. You want to live, Gaea said. You want to join your friends. But you do not need this, my poor boy. It would make no difference. Your friends will die, regardless. Leo’s legs shook.

A Remarkable Woman She is so exquisite Even without makeup on her face She is very special Even if she lets others seem important She is selfless Even when the selfish surround her She offers a lot of love Even so, she needs it often She has a big heart Even though she appears small She lets others belong But she longs to be appreciated She adds value Despite her worth being undermined She is attentive Nonetheless, no one pays attention to her needs She is patient No matter how long it takes, she waits She is generous While no one could be willing to give She is forgiving Much as the worst was done against her She is trusting Albeit her trust was broken countless times She is wise In spite of being treated otherwise by some She works hard Notwithstanding that she requires rest She is helpful Yet, there is none to lend her a hand She makes life seem easy Whilst going through difficult times herself She stands by others Although there is no one to stand by her She chooses to be peaceful Against being somehow provoked She is calm Undeterred by what is not She is bold In defiance of tough battles ahead She shows bravery Still in the presence of adversity She is fearless Though she may seem helpless She is spirited Contrary to attempts to bring her down She is never destroyed Irrespective of the storms she faces sometimes She keeps moving forward Granting the hindrances along the way She stands in the gap And makes things happen She does not look down on others Regardless of some doing so to her She recognises those who shielded her on rainy days Whenever the sun shines upon her She keeps running her race Because she knows for her, grace is abundant She wears a smile always Since prayer keeps her in the right place She is an inspiration A pioneer of transformation Cheerleader for economic revolution How the world adores such A remarkable woman!

Our Mothers Your eyes see hope for tomorrow Your hearts are made of gold that many wish to borrow Your minds sharp enough for others follow Your hands ensure that children grow Your feet go places where some cannot know Your courage makes you stand where strong winds blow Your presence becomes warmth, regardless of the snow Your influence can be felt within a stone’s throw You hold nothing back for whom you protect You speak words with good intent You treat others with so much respect You fight and never retract You pursue a path that keeps your faith intact You fulfil dreams and make a significant impact You pass through tough times while remaining steadfast You conquer battles as you pray and fast You instil discipline that becomes a great shield You serve others until they succeed You give inspiration among those who bleed You understand that you are rearing a rare breed You plant and nurture the right seed You help attract breakthroughs with speed You care for those in need You touch lives, indeed You lead your own to be great every step of the way You play your role very well, even without a pay You smile as if every day is your pay day You exude wisdom and put it on full display You save generations from going astray You run your race just like in a relay You pass the baton with no delay You carry so much worth as you get to be gray Hence, we salute you, our Mothers

Then she smiles, those unshed tears still in her eyes. “I’m… happy. I’m so happy that I’m pregnant. I already love this baby so much. And I can’t believe my family won’t accept it, won’t accept me…” “That part is not about you, Olivia. It’s about me.” She shakes her head. “That shouldn’t matter. This baby is mine, too. It’s both of us. And they should want to know him or her regardless.” “Maybe they will. Give it time.

Then we shall say it in this manner,” he replied. “Every day I shall wait on this bridge, at this time. If you are able to come, then come. If you are not able, I shall understand, but I shall be here every day regardless. How does that sound?” “It sounds too much for me to ask of you,” she said, smiling even as she felt tears welling in her eyes. “But I am too grateful to turn down your kind offer, so I must accept.” - 1722 (The Haunting of Hadlow House Book 2)

Night after night I would speak to Violet in the womb (no matter how strange that may seem to some people) because I was looking forward to the day when I would hold her in my arms, no longer just talking to my wife’s pajamas like a fucking lunatic. When the day finally came, I was nervously packing up the car to go to the hospital when I noticed a huge rainbow overhead, something that happens maybe once every thousand years in Los Angeles. I was immediately calmed. Yes, it sounds nauseatingly romantic, but yes, it’s true, and I took it as a sign. After a long and difficult labor, Violet was born to the sound of the Beatles in the background, and she arrived screaming with a predetermined vocal capacity that made the Foo Fighters sound like the Carpenters. Once she was cleaned up and put under the little Arby’s heat-lamp bed, I put my face close to hers, stared into her gigantic blue eyes, and said, “Hey, Violet, it’s Dad.” She immediately stopped screaming and her eyes locked with mine. She recognized my voice. We stared at each other in silence, our first introduction, and I smiled and talked to her as if I had known her my whole life. I am happy to say that, still to this day, when we lock eyes it’s the same feeling. This was a love I had never experienced before. There is an inevitable insecurity that comes along with being a famous musician that makes you question love. Do they love me? Or do they love “it”? You are showered with superficial love and adoration on a regular basis, giving you something similar to a sugar high, but your heart crashes once the rush dies off. Is it possible for someone to see a musician without the instrument being a part of their identity? Or is that a part of the identity that the other loves? Regardless, it’s a dangerous and slippery slope to question love, but one thing is for certain: there is nothing purer than the unconditional love between a parent and their child.