Sparks Brothers Quotes

Dreams are always crushing when they don't come true. But it's the simple dreams that are often the most painful because they seem so personal, so reasonable, so attainable. You're always close enough to touch, but never quite close enough to hold and it's enough to break your heart.

Never forget that anticipation is an important part of life. Work's important, family's important, but without excitement, you have nothing. You're cheating yourself if you refuse to enjoy what's coming.

When you chase a dream, you learn about yourself. You learn your capabilities and limitations, and the value of hard work and persistence.

I don't pray because it doesn't work. Prayer doesn't fix anything. Bad things happen anyway.

Denial is an ugly thing.

Tough toenails, tiger. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things.

Only two years dead, and it was getting harder for me to feel…anything. I was starting to slip into the darkness. The numbness. And the worst part is that it wasn’t even scary. I was losing myself, and I didn’t even care. Then I met you, and at first I didn’t understand what had happened. What had changed. All I knew was that I wanted to be near you. Then you helped me with Addison, even though it nearly got you killed—I nearly got you killed—and I started to understand how special you are. But by then, you were getting serious with Nash. With my brother—one of few people in the whole world I still gave a damn about. So I tried to stay away. I tried so hard.” His voice cracked on the last word, and my heart cracked with it. Tears stood in my eyes, but I was afraid to let them fall. I was afraid to even breathe for fear of missing a single word. "But you kept pulling me back. You’re the brightest thing I’ve ever seen, Kaylee. You’re this beautiful ball of fire spitting sparks out at the world, burning fiercely, holding back the dark by sheer will. And I always knew that if I reached out—if I tried to touch you—I’d get burned. Because you’re not mine. I’m not supposed to feel the fire. I’m not supposed to want it. But I do. I want you, Kaylee, like I’ve never wanted anything. Ever. I want the fire. I want the heat, and the light, and I want the burn.

Michael walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. "You all right?" I made my twin brother hate me. I can't try out for basketball. I gave my number to some girl who thinks I'm a thug. Gabriel looked back at his textbook. "Yeah. Fine.

Fuck!" He hit the door frame. It hurt. He did it again. "Problems?" "Yeah," said Gabriel. "Nick took the car." Michael didn't even look up from the screen. "Huh. Didn't you do the same thing this morning?" "Don't talk to me like I'm a little kid." Now his brothers eyes flicked up. "I'm sorry, was that a mature adult punching the front door?

While Louie might be the sun, Josh was the moon and the stars. He was my gravity, my tide, my ride or die. He was more like my little brother than my nephew, and in some ways, we had grown up together. I had loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. Loved him from the moment I knew he was a spark of life, and I was going to love him every day of my life.

I realized that there were times when we talked not because we needed to communicate anything important, but simply because we each drew comfort from the other's voice

Those lips had curved into a knowing half smile that did funny things to her insides. And like a match tossed to gasoline, her body sparked alive and flames licked every inch of her.

Relationships are the most important thing in life, and friends are a part of that.

Kaylee and Nash are like those rocks that ancient cave people used to make fire. Bang them together, and you get sparks." Sabine said. "Let's never again use the phrase 'bang them together' in reference to my brother and my girlfriend," Tod mumbled.

When you know that someone close to you is going to die, there's a natural tendency to want to spend as much time with them as you can.

Jill had three basic statements about life, 1. It is your life, usually with some added social commentary. 2. What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things. 3. No one ever said that life was fair.

Henry nodded, thinking, 'If you were any more whipped, little brother, they'd serve you on ice cream.

Life, he decided, was for living, not for having, and he wanted to experience every moment that he could.

I've come to understand that arguing with [my wife] about it has never solved anything. So instead of denying it, I've learned to take her hands, look her in the eyes, and respond with those three magic words every woman wants to hear: "You're right, sweetheart.

The anticipation is an essential part of this whole trip. The excitement of going, the places we'll see, the people we'll meet, that's part of the joy of this whole thing...Never forget that anticipation is an important part of life...without excitement you have nothing, you're cheating yourself if you refuse to enjoy what's coming.

Commitment, I finally said. Both people have to be committed. I think if two people are committed to the marriage, if they really want to make it work, then they'll find a way to do it. No matter what happens in life.

She was sleeping in a quiet bedroom beside her brother, separated only by glass and sand from the young man she loved, a young man who loved her back

Gabriel glanced over. "So I made coffee." He'd set up the game, too, for whatever reason. Then he'd sobbed into his mug for forty five minutes, until his coffee went cold and Michael found him sitting there. Gabriel had been worried his brother would bitch about the coffee or the crying or something--he rarely needed a reason in those days. But Michael had just poured himself a cup of coffee and pushed the dice across the table. "You go first.

As we walk back, it feels like the city is engulfing us. Adrenalin still pours through our veins. Sparks flow through to our fingers. We've still been running in the mornings, but the city's different then. It's filled with hope and with bristles of winter sunshine. In the evening, it's like it dies, waiting to be born again the next morning.

Price,” Wrath said, still looking at his brother. “Well, here’s the thing.” As the king cursed, the man, Lassiter, laughed. “It’s not a price, though.” “What. Is. It.” “We’re a two-for-one-deal.” “Excuse me?” “I come with him.” “The fuck you do.” The man lost any levity in his voice. “It’s past of the arrangement, and believe me, I wouldn’t choose this either. Fact is, he’s my last change, so yeah, I’m sorry, but I go with him. And if you say no, by the way, I’m going to level us all like that.” The man snapped his fingers, a brilliant white spark flaring against the night sky. After a moment, Wrath turned to John. “This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was on earth, there was a plague in central Europe –“ “Okay, that was so not my fault –” “ – that wiped out two-thirds of the human population.” “I’d like to remind you that you don’t like humans.” “They smell bad when they’re dead.” “All you mortal types do.” John could barely follow the conversation; he was too busy staring into Tohr’s face. Open your eyes…open your eyes…please God… “Come on, John.” Wrath turned back to the Brotherhood and started walking. When he came up to them, he said softly, “Our brother is returned.” “Oh, Christ, is he alive,” someone said. “Thank God,” someone else groaned. “Tell them,” Lassiter demanded from behind. “Tell them he comes with a roommate.” As one, the Brothers’ heads snapped up. “Fuck. Me, “Vishous breathed. “I will so pass on that,” Lassiter muttered.

I never know what to tell them. I mean, there's nothing you can say to make a person stop hurting. Half the time, I just feel like telling them the truth. I'd say that for 3 months, you're going to feel worse than you've ever felt and you cope as best you can. And that after 6 months, the pain isn't so bad, but it still hurts more than you think it will. And even after years, you still find yourself thinking about the person you lost and get sad about it. And you still miss them all the time.

Nick's eyes were like ice. "Maybe we should talk about what happened in third period today. I didn't even ask if you were okay." What a bastard. "Shut up." "What happened?" said Michael "Nothing," said Chris. He glared at Nick across the table Good little brother.

You’re choosing to let life control you, instead of the other way around. That’s the big secret. You choose the kind of life you want to live.

What good is talking if neither of you are really committed? If one of you had an affair or got addicted to drugs or was abusive, simply talking about it wouldn;t take the hurt away; or fix the trust that's been lost. In the end, marriage comes down to actions. I think people talk too much about the things that bother them, instead of actually doing the little things that keep a marriage strong.

إن حياة بلا صلاة هي أمر لا يمكنني تخيُّله

The more you own, the more it owns you, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having to take care of everything. I’m tired of things breaking and having to fix them. It adds stress, and frankly, I’m giving myself a break.” In

Certainly we shall rise, certainly we shall see and gladly, joyfully tell one another all that has been.

لا شيء يمكنه تغيير نمط الحياة أكثر من إنجاب طفل

She wished her younger brother, Drake, were here, and she felt the usual ache when she thought of him.

In the eulogy by the graveside, I told everyone how my sister and I used to sing to each other on our birthday. I told them that, when I thought of my sister, I could still hear her laughter, sense her optimism, and feel her faith. I told them that my sister was the kindest person I;ve ever known, and that the world was a sadder place without her in it. And finally, I told them to remember my sister with a smile, like I did, for even though she was being buried near my parents, the best parts of her would always stay alive, deep within our hearts.

ليس هناك شيء يمكنك قوله لتجعل شخصًا ما يتوقف عن الشعور بالألم . ففي نصف المرات ، أشعر وحسب أنني يجب أن أخبرهم الحقيقة . وأن أقول : سوف تشعرون لمدة ثلاثة أشهر بشكل أسوأ مما شعرتم به في حياتكم ، وسوف تكافحون قدر استطاعتكم ، وبعد سنة أشهر لا يكون الألم بذلك السوء ، ولكنه لا يزال يؤلم أكثر مما تظنون ، حتى بعد سنوات ، ستبقون تجدون أنفسكم تفكرون بالشخص الذي فقدتموه ، وتحزنون بشأن ذلك ، وستبقون تفتقدونه طوال الوقت

It’s wonderful to finally meet you,’ Scarlett managed. He smiled, wide and sincere. ‘I’m tempted to say you’re even prettier than I imagined, but I would hate you to think me unoriginal.’ ‘Too late,’ Julian coughed. A wrinkle formed between Nicolas’s thick brows as he noticed Scarlett’s companion. ‘And you are?’ ‘Julian.’ He offered his hand. But Nicolas refused to let go of Scarlett’s. ‘I wasn’t aware Scarlett had a brother.’ ‘I’m not her brother.’ Julian kept his tone friendly, but Scarlett felt a surge of bruising purple panic as devilry sparked in Julian’s eyes. ‘I’m not related to her at all. I’m an actor she played with during Caraval.’ He emphasized the words played with, and Scarlett could have choked him. Julian would choose now to finally be honest. Not that Nicolas appeared disturbed. The young count’s broad smile remained even as he petted Timber with his free hand. But Julian wasn’t finished. ‘I’m not surprised she’s never mentioned me. At the start of Caraval I don’t think she liked me much. But then we were given the same bedroom—’ ‘Julian, enough,’ Scarlett cut in.

Michael turned from the counter with a cup of coffee in hand. "Don't start," he said to Gabriel."I didn't say anything. I'm just glad you weren't jerking her around." Gabriel paused. "So I guess you don't have too much baggage after all?" Michael gave him a look. "Trust me I do." He sat down at the table. "She just has enough to mach." "What does that mean?" "It means she has a five-year-old son." Gabriel went still. "Holy crap." "So we're taking things really slowly." "Looks like it." This was quite possibly the first time Gabriel had ever seen his older brother blush. "It was late. She slept here. We did not-" Michael broke off. "I don't really think I need to explain myself to you." Gabriel smiled and took a sip of coffee. "No, no, I'm enjoying this.

Life he decided, was for living, not for having.

أن الحياة فيها المسرات و الأحزان ، ولم يكن الأمر يستحق الطاقة لينزعج المرء من الأحزان ، ليس لأنه لا مفر منها وحسب بل ولأنها تنقضي أيضًا

Dangerous events were transformed over the years into humorous anecdotes; painful moments were modified into sweet tales of innocence.

while there’s a lot that I don’t know about the world, I do know that kids have a funny way of helping you keep things in perspective.

Night after night, my mom had us name three nice things our siblings had done for us, and each night we were somehow able to come up with something. And

I’d tell you to fetch a match, but you have always had your own spark.

Even his highly emotional Italian mother didn't believe that true love could blossom overnight. Like his brothers and sisters-in-law, she wanted nothing more for him than to marry and start a family, but if he showed up at her doorstep and said that he'd met someone two days ago and knew she was the one for him, his mother would smack him with a broom, curse in Italian, and drag him to church, sure that he had some serious sins that needed confessing.

After something like that . . . well, even though you try to get through it—and might seem fine on the surface—underneath you’re a wreck, and you don’t even know it. And sometimes, it takes a while to figure out that you’re still struggling with everything that happened.

She takes hold of his hands. As they move together, Rolph feels his self-consciousness miraculously fade, as if he is growing up right there on the dance floor, becoming a boy who dances with girls like his sister. Charlie feels it, too. In fact, this particular memory is one she'll return to again and again, for the rest of her life, long after Rolph has shot himself in the head in their father's house at twenty eight: her brother as a boy, hair slicked flat, eyes sparking, shyly learning to dance.

A school of esotericism usually arises in connection with some special realization of the Truth, which it sometimes stresses beyond its due proportion to life as a whole, but there will never be found any teaching which has the power to hold together a body of earnest seekers which has not a spark of the divine fire at its heart; therefore respect should be given to all how seek in sincerity, however far from the goal they may appear to be, and all who are engaged in the great Quest should rather try to see the vision which a brother has glimpsed than the special errors to which he has fallen victim.

I’m already saved. Hallelujah, praise the Lord. Now unlock that door and set me free, brother.

أن التقارب دائمًا صعب عندما تكون المسافة قد توسعت عبر السنين ، وأجيانًا يستحيل التغلب عليها

Have you ever noticed that the less interesting something is, the longer people want to talk about it?

Our stories are funny because we lived them, and we survived them.

And, after all, no one ever said that life was fair; what you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things.

No one ever said life was fair

The sliding door opened, and then Michael was clomping across the porch. Gabriel didn’t look at him, just kept his gaze on the tree line. Michael dropped into the chair beside him. “Here." Gabriel looked over. His brother was holding out a bottle of Corona. Shock almost knocked him out of the chair. They never had alcohol of any kind in the house. When Michael had turned twenty-one, they’d all spent about thirty seconds entertaining thoughts of wild parties supplied by their older brother. Then they’d remembered it was Michael, a guy who said if he ever caught them drinking, he’d call the cops himself. Really, he’d driven the point home so thoroughly that by the time he and Nick started going to parties, they rarely touched the stuff. Gabriel took the bottle from his hand. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?” Michael tilted the botle back and took a long draw. "I thought you could use one. I sure can." Gabriel took a sip, but tentatively, like Michael was going to slap it out of his hand and say Just kidding. "Where did this even come from?" "Liquor store." Well, that was typical Michael. "No, jackass, I meant-" "I know what you meant." Michael paused to take another drink. "There's a mini-fridge in the back corner of the garage, under the old tool bench.

Once upon a time there was a little girl, and she told a lie to her friend’s brother so that her friend’s brother drove her to the bus station. She brought with her a bottle of orange soda, fifty dollars (half in change), sparkly slippers, and her cell phone. He thought he was helping. So did she.

Discouragement, fear, and depression— three villains who lurk in the dark. They slip inside souls with a blindfold and goals to shatter your dreams and extinguish your spark. Their tactics are highly effective. They crush a great many each day. And under their spell it is easy to dwell On fiascoes and failures that end in dismay. The heart and the mind are left heavy. The last speck of will is erased. And nothing stays on when these villains are gone but a mouthful of bile with the bitterest taste. Alas! You must conquer the scoundrels! Elude, dodge, and keep them at bay! To feel fear slink in, boring under your skin, is a sign that his brothers are well on their way. So reach for your weapons against them! Take hope and hard work in each hand! Strap faith on your hips and a prayer on your lips and show those debasers how firmly you stand! Discouragement, fear and depression— the truth should be known of these cads. They’re empty and weak; it is your strength they seek. Deny them and life is your wish in the bag.

The Fire Bug flared up at that. “You want to know what bugs me?” it said indignantly. “Nobodaddy’s friendly about fire. Oh, it’s fine in its place, people say, it makes a nice glow in a room, but keep an eye on it in case it gets out of control, and always put it out before you leave. Never mind how much it’s needed; a few forests burned by wildfires, the occasional volcanic eruption, and there goes our reputation. Water, on the other hand!—hah!—there’s no limit to the praise Water gets. Floods, rains, burst pipes, they make no difference. Water is everyone’s favorite. And when they call it the Fountain of Life!—bah!—well, that just bugs me to bits.” The Fire Bug dissolved briefly into a little cloud of angry, buzzing sparks, then came together again. “Fountain of Life, indeed,” it hissed. “What an idea. Life is not a drip. Life is a flame. What do you imagine the sun is made of? Raindrops? I don’t think so. Life is not wet, young man. Life burns.

Once, when her brothers had been fighting over who got more spaghetti for dinner, her mother had said, You don’t look at another person’s plate to see if they have more than you. You look to see if they have enough.

It was as if he'd suddenly become intimately aware of the fragility of life and how precious time really was. As a result, he made a conscious effort to simplify his life, with the goal of eliminating unnecessary stress. No longer interested in society's definition of success, he began purging his life of material things. Life, he decided, was for living, not for having, and he wanted to experience every moment that he could. At the deepest level, he'd come to understand that life could end at any moment, and it was better to be be happy than busy.

Life, he decided, was for living, not for having, and he wanted to experience every moment that he could. At the deepest level, he’d come to understand that life could end at any moment, and it was better to be happy than busy.

Tenways showed his rotten teeth. ‘Fucking make me.’ ‘I’ll give it a try.’ A man came strolling out of the dark, just his sharp jaw showing in the shadows of his hood, boots crunching heedless through the corner of the fire and sending a flurry of sparks up around his legs. Very tall, very lean and he looked like he was carved out of wood. He was chewing meat from a chicken bone in one greasy hand and in the other, held loose under the crosspiece, he had the biggest sword Beck had ever seen, shoulder-high maybe from point to pommel, its sheath scuffed as a beggar’s boot but the wire on its hilt glinting with the colours of the fire-pit. He sucked the last shred of meat off his bone with a noisy slurp, and he poked at all the drawn steel with the pommel of his sword, long grip clattering against all those blades. ‘Tell me you lot weren’t working up to a fight without me. You know how much I love killing folk. I shouldn’t, but a man has to stick to what he’s good at. So how’s this for a recipe…’ He worked the bone around between finger and thumb, then flicked it at Tenways so it bounced off his chain mail coat. ‘You go back to fucking sheep and I’ll fill the graves.’ Tenways licked his bloody top lip. ‘My fight ain’t with you, Whirrun.’ And it all came together. Beck had heard songs enough about Whirrun of Bligh, and even hummed a few himself as he fought his way through the logpile. Cracknut Whirrun. How he’d been given the Father of Swords. How he’d killed his five brothers. How he’d hunted the Shimbul Wolf in the endless winter of the utmost North, held a pass against the countless Shanka with only two boys and a woman for company, bested the sorcerer Daroum-ap-Yaught in a battle of wits and bound him to a rock for the eagles. How he’d done all the tasks worthy of a hero in the valleys, and so come south to seek his destiny on the battlefield. Songs to make the blood run hot, and cold too. Might be his was the hardest name in the whole North these days, and standing right there in front of Beck, close enough to lay a hand on. Though that probably weren’t a good idea. ‘Your fight ain’t with me?’ Whirrun glanced about like he was looking for who it might be with. ‘You sure? Fights are twisty little bastards, you draw steel it’s always hard to say where they’ll lead you. You drew on Calder, but when you drew on Calder you drew on Curnden Craw, and when you drew on Craw you drew on me, and Jolly Yon Cumber, and Wonderful there, and Flood – though he’s gone for a wee, I think, and also this lad here whose name I’ve forgotten.’ Sticking his thumb over his shoulder at Beck. ‘You should’ve seen it coming. No excuse for it, a proper War Chief fumbling about in the dark like you’ve nothing in your head but shit. So my fight ain’t with you either, Brodd Tenways, but I’ll still kill you if it’s called for, and add your name to my songs, and I’ll still laugh afterwards. So?’ ‘So what?’ ‘So shall I draw?

Gabriel couldn’t believe he had to get a ride from his brother. Christ, this was humiliating. They’d always had a car. He’d never needed to beg a ride to pick a girl up. Especially to study. He felt about thirteen. Maybe Michael would offer to take them for ice cream, after. Kemmerer, Brigid (2012-08-28). Spark (Elemental Book 2) (p. 210). Kensington Publishing Corp. Kindle Edition.

Turn off your television. Open your windows. Find open spaces. Run to the ocean. 
 “The sea will speak to you if you become quiet enough.” There is magic in these mountains. There are spirits in these old tall pines. These are the places they wrote about. The places they sang for and explored. These are the places that notions arise from when the wind howls. Brothers and Sisters, you are wild and infinite. You are the wolves and the fish. You are these trees and these rivers. So when you sit, sit like a mountain. None of these places will last. These buildings will fail. These trees will fall. And these mountains? Even the mountains will change. So go easy Brothers and Sisters. Be kind. It is a long walk home.

Much ingenious interpretation of story is little more than seeing pleasing patterns in the sparks of a fire, but it does no harm.

عندما تعلم أن أحدًا مقربًا منك على وشك الموت ، هناك نزعة طبيعية لأن ترغب بقضاء أظول وقت ممكن معه

ما تريده وما تحظى به هما عادة أمران مختلفان تمامًا

Magnus, his silver mask pushed back into his hair, intercepted the New York vampires before they could fully depart. Alec heard Magnus pitch his voice low. Alec felt guilty for listening in, but he couldn’t just turn off his Shadowhunter instincts. “How are you, Raphael?” asked Magnus. “Annoyed,” said Raphael. “As usual.” “I’m familiar with the emotion,” said Magnus. “I experience it whenever we speak. What I meant was, I know that you and Ragnor were often in contact.” There was a beat, in which Magnus studied Raphael with an expression of concern, and Raphael regarded Magnus with obvious scorn. “Oh, you’re asking if I am prostrate with grief over the warlock that the Shadowhunters killed?” Alec opened his mouth to point out the evil Shadowhunter Sebastian Morgenstern had killed the warlock Ragnor Fell in the recent war, as he had killed Alec’s own brother. Then he remembered Raphael sitting alone and texting a number saved as RF, and never getting any texts back. Ragnor Fell. Alec felt a sudden and unexpected pang of sympathy for Raphael, recognizing his loneliness. He was at a party surrounded by hundreds of people, and there he sat texting a dead man over and over, knowing he’d never get a message back. There must have been very few people in Raphael’s life he’d ever counted as friends. “I do not like it,” said Raphael, “when Shadowhunters murder my colleagues, but it’s not as if that hasn’t happened before. It happens all the time. It’s their hobby. Thank you for asking. Of course one wishes to break down on a heart-shaped sofa and weep into one’s lace handkerchief, but I am somehow managing to hold it together. After all, I still have a warlock contact.” Magnus inclined his head with a slight smile. “Tessa Gray,” said Raphael. “Very dignified lady. Very well-read. I think you know her?” Magnus made a face at him. “It’s not being a sass-monkey that I object to. That I like. It’s the joyless attitude. One of the chief pleasures of life is mocking others, so occasionally show some glee about doing it. Have some joie de vivre.” “I’m undead,” said Raphael. “What about joie de unvivre?” Raphael eyed him coldly. Magnus gestured his own question aside, his rings and trails of leftover magic leaving a sweep of sparks in the night air, and sighed. “Tessa,” Magnus said with a long exhale. “She is a harbinger of ill news and I will be annoyed with her for dumping this problem in my lap for weeks. At least.” “What problem? Are you in trouble?” asked Raphael. “Nothing I can’t handle,” said Magnus. “Pity,” said Raphael. “I was planning to point and laugh. Well, time to go. I’d say good luck with your dead-body bad-news thing, but . . . I don’t care.” “Take care of yourself, Raphael,” said Magnus. Raphael waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. “I always do.

Those clothes are Susie's,' my father said calmly when he reached him. Buckley looked down at my blackwatch dress that he held in his hand. My father stepped closer, took the dress from my brother, and then, without speaking, he gathered the rest of my clothes, which Buckley had piled on the lawn. As he turned in silence toward the house, hardly breathing, clutching my clothes to him, it sparked. I was the only one to see the colors. Just near Buckley's ears and on the tips of his cheeks and chin he was a little orange somehow, a little red. Why can't I use them?' he asked. It landed in my father's back like a fist. Why can't I use those clothes to stake my tomatoes?' My father turned around. He saw his son standing there, behind him the perfect plot of muddy, churned-up earth spotted with tiny seedlings. 'How can you ask me that question?' You have to choose. It's not fair,' my brother said. Buck?' My father held my clothes against his chest. I watched Buckley flare and light. Behind him was the sun of the goldenrod hedge, twice as tall as it had been at my death. I'm tired of it!' Buckley blared. 'Keesha's dad died and she's okay?' Is Keesha a girl at school?' Yes!' My father was frozen. He could feel the dew that had gathered on his bare ankles and feet, could feel the ground underneath him, cold and moist and stirring with possibility. I'm sorry. When did this happen?' That's not the point, Dad! You don't get it.' Buckley turned around on his heel and started stomping the tender tomato shoots with his foot. Buck, stop!' my father cried. My brother turned. You don't get it, Dad,' he said. I'm sorry,' my father said. These are Susie's clothes and I just... It may not make sense, but they're hers-something she wore.' ... You act like she was yours only!' Tell me what you want to say. What's this about your friend Keesha's dad?' Put the clothes down.' My father laid them gently on the ground. It isn't about Keesha's dad.' Tell me what it is about.' My father was now all immediacy. He went back to the place he had been after his knee surgery, coming up out of the druggie sleep of painkillers to see his then-five-year-old son sitting near him, waiting for his eyes to flicker open so he could say, 'Peek-a-boo, Daddy.' She's dead.' It never ceased to hurt. 'I know that.' But you don't act that way.' Keesha's dad died when she was six. Keesha said she barely even thinks of him.' She will,' my father said. But what about us?' Who?' Us, Dad. Me and Lindsey. Mom left becasue she couldn't take it.' Calm down, Buck,' my father said. He was being as generous as he could as the air from his lungs evaporated out into his chest. Then a little voice in him said, Let go, let go, let go. 'What?' my father said. I didn't say anything.' Let go. Let go. Let go. I'm sorry,' my father said. 'I'm not feeling very well.' His feet had grown unbelievably cold in the damp grass. His chest felt hollow, bugs flying around an excavated cavity. There was an echo in there, and it drummed up into his ears. Let go. My father dropped down to his knees. His arm began to tingle on and off as if it had fallen asleep. Pins and needles up and down. My brother rushed to him. Dad?' Son.' There was a quaver in his voice and a grasping outward toward my brother. I'll get Grandma.' And Buckley ran. My father whispered faintly as he lay on his side with his face twisted in the direction of my old clothes: 'You can never choose. I've loved all three of you.

Alan was delighted. “There are whiles,” said he, “when ye are altogether too canny and Whiggish to be company for a gentleman like me; but there come other whiles when ye show yoursel’ a mettle spark; and it’s then, David, that I love ye like a brother.

I love you, J,” I said. He blinked sleepily. “Love you too.” And in that way that Josh and I had—my oldest nephew, my first real love—we hugged each other, side to side, by the car. While Louie might be the sun, Josh was the moon and the stars. He was my gravity, my tide, my ride or die. He was more like my little brother than my nephew, and in some ways, we had grown up together. I had loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. Loved him from the moment I knew he was a spark of life, and I was going to love him every day of my life.

Ode to Joy Joy, beautiful spark of Divinity, Daughter of Elysium, We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, thy sanctuary! Thy magic binds again What custom strictly divided;* All people become brothers,* Where thy gentle wing abides. Whoever has succeeded in the great attempt, To be a friend's friend, Whoever has won a lovely woman, Add his to the jubilation! Yes, and also whoever has just one soul To call his own in this world! And he who never managed it should slink Weeping from this union! All creatures drink of joy At nature's breasts. All the Just, all the Evil Follow her trail of roses. Kisses she gave us and grapevines, A friend, proven in death. Salaciousness was given to the worm And the cherub stands before God. Gladly, as His suns fly through the heavens' grand plan Go on, brothers, your way, Joyful, like a hero to victory. Be embraced, Millions! This kiss to all the world! Brothers, above the starry canopy There must dwell a loving Father. Are you collapsing, millions? Do you sense the creator, world? Seek him above the starry canopy! Above stars must He dwell.

Homosexuals were misfits. And while I didn’t think that made them bad people—after all, I loved Harry like a brother—I wasn’t ready to be one of them. So I told myself that the spark between Celia and me was just a quirk we had. Which was convincing as long as it remained quirky.

A fire, if it is large enough, is not easily contained. Sparks fly out, and the wind carries them in all directions. Like its brothers, the fire...in Mirusia’s heart spewed forth sparks, and, without her consciously realizing what was happening, they began to ignite that which had no reason to be burned.

The lessons my parents taught are still with me. I keep a tighter leash when raising my kids than my parents did, but I often find myself doing or saying the same things they did. My mom, for instance, was always cheerful when coming in from work; I try to behave the same way when I finish writing for the day. My dad would listen intently when I came to him with a problem, to help me find a way to solve it on my own; I try to do the same with my own kids. At night, while I'm tucking my kids in bed, I ask them to tell me three nice things that each of their siblings did for them that day, in the hopes that it will help them grow as close as Micah, Dana, and I did. And more frequently than I ever would have imagined possible growing up, I find myself telling my children "It's your life", or "No one ever promised that life would be fair", and "What you want and what you get are usually two entirely different things".

Caiden walked back over and placed his hands on her shoulders, concern on his face. "Are you okay? Did he do anything weird to you?" Amelia thought about it for a second. "He put his thing in me." All four men froze. The air around Caiden began to spark and crackle. "He did what?" he asked, his voice sounding odd and strained. "He put his light in my heart, that way, he can find me later," she explained. She looked around confused when the men seemed to slump forward in relief. "What?" she asked. "Nothing, baby." Caiden scooped her up and sat down with her on his lap. "I can't do this. She can never mate." He let out a long breath and cuddled her close. Kyran and Tristan sat back down in their chairs and rested their heads on the table. Kendrick's smile was wicked as he stood. "Makes me eternally grateful I have a brother." Behind her, she felt Caiden laugh. "As if you're any less protective of Keelan than we are of Amelia?

I hurried over to Conrad, walking so fast I kicked up sand behind me. “Hey, I’m gonna get a ride,” I said breathlessly. The blond Red Sox girl looked me up and down. “Hello,” she said. Conrad said, “With who?” I pointed at Cam. “Him.” “You’re not riding with someone you don’t even know,” he said flatly. “I do so know him. He’s Sextus.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sex what?” “Never mind. His name is Cam, he’s studying whales, and you don’t get to decide who I ride home with. I was just letting you know, as a courtesy. I wasn’t asking for your permission.” I started to walk away, but he grabbed my elbow. “I don’t care what he’s studying. It’s not gonna happen,” he said casually, but his grip was tight. “If you want to go, I’ll take you.” I took a deep breath. I had to keep cool. I wasn’t going to let him goad me into being a baby, not in front of all these people. “No, thanks,” I said, trying to walk away again. But he didn’t let go. “I thought you already had a boyfriend?” His tone was mocking, and I knew he’d seen through my lie the night before. I wanted so badly to throw a handful of sand in his face. I tried to twist out of his grip. “Let go of me! That hurts!” He let go immediately, his face red. It didn’t really hurt, but I wanted to embarrass him the way he was embarrassing me. I said loudly, “I’d rather ride with a stranger than with someone who’s been drinking!” “I’ve had one beer,” he snapped. “I weigh a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Wait half an hour and I’ll take you. Stop being such a brat.” I could feel tears starting to spark my eyelids. I looked over my shoulder to see if Cam was watching. He was. “You’re an asshole,” I said. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “And you’re a four-year-old.” As I walked away, I heard the girl ask, “Is she your girlfriend?” I whirled around, and we both said “No!” at the same time. Confused, she said, “Well, is she your little sister?” like I wasn’t standing right there. Her perfume was heavy. It felt like it filled all the air around us, like we were breathing her in. “No, I’m not his little sister.” I hated this girl for being a witness to all this. It was humiliating. And she was pretty, in the same kind of way Taylor was pretty, which somehow made things worse. Conrad said, “Her mom is best friends with my mom.” So that was all I was to him? His mom’s friend’s daughter? I took a deep breath, and without even thinking, I said to the girl, “I’ve known Conrad my whole life. So let me be the one to tell you you’re barking up the wrong tree. Conrad will never love anyone as much as he loves himself, if you know what I mean-“ I lifted up my hand and wiggled my fingers. “Shut up, Belly,” Conrad warned. The tops of his ears were turning bright red. It was a low blow, but I didn’t care. He deserved it. Red Sox girl frowned. “What is she talking about, Conrad?” To her I blurted out, “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not know what the idiom ‘barking up the wrong tree’ means?” Her pretty face twisted. “You little skank,” she hissed. I could feel myself shrinking. I wished I could take it back. I’d never gotten into a fight with a girl before, or with anyone for that matter. Thankfully, Conrad broke in then and pointed to the bonfire. “Belly, go back over there, and wait for me to come get you,” he said harshly. That’s when Jeremiah ambled over. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he asked, smiling in his easy, goofy way. “Your brother is a jerk,” I said. “That’s what’s going on.” Jeremiah put his arm around me. He smelled like beer. “You guys play nice, you hear?” I shrugged out of his hold and said, “I am playing nice. Tell your brother to play nice.” “Wait, are you guys brother and sister too?” the girl asked. Conrad said, “Don’t even think about leaving with that guy.

His fingers went to the buttons of his jacket, and her mouth dried. His buttons were simple cloth and metal affairs, scarcely worth a second thought. And yet as he undid them, she had second thoughts and third thoughts, none of them proper. His gloved fingers were long and graceful, and every button he undid revealed another inch of creamy linen, one that hinted at broad shoulders and strong muscles. He’d not shown her the slightest bit of skin, but the act of unbuttoning his coat sparked indecent thoughts—memories of his arm coming around her, his mouth on hers… He stopped undoing buttons, and she realized he’d only wanted to reach the inside pocket. She sat back in disappointment.

Prometheus, the father of Deucalion and the brother of Atlas. He taught humankind various arts and was even said to have shaped the first man out of clay, endowing him with the spark of life against the wishes of the gods. He challenged the gods again when he stole fire from Olympus and gave it to men to improve the quality of human existence. Rebellion

Aren’t you going to look at it, Verity?” asked Miss Deane. Slowly, I unwrapped it. I saw a small, slim girl with serious eyes and a little pointed face, wearing her second-best dress and posed stiffly beside an artificial rosebush. Standing behind her, rising out of a sort of mist, was a fair-haired young man in a white shirt. There was no doubt as to who it was. It was my half-brother Alexander, and he was smiling.

Look you," Pandora told him in a businesslike tone, "marriage is not on the table." Look you? Look you? Gabriel was simultaneously amused and outraged. Was she really speaking to him as if he were an errand boy? "I've never wanted to marry," Pandora continued. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that. When I was little, I never liked the stories about princesses waiting to be rescued. I never wished on falling stars, or pulled the petals off daisies while reciting 'he loves me, he loves me not.' At my brother's wedding, they handed out slivers of wedding cake to all the unmarried girls and said if we put it under our pillows, we would dream of our future husbands. I ate my cake instead. Every crumb. I've made plans for my life that don't involve becoming anyone's wife." "What plans?" Gabriel asked. How could a girl of her position, with her looks, make plans that didn't include the possibility of marriage? "That's none of your business," she told him smartly. "Understood," Gabriel assured her. "There's just one thing I'd like to ask: What the bloody hell were you doing at the ball in the first place, if you don't want to marry?" "Because I thought it would be only slightly less boring than staying at home." "Anyone as opposed to marriage as you claim to be has no business taking part in the Season." "Not every girl who attends a ball wants to be Cinderella." "If it's grouse season," Gabriel pointed out acidly, "and you're keeping company with a flock of grouse on a grouse-moor, it's a bit disingenuous to ask a sportsman to pretend you're not a grouse." "Is that how men think of it? No wonder I hate balls." Pandora looked scornful. "I'm so sorry for intruding on your happy hunting grounds." "I wasn't wife-hunting," he snapped. "I'm no more interested in marrying than you are." "Then why were you at the ball?" "To see a fireworks display!" After a brief, electric silence, Pandora dropped her head swiftly. He saw her shoulders tremble, and for an alarming moment, he thought she had begun to cry. But then he heard a delicate snorting, snickering sound, and he realized she was... laughing? "Well," she muttered, "it seems you succeeded." Before Gabriel even realized what he was doing, he reached out to lift her chin with his fingers. She struggled to hold back her amusement, but it slipped out nonetheless. Droll, sneaky laughter, punctuated with vole-like squeaks, while sparks danced in her blue eyes like shy emerging stars. Her grin made him lightheaded. Damn it.

Thomas heard the stamping of hooves of horses, a shout of warning, and the Institute carriage came crashing through the Portal barely remaining on all four of its wheels as it came. Balios and Xanthos looked very pleased with themselves as the carriage spun in midair and landed, with a jarring thud, at the foot of the steps. Magnus Bane was in the driver’s seat, wearing a dramatic white opera scarf and holding the reins in his right hand. He looked even more pleased with himself than the horses. “I wondered if it was possible to ride a carriage through a Portal,” he said, jumping down from the seat. “As it turns out, it is. Delightful.” The carriage doors opened, and rather unsteadily, Will, Lucie, and a boy Thomas didn’t know clambered out. Lucie waved at Thomas before leaning against the side of the carriage; she was looking rather green about the gills. Will went around the carriage to unstrap the luggage, while the unfamiliar boy—tall and slender, with straight black hair and a pretty face—put a hand on Lucie’s shoulder. Which was surprising—it was an intimate gesture, one that would be considered impolite unless the boy and girl in question were friends or relatives, or had an understanding between them. It seemed, however, unlikely that Lucie could have an understanding with someone Thomas had never seen before. He rather bristled at the thought, in an older-brother way—James didn’t seem to be here, so someone had to do the bristling for him. “I told you it would work!” Will cried in Magnus’s direction. Magnus was busy magicking the unfastened baggage to the top of the steps, blue sparks darting like fireflies from his gloved fingertips. “We should have done that on the way out!” “You did not say it would work,” Magnus said. “You said, as I recall, ‘By the Angel, he’s going to kill us all.’ “Never,” said Will. “My faith in you is unshakable, Magnus. Which is good,” he added, rocking back and forth a little, “because the rest of me feels quite shaken indeed.

A memory rises: Etienne was in a field east of the city with his brother. It was the summer when fireflies showed up in Saint-Malo, and their father was very excited, building long-handled nets for the boys and giving them jars with wire to fasten over the tops, and Etienne and Henri raced through the tall grass as the fireflies floated away from them, illuming on and off, always seeming to rise just beyond their reach, as if the earth were smoldering and these were sparks that their footfalls had prodded free.

mesmerizing -- gold, red, orange, black -- the colors of the dragons that had promised so much: prosperity, love, good health, a second chance, a new start. The fire began to pop, the small sounds lost in the constant boom of firecrackers going off in the streets of San Francisco in celebration of the Chinese New Year. No one would notice another noise, another spark of light, until it was too late. In the confusion of the smoke and the crowds, the dragons and the box they guarded would disappear. No one would ever know what had really happened. The flame reached the end of the gasoline-soaked rope and suddenly burst forth in a flash of intense, deadly heat. More explosions followed as the fire caught the cardboard boxes holding precious inventory and jumped toward the basement ceiling. A questioning cry came from somewhere, followed by the sound of footsteps running down the halls of the building that had once been their sanctuary, their dream for the future, where the treasures of the past were turned into cold, hard cash. The cost of betrayal would be high. They would be brothers no more. But then, their ties had never been of blood, only of friendship --

Odin and his brothers made the soil from Ymir’s flesh. Ymir’s bones they piled up into mountains and cliffs. Our rocks and pebbles, the sand and gravel you see: these were Ymir’s teeth, and the fragments of bones that were broken and crushed by Odin and Vili and Ve in their battle with Ymir. The seas that girdle the worlds: these were Ymir’s blood and his sweat. Look up into the sky: you are looking at the inside of Ymir’s skull. The stars you see at night, the planets, all the comets and the shooting stars, these are the sparks that flew from the fires of Muspell. And the clouds you see by day? These were once Ymir’s brains, and who knows what thoughts they are thinking, even now.

They pulled apart when Keefe shouted, “YOU GUYS HAVE TO SEE THIS!” They ran to the main room and found Keefe standing under the skylight, holding up Mr. Snuggles like it was a baby lion about to be made king. The sparkly red dragon twinkled almost as much as Keefe’s eyes as he said, “I went in to check on our boy and found him cuddling with this!” “Isn’t that the same dragon Fitz brought to your house that one time?” Dex asked Sophie. “WHAT?” Keefe shouted. “YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” “Mr. Snuggles wasn’t my secret to share,” Sophie said. “IT’S NAME IS MR. SNUGGLES?! That is . . . . I can’t even . . .” Keefe ran back to Fitz’s room shouting, “ARE YOU MISSING YOUR SNUGGLE BUDDY?!” “Fitz is going to die of embarrassment, you know that, right?” Biana asked. “I didn’t know he had a stuffed dragon,” Della said. “I wonder where he got it.” “Elwin gave it to him when Alden was sick,” Sophie explained. “And Elwin named him.” “Wow, you really know my brother super well, don’t you?” Biana asked. Sophie’s cheeks flushed. “Well . . . we have to do a lot of trust exercises.” Dex sighed. Down the hall, Sophie could hear Keefe laughing hysterically. “I better make sure Fitz is still talking to me,” she said. “You should be worried about me,” Keefe told her, stalking back into the room. “You deprived me of the Snuggles—that cannot be forgiven! Actually it can, but you have to convince Fitz to call himself Lord of the Snuggles from now on.” Sophie laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.” Fitz’s door was closed, so she knocked before going in. “I told you, Mr. Snuggles’s visiting hours are over,” he called through the door. “What about your visiting hours?” she asked. “Oh! I thought you were Keefe.” Sophie pushed open the door. “I get that a lot.” “YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY!” Keefe shouted from the main room. Fitz had Mr. Snuggles perched on his lap, and the sparkly dragon looked almost defiant. Like, Yeah, I’m cute and glittery—what’s it to you? “So . . . I guess the secret’s out,” she said. “Looks like it. You’d think almost dying would earn me a little slack.” “NOT WHEN YOU’RE CUDDLING WITH A GLITTERY DRAGON, DUDE!” Keefe shouted.

Plouton’s eyes narrowed coldly, and he grinned because he counted the result of this conversation as a tremendous and absolute victory over his older brother. Abbadon never saw his younger brother as competition or even as an enemy, but Plouton hated his brother from the bottom of his heart. He was controlled and possessed by his own negative thoughts, that his father, King Apollyon, loved and trusted Abbadon more and that he disliked and rejected him. Plouton was jealous… very jealous. He raised his eyebrows and opened his silvery eyes as wide as they could go. Diabolic sparkles appeared in his eyes. He grinned again when he thought about the Titans, the cave, the iron chains, the vultures, and the unforgiving ocean at the Rock of Mukane. (Maradonia and the Gold of Ophir)

Wow, Angela and Holly,” Ash said, sounding awed. “Hot.” “Excuse me, what is wrong with you?” Kami demanded. “Other people’s sexuality is not your spectator sport.” Ash paused. “Of course,” he said. “But—” “No!” Kami exclaimed. “No buts. That’s my best friend you’re talking about. Your first reaction should not be ‘Hot.’ ” “It’s not an insult,” Ash protested. “Oh, okay,” Kami said. “In that case, you’re going to give me a minute. I’m picturing you and Jared. Naked. Entwined.” There was a pause. Then Jared said, “He is probably my half brother, you know.” “I don’t care,” Kami informed him. “All you are to me are sex objects that I choose to imagine bashing together at random. Oh, there you go again, look at that, nothing but Lynburn skin as far as the mind’s eye can see. Masculine groans fill the air, husky and—” “Stop it,” Ash said in a faint voice. “That isn’t fair.” Behind them, Jared was laughing. Kami glanced back at him and caught his eye: for once, it made her smile, as if amusement could still travel back and forth like a spark between them. “Ash is right, this is totally unfair,” Jared told her. “If you insist on this—” “Oh, I do,” Kami assured him. “Then I insist on hooking up with Rusty instead of Ash. It’s the least you can do.” “Ugh,” Ash protested. “You guys, stop.” “She’s making a point,” Jared said blandly. “I recognize her right to do that. But considering the alternative, I want Rusty.” Ash gave this some thought. “Okay, I’ll have Rusty too.” The sound of the door opening behind them made them all look up the stairs to where Rusty stood, with one eyebrow raised. “Don’t fight, boys,” he remarked mildly. “There’s plenty of Rusty to go around.

Through their wickedness we were divided amongst ourselves; and the better to keep their thrones and be at ease, they armed the Druze to fight the Arab, and stirred up the Shiite to attack the Sunnite, and encouraged the Kurdish to butcher the Bedouin, and cheered the Mohammedan to dispute with the Christian. Until when shall a brother continue killing his own brother upon his mother's bosom? Until when shall the Cross be kept apart from the Crescent before the eyes of God? Oh Liberty, hear us, and speak in behalf of but one individual, for a great fire is started with a small spark. Oh Liberty, awaken but one heart with the rustling of thy wings, for from one cloud alone comes the lightning which illuminates the pits of the valleys and the tops of the mountains. Disperse with thy power these black clouds and descend like thunder and destroy the thrones that were built upon the bones and skulls of our ancestors.

February 13 MORNING “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God.” — 1 John 3:1, 2 BEHOLD, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us.” Consider who we were, and what we feel ourselves to be even now when corruption is powerful in us, and you will wonder at our adoption. Yet we are called “the sons of God.” What a high relationship is that of a son, and what privileges it brings! What care and tenderness the son expects from his father, and what love the father feels towards the son! But all that, and more than that, we now have through Christ. As for the temporary drawback of suffering with the elder brother, this we accept as an honour: “Therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not.” We are content to be unknown with Him in His humiliation, for we are to be exalted with Him. “Beloved, now are we the sons of God.” That is easy to read, but it is not so easy to feel. How is it with your heart this morning? Are you in the lowest depths of sorrow? Does corruption rise within your spirit, and grace seem like a poor spark trampled under foot? Does your faith almost fail you? Fear not, it is neither your graces nor feelings on which you are to live: you must live simply by faith on Christ. With all these things against us, now — in the very depths of our sorrow, wherever we may be — now, as much in the valley as on the mountain, “Beloved, now are we the sons of God.” “Ah, but,” you say, “see how I am arrayed! my graces are not bright; my righteousness does not shine with apparent glory.” But read the next: “It doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him.” The Holy Spirit shall purify our minds, and divine power shall refine our bodies, then shall we see Him as He is.

We were happy and powerful. But the Europeans came to our country; it was from them that I learned the accomplishments which you appeared to be surprised at my possessing. Our principal acquaintance among the Europeans was a Spanish captain; he promised my father territories far greater than those he now ruled over, treasure, and white women. My father believed him, and gathering his family together, followed him. Brother, he sold us as slaves!” The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to restrain himself; his eyes shot forth sparks of fire; and without seeming to know what he did, he broke in his powerful grasp a fancy medlar-tree that stood beside him. “The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master, and his son toiled as a slave in the furrows of St. Domingo. They tore the young lion from his father that they might the more easily tame him; they separated the wife from the husband, and the little children from the mother who nursed them, and from the father who used to bathe them in the torrents of their native land. In their place they found cruel masters and a sleeping place shared with the dogs!

I promised to show you a secret cafeteria, didn’t I? Perfect way to end your Foxfire slumber party!” It felt a little wrong to go hunting for desserts while Fitz and Biana were trying to figure out how to live with their murdering brother. But . . . butterblasts did sound pretty good. “Hang on—what are you wearing?” Keefe asked as she threw back her covers, revealing the sparkly slogans on her tunic. “Is that a Bangs Boy reference? Because you know I haven’t let him into the Foster Fan Club, right?” Sophie rolled her eyes. “It’s an inside joke—and Linh made this for me.” “Yeah, well, it still breaks the fan club rules. As penance, I’m getting you a tunic that says, Empaths Give Me All the Feels, and I expect to see you wear it twice as often as Bangs Boy’s.” Ro snorted. “Subtle.” “Ridiculous,” Sophie corrected. “I try,” Keefe told them as Sophie took his hand and let him pull her slowly to her feet. “You good?” he asked when she wobbled from the head rush. No. But she wasn’t going to admit that, so she told him, “I’m up.” “You are. It’s pretty amazing.” “Isn’t it?” Elwin asked as he emerged from his office and helped Sophie strap her arm into a sling. “Bring me back some butterblasts, okay?” “Done!” Keefe told him, bending his elbow to offer Sophie his arm, and after one brief second, she let him lead her toward the door. “TO THE SECRET CAFETERIA!

This love of our neighbour is the only door out of the dungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks, and rubbing phosphorescences out of the walls, and blowing our own breath in our own nostrils, instead of issuing to the fair sunlight of God, the sweet winds of the universe. The man thinks his consciousness is himself; whereas his life consisteth in the inbreathing of God, and the consciousness of the universe of truth. To have himself, to know himself, to enjoy himself, he calls life; whereas, if he would forget himself, tenfold would be his life in God and his neighbours. The region of man's life is a spiritual region. God, his friends, his neighbours, his brothers all, is the wide world in which alone his spirit can find room. Himself is his dungeon. If he feels it not now, he will yet feel it one day—feel it as a living soul would feel being prisoned in a dead body, wrapped in sevenfold cerements, and buried in a stone-ribbed vault within the last ripple of the sound of the chanting people in the church above. His life is not in knowing that he lives, but in loving all forms of life. He is made for the All, for God, who is the All, is his life. And the essential joy of his life lies abroad in the liberty of the All. His delights, like those of the Ideal Wisdom, are with the sons of men. His health is in the body of which the Son of Man is the head. The whole region of life is open to him—nay, he must live in it or perish.

When the Kingdom Comes Your mother is not your mother, she is something else, a bird nesting in the heart of a hollowed out tree, a saint whose skin is cool and soft as apple-flesh, the will of God. And your brothers are not your brothers, they are the ash that is all of us, scattered in its periphery, unfortunate multitude. Your sister, your lover, your friend none of these are yours. The stone belongs only to the river which bled it smooth. What you call your face, that canvas of mercy which smiles with grief at even November's drizzle and chill, is the face of someone else, someone to come, good tidings, the Christ child in a stable, cooing as Mary tends such tiny hands. It is her face that seems so familiar, the answer to everything whetting the tip of your tongue. The hairs on your head, they belong only to themselves, and when they are done with such a manner of belonging, they offer themselves to stars which outnumber them galacticly. Everything you think is yours is not. A father had two sons, and one of them was heavy with desire. Friend—what's lost is found, forever. You will wear the very best robe. You will wear rings on every finger of each hand. And they are not your hands. They are God's hands and She formed you with them Herself turning tricks with clay until finally the sand sang alleluia, and it was good. These hands, She will hold like treasure all the way to Paradise, where under the glimmer of the moon and the spark of light that fuels every prayer, She keeps her family. And we will all be there. And we will all be.

Kell skimmed the spell and frowned. “An eternal flame?” Rhy absently plucked one of the lin from the floor and shrugged. “First thing I grabbed.” He tried to sound as if he didn’t care about the stupid spell, but his throat was tight, his eyes burning. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, skipping the coin across the ground as if it were a pebble on water. “I can’t make it work.” Kell shifted his weight, lips moving silently as he read over the priest’s scrawl. He held his hands above the paper, palms cupped as if cradling a flame that wasn’t even there yet, and began to recite the spell. When Rhy had tried, the words had fallen out like rocks, but on Kell’s lips, they were poetry, smooth and sibilant. The air around them warmed instantly, steam rising from the penned lines on the scroll before the ink drew in and up into a bead of oil, and lit. The flame hovered in the air between Kell’s hands, brilliant and white. He made it look so easy, and Rhy felt a flash of anger toward his brother, hot as a spark—but just as brief. It wasn’t Kell’s fault Rhy couldn’t do magic. Rhy started to rise when Kell caught his cuff. He guided Rhy’s hands to either side of the spell, pulling the prince into the fold of his magic. Warmth tickled Rhy’s palms, and he was torn between delight at the power and knowledge that it wasn’t his. “It isn’t right,” he murmured. “I’m the crown prince, the heir of Maxim Maresh. I should be able to light a blasted candle.” Kell chewed his lip—Mother never chided him for the habit—and then said, “There are different kinds of power.” “I would rather have magic than a crown,” sulked Rhy. Kell studied the small white flame between them. “A crown is a sort of magic, if you think about it. A magician rules an element. A king rules an empire.” “Only if the king is strong enough.” Kell looked up, then. “You’re going to be a good king, if you don’t get yourself killed first.” Rhy blew out a breath, shuddering the flame. “How do you know?” At that, Kell smiled. It was a rare thing, and Rhy wanted to hold fast to it—he was the only one who could make his brother smile, and he wore it like a badge—but then Kell said, “Magic,” and Rhy wanted to slug him instead. “You’re an arse,” he muttered

Then call me Pierce because we're friends." He bent in close in the turn, eyes gleaming as they dropped to her lips. "Intimate friends, if I get my wish." This time there was no mistaking his meaning. But he was so practiced and smooth that she couldn't help herself-she laughed. When that made him frown, she tried to suppress her amusement, but that only made her laugh harder. "What's so funny?" he muttered. "I'm sorry," she said, swallowing her amusement. "It's just that I've heard my brothers make such insinuations to women in that tone of voice for years, but I've never been on the receiving end." Pierce's smile would rival that of Casanova. "I don't know why not," he said in a lazy drawl. His gaze raked her appreciatively as they swirled about the room. "Tonight, in that purple gown, you look particularly fetching. The color suits you." "Thank you." Minerva had been trying to get her to stop wearing browns and oranges for years, but Celia had always pooh-poohed her sister's opinions. It was only after Virginia had said exactly the same thing last month that she'd begun to think she should listen. And to order new gowns accordingly. "You're a lovely woman with the figure of a Venus and a mouth that could make a man-" "You can stop now." Her amusement vanished. She'd be flattered if he meant a single word, but clearly this was just a game to him. "I don't need the full rogue treatment, I assure you." Interest sparked in his eyes. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I might be sincere?" "Only if you're sincerely trying to seduce me." He cast her a blatantly carnal glance as he held her tighter. "Well, of course I'm trying to seduce you. What else would I be doing?" She pitched her voice over the music. "I'm a respectable woman, you know." "What has that got to do with anything?" She arched an eyebrow at him as they moved in consort. "Even a respectable woman might be tempted into, say, slipping out with a gentleman for a walk in the moonlit courtyard. And if said gentleman should happen to steal a kiss or two-" "Lord Devonmont!" "Fine." He smiled ruefully. "Bu you can't blame me for trying. You do look ravishing this evening." "There you go again," she said, exasperated. "Can you never talk to a woman as if she's a normal person?" "How dull that would be." When she frowned, he shook his head. "Very well. What scintillating topics of conversation did you have in mind?

You break her heart, and you’ll have to deal with me and her three brothers, and if you survive that, Her Grace will ensure your social ruin unto the nineteenth generation. I remind you, all of my boys are crack shots and more than competent with a sword.” “It is not my intention to break her heart.” “Oh, it’s never our intention.” His Grace’s brows drew down in thought, and he was once again the affable paterfamilias. “Maggie is different. I hope that’s from being the oldest daughter, but her unfortunate origins are too obvious a factor to be dismissed. She’s in want of… dreams, I think. My other girls have dreams. Sophie dreamed of her own family, Jenny loves to paint, Louisa has her literary scribbling, and Evie must racket about the property as her brothers used to, but Maggie has never been a dreamer. Not about her first pony nor her first waltz nor her first… beau.” Nor her first lover. The words hung unspoken in the air while the fire crackled and hissed and a log fell amid a shower of sparks. It wasn’t what Ben would have expected any papa to say of his daughter, but then, marrying into a family meant details like this would be shared—Esther Windham misplaced her everyday jewels, and Percy thought his daughters should be entitled to dream. In a different way, it felt as if Ben were still lurking in doorways and climbing through windows, but this window was called marriage, and Maggie was trying to lock it shut with Ben on the outside. “I’m not sure Maggie wants to marry me.” It was as close as he’d come to touching on the circumstances of the betrothal. His Grace regarded him for a long moment. “I’m her papa, but I was a young man once, Hazelton. Maggie is only a bit younger than Devlin and a few months older than Bart would have been. When I married, I had no idea either of my two oldest progeny existed. I’d no sooner started filling my nursery when—before my heir was out of dresses—both women came forward, hurling accusations and threats. If my marriage can survive that onslaught, surely you can overcome a little stubbornness in my daughter?” It was, again, an insight into the Windham family Ben gained only because he was engaged to marry Maggie. Such confidences prompted a rare inclination toward direct speech. “I think Maggie’s dream is to be left alone. If she jilts me, she’ll have one more excuse to retire from life, to hide and tell herself she’s content.” “Content.” His Grace spat the word. “Bother content. Content is milk toast and pap when life is supposed to be a banquet. Make Maggie’s dreams come true, young Hazelton, and show her contentment is shoddy goods compared to happiness.” “You make it sound simple.” “We’re speaking of women and that particular subspecies of the genre referred to as wives. It is simple—devote yourself to her happiness, and you will be rewarded tenfold. I do not, however, say the undertaking will ever be easy.

AJ huffed a heavy sigh. “I’m not good at this.” She sat on the edge of the bed with her hands tucked under her legs. “Good at what?” “This…” he motioned between them “…this relationship stuff. I should care enough to ask you more about your past, the blood thing, the ridiculous profession you’ve chosen, the reason why you’re living with your brother … but I’m too fucking selfish. I can barely deal with my own pathetic life, I just—” She shook her head. “It’s fine. I have nothing to tell.” His head jerked back a fraction as his eyelids fluttered with rapid blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?” Jillian lifted a single shoulder. “You act like I’m on a cliff’s edge just waiting, begging you to ask me about my past and my ‘issues,’ but I’m not. The fact that you don’t ask me about it is why this…” she mimicked his motion between them “…relationship works.” He nodded with an absent stare. She’d gone too far. It was a slippery balance between too much and not enough. It’s human nature to desire what’s perceived as the unattainable. Was she making her past seem too unattainable? “Don’t.” AJ’s gaze snapped to hers. “Don’t what?” “I was simply stating a fact. Don’t interpret it as a game. I’m not playing hard to get with my emotions. It’s not a trap.” He rested his hands on his hips and stared at his feet. “It’s a gift, AJ. You will never have to be my gallant knight on his trusty steed, drawing your sword to defend my honor. I will never gawk at sparkly diamonds in the jewelry store window or ask you where you see our relationship going.” “You sound callous, but I know you’re not. I’ve experienced your compassion.” “That’s a gift too. I’ve never been compassionate toward you with an ulterior motive. I’m not callous. I’m strong. It takes a lot of strength to give unconditionally because the ego is a savage, demanding beast.” He narrowed his eyes a bit. “So nothing … you don’t want anything from me in return.” Jillian smirked, prowling toward him. “I’m compassionate, not a saint.” She slid her hands under his shirt, tracing the definition of each firm plane of muscle. He quirked a brow. “So you want me for my body?” A provocative smirk stole her lips as she pushed up his shirt and teased her teeth over his skin. “I think we both know it’s not for your stellar personality.” “You’re such a bitch,” he growled, grabbing her ass and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed. “But an honest bitch.

Jace’s eyes sparked, but he said calmly, “Not at all. The Silent Brothers can help her retrieve her memories.” “You hate the Silent Brothers,” protested Isabelle. “I don’t hate them,” said Jace candidly. “I’m afraid of them. It’s not the same thing.” “I thought you said they were librarians,” said Clary. “They are librarians.” Simon whistled. “Those must be some killer late fees.

Cage gestured to my running leg. “Testing a new leg?” I shook my head. “Underwear.” His brow wrinkled and the guys behind him inched a bit closer, ears perked. “What?” Cage asked. “My favorite underwear has been discontinued. I’m trying a new brand and the best way to test them out is to go for a jog. I want to know before I buy ten pairs if they’re going to ride up on me. I’m not a thong girl. I don’t like anything shoved up my ass.” His cheeks turned red while taking a hard swallow. The fishing crew tried and failed to hide their chuckling. One of the guys slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll meet you out front.” He cleared his throat. “Our condolences on the ass news.” That sparked a new round of laughter as the guys piled onto the elevator. When the doors shut, Cage pursed his lips and sighed. “Thanks for that.” I shrugged. “What?” “What …” It’s possible his intention was to be serious or maybe upset, but he couldn’t finish his thought without rubbing his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “You don’t like ‘anything shoved up your ass.’ Really, Lake?” Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he shook his head. “So you’re big into fishing, huh?” “Don’t change the subject.” He narrowed his eyes at me. Too bad he still couldn’t keep a straight face. It would have given his case a lot more merit. Those were favorite moments of mine, when he was ninety percent sure my actions were an embarrassing side effect of my Sahara Desert humor, yet still ten percent holy-shit-she’s-serious. I loved that ten percent. I worked my ass off for that ten percent. “I’m sorry, what was the subject? Oh yeah, things I don’t like in my crack. Sounds like a Jeopardy category or a Family Feud survey. ‘Name something Lake Jones does not like up her crack. Underwear. Survey says? Ding ding ding … ninety-four people surveyed said underwear, the other six said cock. And I do believe those six lascivious idiots are downstairs waiting for you.” Cage observed me; it was never just a stare or a lingering look. His eyes narrowed a fraction, but never lost their sparkle. The wetting of his lips was always followed by biting them together like he refused to speak until he’d figured me out. And just before he spoke, his dimples surrendered to his impending grin. “I’m going to text you an address. Meet me there in three hours.” “What if I haven’t sorted through this underwear situation by then?” My head tilted to the side as my poker face slipped a bit, revealing my own impending grin. “Hmm …” He pulled me to him, his hands easing into the back of my running shorts. “Don’t fret over it,” he whispered before sucking my earlobe into his mouth. My lips parted, and eyes closed, as I held onto his biceps to keep my knees from buckling. “Panties are optional.” Three words and my knees buckled. Thankfully—not really thankful at all—he fisted the back of my new panties and yanked up. My hero? No. The wedgie was underway a few seconds before my knees gave out. I gasped. He smirked. “I think you should consider getting used to the idea—the feeling—of something in that sexy ass of yours.” Not much left me speechless, but my first non-brother-male-induced wedgie left me with cow eyes and a numb tongue. He winked just before the elevator doors shut.