Swallowing My Pride Quotes

But I've swallowed my pride before, that's for sure. I'm practically lined with my mistakes on the inside like a bad-wallpapered bathroom.

You want to know how I got these scars. I swallowed my pride and then it crawled its way out of my mouth.

I can't - Kestrel, you must understand that I would never claim you. Calling you a prize - my prize - it was only words. But it worked. Cheat won't harm you, I swear that he won't, but you must...hide yourself a little. Help a little. Just tell us how much time we have before the battle. Give him a reason to decide you're not better off dead. Swallow your pride." "Maybe it's not as easy for me as it is for you." He wheeled on her. "It's not easy for me," "You know that it's not. What do you think I have had to swallow these past ten years? What do you think I have had to do to survive?" "Truly," she said, "I haven't the faintest interest. You may tell your sad story to someone else." He flinched as if slapped. His voice came low: "You can make people feel so small.

Isabella.” I forced a swallow down my throat. “Yes?” “Shut up and let me kiss you.

I won't just be swallowing my pride; I'll be choking on it.

Food won't go down when you know your mother didn't want you, never liked to feed you, always hated you in her rooms. You were wrong to clutch and swallow and move your mouth. You must not be flushed, layered in fat or ripe from meat or she will despise your sight. Your skeleton cries, "I make no demands, I am ashamed of my needs, I am unworthy. I'm aware of those more deserving, those with prior and urgent claims to food." Skeleton says, "My safety is in slightness, my pride is denial. My victory is no gluttony, no guilt.

This connection had the potential to be too special to ruin it with the hurt of misfired romantic intentions. And while half of me wanted to tear his shirt off with my teeth, I also wanted him to be in my life for the duration. I didn't want him to be the one I avoided because he'd hurt me. If I was just his friend, then I would still be blessed. If it meant swallowing my pride and being his shoulder when he got hurt, or being the one he ranted at when he was angry, I was prepared to do it with dignity.

I didn't want him to be the one I avoided because he'd hurt me. If I was just his friend, then I would still be blessed. If that meant swallowing my pride and being his shoulder when he got hurt, or being the one he ranted at when he was angry; I was prepared to do it and to do it with dignity.

Peter’s Diary Entry: But my eyes were opened when I saw a mother who loved her child so much that she would grovel at the feet of a man she had never met [who] … compared her to a common dog. She was willing to do all that just to save her little girl. In her selfless humility, in her willingness to swallow every ounce of pride for the sake of love, I saw a strength and power like I had never seen before. Light poured from her as she looked up at Jesus while slumping on the ground, and her face shone like the sun …

I lift his chin with my fingertip. "I'm trying to tell you that if you keep following the good impulses, no matter how insignificant they might seem, I won't let you down like the others. I'll come back to you." I bite my tongue, careful not to show all of my hand. He can't know I've witnessed our future, only that I'm keeping a tally of his past. Morpheus laughs. "Come back to me?" "Someday." "Perhaps I won't want you then. Perhaps I'll tire of waiting." I swallow my pride. "Then it will be my turn to win YOU. I'm up for the challenge." -Unhinged, pg 353

Love, he has abandoned me, do with me as you will. Love, he left - unceremoniously, why must I love him still? The best of me I gave to him - the years, the days, the hours. Precious little, in turn he'd given, like dew to a wilting flower. Love, he sheared away tenderly, my beauty, my strength, my mind, the gifts that were bestowed to me - were swallowed in his pride. Love, has he forgotten me? Please tell me what you've heard, I guard his memory jealously - with him I'd place my worth.

I have never been So insulted in all my life I could swallow the seas To wash down all this pride First you run like a fool Just to be at my side And now you run like a fool But you just run to hide.

Good things come to those who ate. I’m going to wait to eat. I just got done swallowing my pride, and I’ll be full for the foreseeable future.

Swallow every drop. That’s it.” His fingers tangled in my hair. “You look so pretty on your knees with your mouth full of my cum.

Yes, you right, more respectful". She pats me on the cheek. "I raise you so well". Hysteria rises from deep in my stomach and I have to swallow it. Trust Ma to take pride in my etiquette when I've just shown her my date, whom I've killed, in the trunk of my car.

Miss Taverner took the whip and reins in her hands, and mounted into the driving-seat, scorning assistance. "Take your orders from Miss Taverner, Henry," said the Earl, getting up beside his ward. "Me Lord, you are never going to let a female drive us?" said Henry almost tearfully. "What about my pride?" "Swallow it, Henry," replied the Earl amicably.

The words hurt my throat a little – probably because I was swallowing my pride, and it didn’t taste so great.

You aren't like your mom." "I am.But I don't want to be like that anymore,I want what I want." He turns to me again,his face anxious. "I told my father's friends that I'm studying at Berkeley next year.It worked.He's really,really angry with me,but it worked.You told me to go for his pride.You were right." "So." I'm cautious,hardly daring to believe. "You're moving to California?" "I have to." "Right." I swallow hard. "Because of your mom." "Because of you. I'll only be a twenty-minute train ride from your school,and I'll make the commute to see you every night.I'd take a commute ten times that just to be with you every night." His words are too perfect.It must be a misunderstanding,surely I'm misunderstanding- "You're the most incredible girl I've ever known.You're gorgeous and smart, and you make my laugh like no one else can.And I can talk to you. And I know after all this I don't deserve you,but what I'm trying to say is that I love you,Anna.Very much." I'm holding my breath.I can't talk,but my eyes are filling with tears. He takes it the wrong way. "Oh God.And I've mucked things up again,haven't I? I didn't mean to attack you like this.I mean I did but...all right." His voice cracks. "I'll leave.Or you can go down first,and then I'll come down,and I promise I'll never bother you again-" He starts to stand,but I grab his arm. "No!" His body freezes. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I never mean to hurt you." I trail my fingers across his cheek. He stays perfectly still for me. "Please stop apologizing,Etienne." "Say my name again," he whispers. I close my eyes and lean forward. "Etienne." He takes my hands into his.Those pefect hands,that fit mine just so. "Anna?" Our foreheads touch. "Yes?" "Will you please tell me you love me? I'm dying here." And then we're laughing.And them I'm in his arms,and we're kissing,at first quickly-to make up for lost time-and then slowly,because we have all the time in the world.And his lips are soft and honey sweet,and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way I taste,too. And in between kisses,I tell him I love him. Again and again and again.

The sun rises bright and beautiful as if it feels no pain. It must not see, it must not hear, it can't possibly or it would not be able to overcome so defiantly. My bed creaks and whines when I leave it behind. I don't know why it tries so hard to hold onto me but yet I continue to try and overcome. I put on my shirt, my pants that fit me, find my socks and glue my heel back to my boot. My gloves are lost, my coat is torn but my scarf still keeps me warm and so I continue to try and overcome. Work has no pride, no place for me but I have no other place to be. My broken dreams continue to rise, my hopes continue to fade but still I try to overcome. A broken window and a gas tank on E, it's not Friday so I have to walk each day for at least another three. And so I walk while the world cries and pleas and tries to swallow me but still I continue and try to overcome. My lock on my door only turns halfway, but I don't have anything to steal anyway. My fridge is bare but my cabinet still holds three so I continue to try and overcome. The news haunts me, the weather threatens to rain down on me but another day has gone by. And I have overcome, I have overcome … I have overcome - the sun has nothing on me.

I still wake longing for your touch Skin open wound raw because I was told that's the only way to heal. I couldn't tame you you weren't meant for domestication meant to roam free but I still remember the first time you said "I love you" a whisper barely audible afraid of choking on your words or mine you preferred me voiceless blank stare submissive swallowing back years of lost time waiting for you to change.

But there is an unbounded pleasure to be had in the possession of a young, newly blossoming soul! It is like a flower, from which the best aroma evaporates when meeting the first ray of the sun; you must pluck it at that minute, breathing it in until you’re satisfied, and then throw it onto the road: perhaps someone will pick it up! I feel this insatiable greed, which swallows everything it meets on its way. I look at the suffering and joy of others only in their relation to me, as though it is food that supports the strength of my soul. I myself am not capable of going mad under the influence of passion. My ambition is stifled by circumstances, but it has manifested itself in another way, for ambition is nothing other than a thirst for power, and my best pleasure is to subject everyone around me to my will, to arouse feelings of love, devotion and fear of me—is this not the first sign and the greatest triumph of power? Being someone’s reason for suffering while not being in any position to claim the right—isn’t this the sweetest nourishment for our pride? And what is happiness? Sated pride. If I considered myself to be better, more powerful than everyone in the world, I would be happy. If everyone loved me, I would find endless sources of love within myself. Evil spawns evil. The first experience of torture gives an understanding of the pleasure in tormenting others. An evil idea cannot enter a person’s head without his wanting to bring it into reality: ideas are organic creations, someone once said. Their birth gives them form immediately, and this form is an action. The person in whom most ideas are born is the person who acts most. Hence a genius, riveted to his office desk, must die or lose his mind, just as a man with a powerful build who has a sedentary life and modest behavior will die from an apoplectic fit. Passions are nothing other than the first developments of an idea: they are a characteristic of the heart’s youth, and whoever thinks to worry about them his whole life long is a fool: many calm rivers begin with a noisy waterfall, but not one of them jumps and froths until the very sea. And this calm is often the sign of great, though hidden, strength. The fullness and depth of both feeling and thought will not tolerate violent upsurges. The soul, suffering and taking pleasure, takes strict account of everything and is always convinced that this is how things should be. It knows that without storms, the constant sultriness of the sun would wither it. It is infused with its own life—it fosters and punishes itself, like a child. And it is only in this higher state of self-knowledge that a person can estimate the value of divine justice.

Screw finishing my manuscript; what I wanted most now was for the earth to yawn and swallow me whole.

To forgive somebody is to say one way or another, "You have done something unspeakable, and by all rights I should call it quits between us. Both my pride and my principles demand no less. However, although I make no guarantees that I will be able to forget what you've done, and though we may both carry the scars for life, I refuse to let it stand between us. I still want you for my friend." To accept forgiveness means to admit that you've done something unspeakable that needs to be forgiven, and thus both parties must swallow the same thing: their pride.

I’ve experienced a lot in my life. I’ve been in bloody battles. I’ve been with friends who were killed. I’ve seen terrible things done to man and beast, but I’ve never felt afraid. “I’ve been troubled. I’ve also been uneasy and tense. I’ve been in mortal danger, but I’ve never experienced that cold-sweat kind of fear, the kind that eats a man alive, brings him to his knees, and makes him beg. In fact, I always prided myself on being above that. I thought that I’d suffered through and seen so much that nothing could scare me anymore. That nothing could bring me to that point.” He brushed a brief kiss on my neck. “I was wrong. When I found you and saw that…that thing trying to kill you, I was enraged. I destroyed it without hesitation.” “The Kappa were terrifying.” “I wasn’t afraid of the Kappa. I was afraid…that I’d lost you. I felt an unquenchable, gut-wrenching, corrosive fear. It was unbearable. The most agonizing part was realizing that I didn’t want to live anymore if you were gone and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. I would be stuck forever in this miserable existence without you.” I heard every word he said. It pierced through me, and I knew I would have felt the same way if our places had been reversed. But I told myself that his heartfelt declaration was just a reflection of the tense pressure we’d been under. The little love plant in my heart was grasping at each wispy thought, absorbing his words like sweet drops of morning dew. But I chastised my heart and shoved the tender expressions of affection elsewhere, determined to be unaffected by them. “It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t need to be afraid. I’m still around to help you break the curse,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. He squeezed my waist and whispered softly, “Breaking the curse didn’t matter to me anymore. I thought you were dying.” I swallowed and tried to be flippant. “Well, I didn’t. See? I lived to argue with you another day. Now don’t you wish it had gone the other way?” His arms stiffened and he threatened, “Don’t ever say that, Kells.” After a second of hesitation, I said, “Well, thank you. Thank you for saving me.” He pulled me close, and I allowed myself a minute, just a minute, to lie back against him and enjoy it. I had almost died after all. I deserved some kind of reward for surviving, didn’t I?

Is that true?” I asked Dad. “Are they gone for good?” Dad shifted in his seat, uneasy. “Not necessarily. But Sophie, the risk involved in bringing them back…It’s almost too great to fathom.” “I can fathom all kinds of things,” I told him. “Try me.” I think I might have seen pride in Dad’s eyes. Or maybe it was just a gleam of Why is my offspring so insane? Still, he answered me. “If you destroy both the ritual and the witch or warlock who used it, the spell itself can be reversed.” I shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so hard.” “I wasn’t finished. They must be destroyed simultaneously.” Swallowing, I tried to sound cheerful. “Again, not so bad. Get Lara to hold the piece of paper, zap them both with, um, some fire or something, and bam! Instant demon reversal.” “And they must be destroyed in the pit where the demons were raised,” Dad continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. Seriously, he had to stop doing that. “Oh, and as the piece de resistance, you’ll need to do a spell to close the pit itself, with both the ritual and the witch inside it. And that’s such an intense ritual that it could actually pull whatever’s around the pit into it as well.” “Like, the person doing the spell?” “Like, the whole damn island the put is on.” “Oh. Okay. Well, that is definitely…challenging. But not impossible. And we have the grimoire, that’s one bonus, right? Even if the demon-raising ritual isn’t in it.” “Sophie Alice Mercer,” Mom said warningly, just as Dad said, “Atherton,” and Aislinn said, “Brannick.” I threw my hands up. “Look, it doesn’t matter what you call me. I’ll hyphenate, how about that?

I’ve always prided myself on being the best. I had to be number one. I had to win. I collected prizes and awards because I saw them as a reflection of my self-worth, and I thought nothing tasted better than victory. Then I met you.” I swallowed the emotion burning in my throat. “And everything else… faded. We’ve been through some dark times, but you were always the brightest part of my life. Even when we broke up. Even when I walked out. Just knowing you existed somewhere in this world was enough.

There are times that I am doing so well, I stop taking my meds. And suddenly I feel like the light switch has flipped off. And suddenly I feel like I am not better because of my hard work. And suddenly I feel like a fraud. I try to remind myself that the brain is an organ, that this is a disease, that diabetics need insulin and no one thinks of that as cheating. I try to remind myself that this is not a boost, this is a treatment. So I swallow my pride along with my pills and let myself get better.

If You're Gonna Be Dumb, You Gotta Be Tough" If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough When you get knocked down you gotta get back up, If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough When you get knocked down you gotta get back up, I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer but I know enough, to know, If your gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough I lit my brain with Rot-Gut whiskey 'Till all my pain was chicken fried And I had dudes with badges frisk me Teach me how to swallow pride I took advice no fool would take I got some habits I can't shake I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough to know If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough When you get knocked down, you gotta get back up That's the way it is in life and love If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough I've been up and down and down and out I've been left and right and wrong Well I've walked the walk and I've run my mouth I've been on the short end for too long But if they gave medals for honky tonk wars Hell, I'd keep mine in my chest of drawers With my IRS bills and divorce papers and all that stuff If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough When you get knocked down, you gotta get back up I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know enough to know If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough If you're gonna be dumb you gotta be tough

It's very important for me to live my life the way I want and do everything I love. People can judge me however they like. They may judge how poor I am. Living in a dilapidated house, without furniture, without a vehicle, with nothing of value in it. However, I live my life and feel fulfilled. I am grateful and happy without having to stretch out my hands to ask for or hang my life from the help of others. I do not live off the prestige and views of others. They are not the ones who feed me, but the work I carry out as a path of happiness. I never mortgaged my life to become a prostitute working for a living and earning money. A prostitute who has no choice but to swallow her pride in order to please others. I don't live that way, and I don't want to die that way.

Tails from My Puppyhood or, What They Don’t Teach You at Obedience School The tail that wags the dog to bliss Must put his mouth before his heart. The simple rule of paw is this: Show your master he’s smart. The dog intent on happiness Knows it pays to learn the tricks Of when to sit and when to piss And how to accept his master’s kiss. I know the human breath is foul, But you must let him pet your head. The dog that turns away its jowls Will keep his pride but won’t be fed. When he throws you food upon the floor, Swallow it with a smile. Smack your lips and beg for more: Show the bum your style. When you fetch your master’s stick Drop it gently to his feet. If you whine, pretend you’re sick; He’ll then fetch you more to eat. I know it’s tough to be a hound And forsake all that you hold dear. But remember, when he’s not around You can always piss right on his chair.

A rattle of dishes warned of a servant’s entry into the hall, but Christopher was incensed, and half turning with a growl, he gestured Paine back. “Get out of here, man!” “Christopher!” Erienne gasped and took two halting steps to follow the befuddled servant, but Christopher came around to face her with a glare. “Stay where you are, madam! I am not finished with you.” “You have no right to give orders here,” she protested, her own ire growing. “This is my husband’s house!” “I’ll give orders when and where I damn well please, and for once, you will stand and listen until I’m through!” More than a trifle outraged herself, Erienne hurled back her answer. “You may command the men on your ship to your will, Mister Seton, but you have no such authority here! Good day to you!” Catching up her skirts, she whirled and stalked toward the tower until she heard the sound of rapid footsteps coming behind her, then a sudden panic seized her that he would make such a scene that she would not be able to face the servants… or her husband. She raced into the entry, stepping over the puddle, and took to the stairs, forcing every bit of strength she could into her limbs. She had barely gained the fourth step when she heard sliding feet, a loud thump, and then a painful grunt followed by an angry curse. When she whirled, Christopher was just coming to rest in a heap against the wall after sliding across the floor, partway on his back. For a moment she stared aghast at the dignified man sprawled in a most undignified manner, but when he raised his head to look at her with barely contained rage, she was struck by the humor of it all. Bubbling laughter broke forth, winning from him a dark scowl of exasperation. “Are you hurt, Christopher?” she asked sweetly. “Aye! My pride has been mightily bruised!” “Oh, that will mend, sir,” she chuckled, spreading her skirts to perch primly on the step above him. Her eyes danced with a lively light that was simply dazzling to behold. “But you should take care. If such a modest spot of water can bring you down so abruptly, I would not advise sailing beyond these shores.” “ ’Tis not a spot of water that’s brought me down, but a waspish wench who sets her barbs against me at every turn.” “You dare accuse me when you come in here huffing and snorting like a raging bull?” She gave a throaty, skeptical laugh. “Really, Christopher, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You frightened Paine and nearly made me swallow my heart.” “That’s an impossibility, madam, for that thing is surely made of cold, hard steel.” “You’re pouting,” she chided flippantly, “because I have not fallen swooning at your feet.” “I’m angry because you continually deny the fact that you should be my wife!” he stated emphatically. Footsteps on the stairs behind Erienne made them glance up. Aggie came nonchalantly down the steps, seeming unaware of Christopher’s storm-dark frown. Excusing herself, she stepped past her mistress. Finally, on reaching level footing, she contemplated the man, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Aren’t ye a wee bit old ter be takin’ yer leisure on the floor, sir?” He raised a brow at Erienne as that one smothered a giggle, and with a snort, got to his feet and brushed off his breeches and coatsleeve. -Christopher, Erienne, and Aggie

Dinner passed in silence, and the occasional groan as she ate. It was that good. As for the dessert, it proved even better than he claimed. The low, rumbling hum rolled from her mouth as the chocolate and caramel hit her tongue. “Oh my god that’s good. So good. So incredibly delicious.” She groaned that last bit. “Holy fuck, baby. Stop that, or I won’t be responsible for what I do.” She opened her eyes to find his smoldering gaze on her. The tension in his body practically vibrated the space in between them. Say something. Tell him to stop staring at you. To stop looking like he’ll devour you. But I like it. She wanted his ardent flirtation. But she also wanted control. How to achieve it? The solution seemed too simple. Fight sensuality with… sensuality. “Stop what?” she innocently said. Holding his stare, she brought a heaping forkful of nirvana to her mouth. She slid the top of the spoon between her lips, lapped it with the tip of her tongue. A nerve twitched in his cheek. The spoon pushed its way into her mouth. She sucked the sugary bite from it. He swallowed. Slowly, she withdrew the spoon and licked it clean. He groaned. “That has got to be the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me.

It was an innocent crush. It was innocent because you said you weren’t seeing anyone, And I wasn’t the kinda girl who’d love someone that belonged to some other person. I was still writing a thousand texts, swallowing all my pride, I was making up a million dreams over just a glass of wine. Then I cried the whole night, Because I was writing to someone else’s guy. With the radio on, I was writing you over two hundred letters, Even when you added my name to your long list of stalkers. My friends were shouting, ‘save yourself and run,’ But I was fine because you said you weren’t seeing anyone. I wasn’t the kinda girl who’d love someone that belonged to some other person, But I did, and I did because you said you weren’t seeing anyone. On a Sunday morning, I saw your picture with her, You had your arms around, and she was covered in fur. Then I cried the whole night, Because I was in love with someone else’s guy. Now nothing is the same, your eyes or your smile, Because I’m not the kinda girl who’d want someone else’s life. Now it’ll haunt me forever, and I’ll always be mortified, It won’t be the same because you’ll always be the guy who lied. Maybe that will be our song. And believe me, I never thought we’d have a sad song.

These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset, especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement, her own hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them. She put down her work and got up, thinking, "I will be the first to say, 'Forgive me'", but he did not seem to hear her. She went very slowly across the room, for pride was hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if she really couldn't do it, then came the thought, "This is the beginning. I'll do my part, and have nothing to reproach myself with," and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that settled it. The penitent kiss was better than a world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, saying tenderly... "It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me, dear. I never will again!" But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made, for family peace was preserved in that little family jar.

I splash enough water in Chloe's face to put out a small house fire. I don't want to drown her, just exfoliate her eyeballs with sea salt. When she thinks I'm done, she opens her eyes-and her mouth. Big mistake. The next wave rinses off the hangy ball in the back of her throat and makes it to her lungs before she can swallow. She chokes and coughs and rubs her eyes as if she's been maced. "Great, Emma! You got my new hair wet!" she sputters. "Happy now?" "Nope." "I said I was sorry." She blows her nose in her hand, then sets the snot to sea. "Gross. And sorry's not good enough." "Fine. I'll make it up to you. What do you want?" "Let me hold your head underwater until I feel better," I say. I cross my arms, which is tricky when straddling a surfboard being pitched around in the wake of a passing speedboat. Chloe knows I'm nervous being this far out, but holding on would be a sign of weakness. "I'll let you do that because I love you. But it won't make you feel better." "I won't know for sure until I try it." I keep eye contact, sit a little straighter. "Fine. But you'll still look albino when you let me back up." She rocks the board and makes me grab it for balance. "Get your snotty hands off the surfboard. And I'm not albino. Just white." I want to cross my arms again, but we almost tipped over that time. Swallowing my pride is a lot easier than swallowing the Gulf of Mexico. "White than most," she grins. "People would think you're naked if you wore my swimsuit." I glance down at the white string bikini, offset beautifully against her chocolate-milk skin. She catches me and laughs. "Well, maybe I could get a tan while we're here," I say, blushing. I feel myself cracking and I hate it. Just this once, I want to stay mad at Chloe. "Maybe you could get a burn while we're here, you mean. Matterfact, did you put sunblock on?" I shake my head. She shakes her head too, and makes a tsking sound identical to her mother's. "Didn't think so. If you did, you would've slipped right off that guy's chest instead of sticking to it like that." "I know," I groan. "Got to be the hottest guy I've ever seen," she says, fanning herself for emphasis. "Yeah, I know. Smacked into him, remember? Without my helmet, remember?" She laughs. "Hate to break it to you, but he's still staring at you. Him and his mean-ass sister." "Shut up." She snickers. "But seriously, which one of them do you think would win a staring contest? I was gonna tell him to meet us at Baytowne tonight, but he might be one of those clingy stalker types. That's too bad, too. There's a million dark little corners in Baytowne for you two to snuggle-" "Ohmysweetgoodness, Chloe, stop!

Here, till our navy of a thousand sail Have made a breakfast to our foe by sea, Let us encamp to wait their happy speed.- Lorraine, what readiness is Edward in? How hast thou heard that he provided is Of martial furniture for this exploit? Lorraine To lay aside unnecessary soothing, And not to spend the time in circumstance, 'Tis bruited for a certainty, my lord, That he's exceeding strongly fortified; His subjects flock as willingly to war As if unto a triumph they were led. Charles England was wont to harbor malcontents, Bloodthirsty and seditious Catilines, Spendthrifts, and such as gape for nothing else But changing and alteration of the state. And is it possible that they are now So loyal in themselves? Lorraine All but the Scot, who solemnly protests, As heretofore I have informed his grace, Never to sheathe his sword or take a truce. King John Ah, that's the anch'rage of some better hope. But, on the other side, to think what friends King Edward hath retained in Netherland Among those ever-bibbing epicures -- Those frothy Dutchmen puffed with double beer, That drink and swill in every place they come -- Doth not a little aggravate mine ire; Besides we hear the emperor conjoins And stalls him in his own authority. But all the mightier that their number is, The greater glory reaps the victory. Some friends have we beside domestic power: The stern Polonian, and the warlike Dane, The King of Bohemia, and of Sicily Are all become confederates with us, And, as I think, are marching hither apace. [Drums within.] But soft, I hear the music of their drums, By which I guess that their approach is near. Enter the King of Bohemia, with Danes, and a Polonian Captain with other soldiers, some Muscovites, another way. King of Bohemia King John of France, as league and neighborhood Requires when friends are any way distressed, I come to aid thee with my country's force. Polonian Captain And from great Moscow, fearful to the Turk, And lofty Poland, nurse of hardy men, I bring these servitors to fight for thee, Who willingly will venture in thy cause. King John Welcome Bohemian King, and welcome all. This your great kindness I will not forget; Besides your plentiful rewards in crowns That from our treasury ye shall receive, There comes a hare-brained nation decked in pride, The spoil of whom will be a treble gain. And now my hope is full, my joy complete. At sea we are as puissant as the force Of Agamemnon in the haven of Troy; By land, with Xerxes we compare of strength, Whose soldiers drank up rivers in their thirst. Then Bayard-like, blind, overweening Ned, To reach at our imperial diadem Is either to be swallowed of the waves Or hacked a-pieces when thou com'st ashore.

Don’t provoke Cheat,” Arin said as they stepped out of the carriage and onto the dusky path that led to the governor’s palace, which looked eerie to Kestrel because its impressive façade was the same as the night before, but the lights burning in the windows were now few. “Kestrel, do you hear me? You can’t toy with him.” “He started it.” “That’s not the point.” Gravel crunched under Arin’s heavy boots as he stalked up the path. “Don’t you understand that he wants you dead? He’d leap at the chance,” Arin said, hands in pockets, head down, almost talking to himself. He strode ahead, his long legs quicker than hers. “I can’t--Kestrel, you must understand that I would never claim you. Calling you a prize--my prize--it was only words. But it worked. Cheat won’t harm you, I swear that he won’t, but you must…hide yourself a little. Help a little. Just tell us how much time we have before the battle. Give him a reason to decide you’re not better off dead. Swallow your pride.” “Maybe that’s not as easy for me as it is for you.” He wheeled on her. “It’s not easy for me,” he said through his teeth. “You know that it’s not. What do you think I have had to swallow, these past ten years? What do you think I have had to do to survive?” They stood before the palace door. “Truly,” she said, “I haven’t the faintest interest. You may tell your sad story to someone else.” He flinched as if slapped. His voice came low: “You can make people feel so small.” Kestrel went hot with shame--then was ashamed of her own shame. Who was he, that she should apologize? He had used her. He had lied. Nothing he said meant anything. If she was to feel shame, it should be for having been so easily fooled. He ran fingers through his cropped hair, but slowly, anger gone, replaced by something heavier. He didn’t look at her. His breath smoked the chill air. “Do what you want to me. Say anything. But it frightens me how you refuse to see the danger you risk with others. Maybe now you’ll see.

-Eternal Life- I had a dream of a place where everything was at peace. There was no more pain, no hurting or crying, A place where death forever ceased. There was no more hunger or disease Nor, nations rising up against each other. All pride and jealousy were swallowed up in the final battle. The King has returned, so let us all rejoice. We all gathered there to meet As people assembled to pay homage at His feet. Even the creatures on earth and in heaven came to proclaim His eternal, sweet and precious name. There we will reign with Him forevermore, As we crowned Him King of kings and Lord of lords. I am surrounded by thousands and thousands Of angelic hosts singing His praises. Oh, what a sweet sound which will continue throughout the ages. I turned to see our loved ones who had gone on before us We rejoiced with each other as we joined the endless chorus. Our new bodies, how perfect we are designed. Oh, the wisdom and knowledge of God How unsearchable are His ways, There will be joy and peace throughout the eternal days. There in that holy place forever we will be, The earth shall be full of His knowledge and glory As waters that cover the sea. When I woke up from that beautiful dream I gave thanks to Jesus Christ my Savior, Who will forever reign supreme. So, read to me the Word of Life page by page God’s eternal love will never age. I Corinthians 15: 51-55 Behold, I show you a mystery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So, when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Romans 8: 18 For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.

Need to Be Honest about My Issues Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (PSALM 139:23 – 24) Thought for the Day: Avoiding reality never changes reality. Mostly I’m a good person with good motives, but not always. Not when I just want life to be a little more about me or about making sure I look good. That’s when my motives get corrupted. The Bible is pretty blunt in naming the real issue here: evil desires. Yikes. I don’t like that term at all. And it seems a bit severe to call my unglued issues evil desires, doesn’t it? But in the depths of my heart I know the truth. Avoiding reality never changes reality. Sigh. I think I should say that again: Avoiding reality never changes reality. And change is what I really want. So upon the table I now place my honesty: I have evil desires. I do. Maybe not the kind that will land me on a 48 Hours Mystery episode, but the kind that pull me away from the woman I want to be. One with a calm spirit and divine nature. I want it to be evident that I know Jesus, love Jesus, and spend time with Jesus each day. So why do other things bubble to the surface when my life gets stressful and my relationships get strained? Things like … Selfishness: I want things my way. Pride: I see things only from my vantage point. Impatience: I rush things without proper consideration. Anger: I let simmering frustrations erupt. Bitterness: I swallow eruptions and let them fester. It’s easier to avoid these realities than to deal with them. I’d much rather tidy my closet than tidy my heart. I’d much rather run to the mall and get a new shirt than run to God and get a new attitude. I’d much rather dig into a brownie than dig into my heart. I’d much rather point the finger at other people’s issues than take a peek at my own. Plus, it’s just a whole lot easier to tidy my closet, run to the store, eat a brownie, and look at other people’s issues. A whole lot easier. I rationalize that I don’t have time to get all psychological and examine my selfishness, pride, impatience, anger, and bitterness. And honestly, I’m tired of knowing I have issues but having no clue how to practically rein them in on a given day. I need something simple. A quick reality check I can remember in the midst of the everyday messies. And I think the following prayer is just the thing: God, even when I choose to ignore what my heart is saying to me, You know my heart. I bring to You this [and here I name whatever feeling or thoughts I have been reluctant to acknowledge]. Forgive me. Soften my heart. Make it pure. Might that quick prayer help you as well? If so, stop what you are doing —just for five minutes — and pray these or similar words. When I’ve prayed for the Lord to interrupt my feelings and soften my heart, it’s amazing how this changes me. Dear Lord, help me to remember to actually bring my emotions and reactions to You. I want my heart reaction to be godly. Thank You for grace and for always forgiving me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Stop!” she called out. To a one, the crewmen froze. A dozen heads swiveled to face her. Sophia swallowed and turned to Mr. Grayson. “What about me? I’m also a virgin voyager.” His lips quirked as his gaze swept her from head to toe and then back up partway. “Are you truly?” “Yes. And I haven’t a coin to my name. Do you plan to dunk and shave me, too?” “Now there’s an idea.” His grin widened. “Perhaps. But first, you must submit to an interrogation.” A lump formed in Sophia’s throat, impossible to speak around. Mr. Grayson raised that sonorous baritone to a carrying pitch. “What’s your name then, miss?” When Sophia merely firmed her chin and glared at him, he warned dramatically, “Truth or eels.” Bang. Excited whispers crackled through the assembly of sailors. Davy was completely forgotten, dropped to the deck with a dull thud. Even the wind held its breath in anticipation, and Sophia gave a slight jump when a sail smacked limp against the mast. Though her heart pounded an erratic rhythm of distress, she willed her voice to remain even. “I’ve no intention of submitting myself to any interrogation, by god or man.” She lifted her chin and arched an eyebrow. “And I’m not impressed by your staff.” She paused several seconds, waiting for the crew’s boisterous laughter to ebb. Mr. Grayson pinned her with his bold, unyielding gaze. “You dare to speak to me that way? I’m Triton.” With each word, he stepped closer. “King of the Sea. A god among men.” Now they stood just paces apart. Hunger gleamed in his eyes. “And I demand a sacrifice.” Her hand remained pressed against her throat, and Sophia nervously picked at the neckline of her frock. This close, he was all bronzed skin stretched tight over muscle and sinew. Iridescent drops of seawater paved glistening trails down his chest, snagging on the margins of that horrific scar, just barely visible beneath his toga. “A sacrifice?” Her voice was weak. Her knees were weaker. “A sacrifice.” He flipped the trident around, his biceps flexing as he extended the blunt end toward her, hooking it under her arm. He lifted the mop handle, pulling her hand from her throat and raising her wrist for his inspection. Sophia might have yanked her arm away at any moment, but she was as breathless with anticipation as every other soul on deck. She’d become an observer of her own scene, helpless to alter the drama unfolding, on the edge of her seat to see how it would play out. He studied her arm. “An unusually fine specimen of female,” he said casually. “Young. Fair. Unblemished.” Then he withdrew the stick, and Sophia’s hand dropped to her side. “But unsatisfactory.” She felt a sharp twinge of pride. Unsatisfactory? Those words echoed in her mind again. I don’t want you. “Unsatisfactory. Too scrawny by far.” He looked around at the crew, sweeping his makeshift trident in a wide arc. “I demand a sacrifice with meat on her bones. I demand…” Sophia gasped as the mop handle clattered to a rest at her feet. Mr. Grayson gave her a sly wink, bracing his hands on his hips in a posture of divine arrogance. “I demand a goat.

Don’t provoke Cheat,” Arin said as they stepped out of the carriage and onto the dusky path that led to the governor’s palace, which looked eerie to Kestrel because its impressive façade was the same as the night before, but the lights burning in the windows were now few. “Kestrel, do you hear me? You can’t toy with him.” “He started it.” “That’s not the point.” Gravel crunched under Arin’s heavy boots as he stalked up the path. “Don’t you understand that he wants you dead? He’d leap at the chance,” Arin said, hands in pockets, head down, almost talking to himself. He strode ahead, his long legs quicker than hers. “I can’t--Kestrel, you must understand that I would never claim you. Calling you a prize--my prize--it was only words. But it worked. Cheat won’t harm you, I swear that he won’t, but you must…hide yourself a little. Help a little. Just tell us how much time we have before the battle. Give him a reason to decide you’re not better off dead. Swallow your pride.” “Maybe that’s not as easy for me as it is for you.” He wheeled on her. “It’s not easy for me,” he said through his teeth. “You know that it’s not. What do you think I have had to swallow, these past ten years? What do you think I have had to do to survive?” They stood before the palace door. “Truly,” she said, “I haven’t the faintest interest. You may tell your sad story to someone else.” He flinched as if slapped. His voice came low: “You can make people feel so small.” Kestrel went hot with shame--then was ashamed of her own shame. Who was he, that she should apologize? He had used her. He had lied. Nothing he said meant anything. If she was to feel shame, it should be for having been so easily fooled. He ran fingers through his cropped hair, but slowly, anger gone, replaced by something heavier. He didn’t look at her. His breath smoked the chill air. “Do what you want to me. Say anything. But it frightens me how you refuse to see the danger you risk with others. Maybe now you’ll see.” He opened the door to the governor’s home. The smell struck her first. Blood and decaying flesh. It pushed at Kestrel’s gut. She fought not to gag. Bodies were piled in the reception hall. Lady Neril was lying facedown, almost in the same place where she had stood the night of the ball, greeting guests. Kestrel recognized her by the scarf in her fist, fabric bright in the guttering torchlight. There were hundreds of dead. She saw Captain Wensan, Lady Faris, Senator Nicon’s whole family, Benix… Kestrel knelt next to him. His large hand felt like cold clay. She could hear her tears drip to his clothes. They beaded on his skin. Quietly, Arin said, “He’ll be buried today, with the others.” “He should be burned. We burn our dead.” She couldn’t look at Benix anymore, but neither could she get to her feet. Arin helped her, his touch gentle. “I’ll make certain it’s done right.” Kestrel forced her legs to move, to walk past bodies heaped like rubble. She thought that she must have fallen asleep after all, and that this was an evil dream. She paused at the sight of Irex. His mouth was the stained purple of the poisoned, but he had sticky gashes in his side, and one final cut to the neck. Even poisoned, he had fought. Tears came again. Arin’s hold tightened. He pushed her past Irex. “Don’t you dare weep for him. If he weren’t dead, I would kill him myself.

Know Your Father’s Heart Today’s Scripture Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. 1 JOHN 4:10 KJV Today, I want you to reread the parable of the father of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32). As you read, keep in mind that this son utterly rejected and completely humiliated and dishonored his father, then only returned home when he remembered that even his father’s hired servants had more food than he did! It was not the son’s love for his father that made him journey home; it was his stomach. In his own self-absorbed pride, he wanted to earn his own keep as a hired servant rather than to receive his father’s provision by grace or unmerited favor. God wants us to know that even when our motivations are wrong, even when we have a hidden (usually self-centered) agenda and our intentions are not completely pure, He still runs to us in our time of need and showers His unmerited, undeserved, and unearned favor upon us. Oh, how unsearchable are the depths of His love and grace toward us! It will never be about our love for God. It will always be about His magnificent love for us. The Bible makes this clear: “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 4:10 KJV). Some people think that fellowship with God can only be restored when you are perfectly contrite and have perfectly confessed all your sins. Yet we see in this parable that it was the father who was the initiator, it was the father who had missed his son, who was already looking out for him, and who had already forgiven him. Before the son could utter a single word of his rehearsed apology, the father had already run to him, embraced him, and welcomed him home. Can you see how it’s all about our Father’s heart of grace, forgiveness, and love? Our Father God swallows up all our imperfections, and true repentance comes because of His goodness. Do I say “sorry” to God and confess my sins when I have fallen short and failed? Of course I do. But I do it not to be forgiven because I know that I am already forgiven through Jesus’ finished work. The confession is out of the overflow of my heart because I have experienced His goodness and grace and because I know that as His son, I am forever righteous through Jesus’ blood. It springs from being righteousness-conscious, not sin-conscious; from being forgiveness-conscious, not judgment-conscious. There is a massive difference. If you understand this and begin practicing this, you will begin experiencing new dimensions in your love walk with the Father. You will realize that your Daddy God is all about relationship and not religious protocol. He just loves being with you. Under grace, He doesn’t demand perfection from you; He supplies perfection to you through the finished work of His Son, Jesus Christ. So no matter how many mistakes you have made, don’t be afraid of Him. He loves you. Your Father is running toward you to embrace you! Today’s Thought My Father God runs to me in my time of need and showers His unmerited, undeserved, and unearned favor upon me. Today’s Prayer Father, thank You that I can experience Your love even when I have failed. No matter how many mistakes I may have made, I don’t have to be afraid to come to You. I am still Your beloved child, and I always have fellowship with You because of the finished work of Jesus. I thank You that You don’t demand perfection from me, but You supply perfection to me through the cross. It blesses my heart to know that You just love being with me. Thank You for running to embrace me. Amen.

It’s preposterous, expecting a man to unburden himself to a woman,” Bennett Winchester slurred as the mantel clock chimed. Though it was midmorning the Bow Street Society’s parlour had neither daylight nor gaslight to soften the retired captain’s pointed profile. Bloodshot, brown eyes looked beyond the wall as he approached, turned, and retraced his route, each thump of his boot succeeded by the heavy thud of his peg-leg. Miss Trent’s gaze tracked him during each pass of her armchair yet she remained seated. “Captain Winchester,” she began, “you weren’t obligated to come here and I wasn’t obligated to receive you, yet here we are. Putting aside my disinclination to beg your pardon for my gender, I instead ask you to observe your surroundings. You and I are the only ones here. Therefore, your choice is clear—either swallow your masculine pride and tell me why you’re here, or leave and put your trust in those at Bow Street Police Station.” “Don’t speak such impertinence to me!” Captain Winchester barked, drawing Miss Trent to her feet. She countered, “I shall speak whatever I want, Captain, when you are in my domain.” His lips repeatedly furled and unfurled against gritted teeth while calloused hands, which had previously rested within his greatcoat’s deep pockets, balled at his sides. Starting at his neck, his already pink face steadily flushed as if port had spilt under his skin. He snarled, “How daare you, you uncouth wretch.” “Continue as you are, Captain Winchester, and I will be calling upon the officers at Bow Street,” Miss Trent promised despite his stale-rum-drenched breath turning her stomach. Whether it was the tone of her voice, her fixed gaze, the words themselves, or a combination of all three which cooled Bennett Winchester’s rage was unclear. Regardless the result was the same. After some aggressive chewing of his anger, the captain plonked himself in the vacant armchair. The clerk wasn’t naïve enough to think it ended, however. Instead, she enabled additional calming time by fetching tea from the kitchen. Coffee would’ve been more sobering for him but, alas, she suspected such a blatant assumption wouldn’t have been welcomed by his volatile temper. In due course Captain Winchester’s pallid complexion had returned and his hands had come to rest upon his thighs. She poured the amber liquid in silence and he accepted the cup without remark. “I must beg your pardon for my brutishness, Miss Trent,” he muttered against the steam rising from his cup.

I threw my hands up, swallowing my pride along with the need to be with her in that moment. “Whatever you need, Charlie,” I promised her. “I will give it to you. Tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of our lives, should I get the chance.

realized how truly messed up the system was. Don’t we want people to feel remorse, to swallow their pride and reach out to the person they hurt? There’s no room for reconciliation in the criminal justice system, not the way it’s set up today. I never got to apologize to my victim’s mother. She would die before I had

Just a few more minutes, Daddy,” she says. My heart sinks in my chest and my cock stirs. What the actual fuck.

I cannot start to have a crush on my boss. I look down at my bandage-covered finger and realize it’s too late. A simple kiss on my finger, and a tiny bit of praise has me done for—it makes me feel pathetic—but I can’t stop the lingering feeling growing in my chest if I tried.

I think you’re looking for someone to take care of you, who tells you what to do, who takes your pleasure into their hands.” My breathing hitches, and I nod my head. “I think you want even more than that, but I don’t think we should get into that right now.

I think falling for Aiden Carlson might be one of the easiest things I’ve ever done in my life.

I’ll confess my weaknesses and bathe you in my humility I’ll swallow my pride and give you my all If you let my secrets lie within you till it ceases to matter.

I’ve never knelt before anyone, and there isn’t another person on the planet that I would willingly do this for. But the woman standing in front of me? I would swallow my pride and crawl across broken glass for her.

For the first time ever, I was in on it, and you weren’t. My blueprint, my plan.” I can’t help my pride-filled smile. “Now swallow that medicine, King, and let it settle in.

He’s a criminal.” Arik shrugged. “Perhaps, but that’s in Russia. Here he’s a business man, one who got attacked by the omega of my pride.” “What do I need to do to fix things?” Apologize? He was a big enough man to do that. Pay him off? He had funds stashed for a rainy day. “We could give him Meena,” Arik mused aloud. Who growled? Surely not him. “Oh shit. The rumors are true. She’s his bloody mate.” Hayder no longer sounded so amused. “No. Say it isn’t so. If you claim her, then that means”— he swallowed hard— “she’ll stay here. Like forever. Noooooo!” Hayder wasn’t the only one having a melodramatic moment. Arik eyeballed him, a pained expression on his face. “Please, please, please tell me you’re not actually going to mate with her. I don’t know if we could survive having Meena here full time.” “Dude, she’s a walking disaster,” Hayder commented. “A magnet for trouble,” Arik added while Hayder nodded. “A hurricane on two legs.” “A destructive force greater than Mother Nature.” Leo held up a hand. “Um, guys, you might want to stop before I crack your skulls together. You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know, but…” He sighed. “I’m afraid, and I mean really afraid, she might be right. I think she’s my mate.

What surprised him was the temerity of the wolves didn’t have his alpha spouting off a rant and promising to rain destruction. If one ignored Hayder, those present in the boardroom were calm, so calm Leo had yet to move from his spot on the couch where he read an actual paperback book— tree killer. The lack of any kind of vengeance-fueled emotion irritated Hayder even more. “Why aren’t you more perturbed?” Did no one understand the calamity? Arabella was gone! Fingers still texting, Arik peered up from his cell phone. “I am actually very upset, but since you’re already roaring, I figure I’ll save my voice for later when we accost the stupid dogs and give them payback for their effrontery.” Arik’s cold smile promised death. “I want to kill them,” Hayder growled. “Rip them apart. Stomp on them. Make them wish they were the load their mother swallowed.” “Dude, that was a visual no one needed. But I’ll forgive it because you’re upset. I’ll make sure to save you a few curs when we find them so you can work on your anger issues.” A thump on his back almost sent him staggering as Leo consoled him. “So kind of you,” was his sarcastic reply. “I know. All part of my calming personality.” Calming to Leo perhaps. Anyone else watching the big man crack his knuckles would have probably swallowed in fear and wet themselves, especially if they knew to expect a visit from the granite-hard fist. Leo liked to fight old school, bare knuckled and with the force of a freight train behind it. Sure glad he’s on our side.

Primer of Love [Lesson 56] ROMEO (taking JULIET’s hand): If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. ~ Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet, Act 1. Scene 5. Lesson 56) Gently kiss the rough spots -- don't try and hammer them out. All relationships have rough patches. These delicate times require you be at your best TLC behavior. Your relationship's future hangs precariously in the balance. You must master the art of walking on eggshells or the yolk will be all over you. Swallow your pride, listen, pretend listen. Even if you don't 'get it' say 'I understand'. This too shall pass -- if you're not an idiot.

What sort of answer would you like to hear?” “An honest one.” “Are you certain? It’s my experience that young ladies vastly prefer fictions. Little stories, like Portia’s gothic novel.” “I am as fond of a good tale as anyone,” she replied, “but in this instance, I wish to know the truth.” “So you say. Let us try an experiment, shall we?” He rose from his chair and sauntered toward her, his expression one of jaded languor. His every movement a negotiation between aristocratic grace and sheer brute strength. Power. He radiated power in every form—physical, intellectual, sensual—and he knew it. He knew that she sensed it. The fire was unbearably warm now. Blistering, really. Sweat beaded at her hairline, but Cecily would not retreat. “I could tell you,” he said darkly, seductively, “that I kissed you that night because I was desperate with love for you, overcome with passion, and that the color of my ardor has only deepened with time and separation. And that when I lay on a battlefield bleeding my guts out, surrounded by meaningless death and destruction, I remembered that kiss and was able to believe that there was something of innocence and beauty in this world, and it was you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Almost. Warm breath caressed her fingertips. “Do you like that answer?” She gave a breathless nod. She was a fool; she couldn’t help it. “You see?” He kissed her fingers. “Young ladies prefer fictions.” “You are a cad.” Cecily wrenched her hand away and balled it into a fist. “An arrogant, insufferable cad.” “Yes, yes. Now we come to the truth. Shall I give you an honest answer, then? That I kissed you that night for no other reason than that you looked uncommonly pretty and fresh, and though I doubted my ability to vanquish Napoleon, it was some balm to my pride to conquer you, to feel you tremble under my touch? And that now I return from war, to find everything changed, myself most of all. I scarcely recognize my surroundings, except . . .” He cupped her chin in his hand and lightly framed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Except Cecily Hale still looks at me with stars in her eyes, the same as she ever did. And when I touch her, she still trembles.” Oh. She was trembling. He swept his thumb across her cheek, and even her hair shivered. “And suddenly . . .” His voice cracked. Some unrehearsed emotion pitched his dispassionate drawl into a warm, expressive whisper. “Suddenly, I find myself determined to keep this one thing constant in my universe. Forever.” She swallowed hard. “Do you intend to propose to me?” “I don’t think so, no.” He caressed her cheek again. “I’ve no reason to.” “No reason?” Had she thought her humiliation complete? No, it seemed to be only beginning. “I’ll get my wish, Cecy, whether I propose to you or not. You can marry Denny, and I’ll still catch you stealing those starry looks at me across drawing rooms, ten years from now. You can share a bed with him, but I’ll still haunt your dreams. Perhaps once a year on your birthday—or perhaps on mine—I’ll contrive to brush a single fingertip oh-so-lightly between your shoulder blades, just to savor that delicious tremor.” He demonstrated, and she hated her body for responding just as he’d predicted. An ironic smile crooked his lips. “You see? You can marry anyone or no one. But you’ll always be mine.” “I will not,” she choked out, pulling away. “I will put you out of my mind forever. You are not so very handsome, you know, for all that.” “No, I’m not,” he said, chuckling. “And there’s the wonder of it. It’s nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. I know you, Cecily. You may try to put me out of your mind. You may even succeed. But you’ve built a home for me in your heart, and you’re too generous a soul to cast me out now.” She shook her head. “I—” “Don’t.” With a sudden, powerful movement, he grasped her waist and brought her to him, holding her tight against his chest. “Don’t cast me out.” His

Tell me you want this, doll. You have a choice. I want to take you, own you, make you scream you’re mine. But if you say no, I’ll leave right now.” … “I want this. I want you. But…I’m ruined, Jag.” I swallowed down my pride and held out an arm, frantically blinking back tears. Jag’s eyes widened for a brief moment before my words sunk in. He skimmed a calloused finger down the sensitive skin of my inner arm, over the multiple track marks and puckered, fading scars. “They made you who you are, Miri. From your weakness, your addiction, you will prove that you can come out of it and rise up, becoming a better, strong version of yourself. You’re stunning. You’re perfect. We all have our flaws and imperfections.

I wish I'd swallowed my pride. But in the turbulence of adolescence, it's all you have.

Dear Lord, you are a vampire,” Eva gasped, then covered her mouth to keep the wayward thing from spouting any other unwanted revelations. Connall stiffened, his eyes shooting to her face. He had the oddest expression on his face, she noted. He looked . . . scared? Nay, apprehensive was a better description, and Eva had to wonder why he was looking so apprehensive when he was the soulless— Nay, not soulless, she reminded herself, recalling their conversation from the night before. He was not dead, nor soulless, he had assured her and he did not kill those he bit. Connall had described himself as just different and while Eva thought that was something of an understatement, she reassured herself with that information, now. He was just different, still her husband, the kind, sweet, gentle man who had treated her as if she had value, and shown her such consideration, as well as taught her passion. Nothing else had changed, she reminded herself as her head began to spin. He was the clan chief of the MacAdie, and her husband. And really, as flaws went, vampirism was much more pleasant to deal with than his being a wife beater or some such thing. Wasn’t it? “Dear Lord,” Eva breathed, shaking her head at her own thoughts, then she glanced to Connall again. He was uncharacteristically silent, his attention focused on her with an intensity that made her nervous. Her husband hadn’t said a word since she’d blurted that he was a vampire and it was making her uncomfortable enough to start searching her mind for a way to make him leave. “If you have things to do, you need not trouble yourself to wait here for me to finish eating. I can manage well enough on my own,” she murmured at last, though the food was all gone. “Tis no trouble to be with ye,” he said with a frown and there was sudden anger on his face. “Yer no a burden to me, Eva, ye ne’er ha’e been and ne’er will be. Dear God, ye saved me life this morn, woman, no once, but twice. Ha’e ye no realized yer worth yet?” “I—” Eva shook her head helplessly, confused by the tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. His vehemence was as surprising to her as the words themselves. She had saved his life that morning. She’d driven the intruder off with the log, then . . . well all right, the feeding bit wasn’t that impressive. Anyone would have done in that instance, but she had fended off the intruder. “Ye’ve courage and beauty and intelligence and are a worthy wife. E’en a king would ha’e pride in claimin’ ye to wife. I have felt nothing but pride in claimin’ ye meself.” “Despite my bein’ accident prone?” she teased with a wry twist of the lips. “Yer accidents are a result o’ tryin’ too hard to earn a place here,” he said quietly. “But ’tis only because you doonae realize ye already ha’e a place here. Yer the Lady MacAdie. My wife.” Eva swallowed, her gaze dropping from his at those words. They made her heart ache for some reason. “Why do ye look away? Do ye hate me now?” Eva glanced back up with surprise. “What?” “Now that ye know what I am?” he explained. “Will ye be wantin’ an annulment? Beggin’ to be set free? Wid ye rather a mortal man to husband? Should I take ye back to Caxton?” Eva stared at him in horror, fear clutching at her heart at the very idea of what he suggested.

And if you aren’t afraid to swallow your pride and admit that we are, in fact, hardwired to give some fraction of a fuck what Donald Trump has to say, I’ll do my best to take you back to where this all started . . . Monkeys,

so; I love helping others. I just don’t love being helped. For some reason it makes me feel embarrassed, nervous, and weak. I worry that I will be judged as a “not good enough mom” if I can’t do it all on my own when so many others seem to be doing it so gracefully. I worry that people will think, “Why did she have so many kids if she can’t do it on her own?” or “Why does she accept help when she is too busy to give back as much? That’s so selfish of her.” I couldn’t do it all, but what I could do was swallow my pride and realize that asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.

Really, Gareth, His Grace was not unkind to me. He gave me a huge amount of money —" "I don't care what he gave you, you traveled three thousand miles to get here, and what does he damn well do? Pays you off like some — some creditor or something!  You, who ought to be treated as a member of our family, not a piece of unwanted baggage!  I cannot forgive him, Juliet. Do not ask it of me!" "I'm not asking it of you, but surely you can swallow your pride just for one night, if only for the sake of your niece." He stared at her, furious. "Er ... daughter," she corrected, lamely. Through his teeth he gritted, "We are not staying at de Montforte House or Blackheath Castle or any of Lucien's other estates, and I'll hear no more about it!"  He made a fist and pressed it to his forehead, trying to keep his temper under control even as Perry made a noise of impatient disgust and Charlotte's endless screaming threatened to drown out all thought, all sanity. Perry chose the wrong moment to be sarcastic. "Well done, my friend. You have just succeeded in showing your unsuspecting bride that there is indeed another side to you. Were you beginning to think your new lord was all syrupy sweetness, Lady Gareth?" Gareth's patience broke, and with a snarl, he went for his sword. Juliet grabbed his arm just in time. "Stop it, the both of you!  Really, Lord Brookhampton — must you antagonize him so?" Perry touched a forefinger to his chest. "Me?" "Yes, you!  The two of you are acting like a pair of brawling schoolboys!"  She pushed Gareth's hand away from its sword hilt and faced him with flashing eyes. "Charlotte and I have had enough. Either take us to de Montforte House or wash your hands of us, but I'm not going to stand here watching you two bicker while she screams London down around our ears!" Gareth stared at her in shock. And Perry, raising his brows at this sudden display of fire, merely reached into his coat and pulled out his purse.  He tossed it casually to Gareth. "Here," he said. "There's enough in there to buy yourselves room and board somewhere for a week, by which time maybe you'll have come to your senses. Consider it my wedding present."  He mounted his horse and touched his hat to Juliet. "Good day, Lady Gareth."  He gave Gareth a look of mocking contempt. "I wish the two of you many hours of marital bliss." And then, to Juliet's dismay, he turned and trotted off, leaving her standing on the pavement with a screaming baby and a husband who — it was growing alarmingly clear — was ill-equipped to take care of either of them.  

For five hundred years my sisterhood has passed down a sacred vow,” says Caspida coldly, “to destroy the one who destroyed our queen. You know this, and you speak these words only to deceive me as you deceived her. You would have me believe that you are capable of love.” “Believe me when I say I wish that I were not!” Angrily I round on her. “I do not tell you this for myself! Aladdin will die any moment, and the only way to save him is if you make a wish! Please, Caspida—they will kill him at dawn!” I point at the horizon, where the sun is minutes away from rising. “Let me save him, I beg you!” I drop to my knees before her, doing what I never thought I could: grovel before a human. My pride unravels into smoke, carried away on the wind. Always I have thought myself above these mortals—I, immortal, powerful, able to shift from this form to that. But I let all of that go now, and I beg as I have never begged before. “Do what you like with me after that, but just let me save him!” I dig my fingers into the earth, my eyes damp with tears. My voice falls to a cracked whisper. “Please.” “Why?” I raise my face, finding her gaze unyielding. “Because it was my idea. Him wishing to be made a prince. Courting you. Lying all these weeks. I manipulated him and used him, and now they will kill him for it.” “Why would you lead him into the palace knowing that eventually the truth would come out and he would have to pay the price?” “Because . . .” I grind my teeth together, wishing the earth would swallow me up. “Because I was trying to win my freedom. Your people had captured the prince of the jinn—Nardukha’s own son. The Shaitan sent me to free him, and in turn, he would free me from my lamp. If I failed, he planned to sink your city into the sea. I had to get into the palace. Aladdin was my only way in.” “So you don’t deny that you’re a monster. You used him for your own ends.” I drop my head. “I know what I am. I know nothing can excuse what I did to Roshana, or to Aladdin, or to you. I’ve wronged so many, and there is so much I wish I could take back. I can’t save Roshana. But please—I beg of you—let me save him.” Caspida lowers to her knees and studies me. I meet her gaze, humbled utterly. “You want me to believe that you love him,” she whispers. “Yes.” The word is but a breath, a stir of air in my treacherous lungs. “We’re running out of time. I cannot reverse death or the hours. Time is the strongest magic, and no jinni—not even the Shaitan—can rewrite the past. Once Aladdin is gone, he is gone. Let me save him, and I can help you win your city.

I heard you were in a fight,” I speak. His eyes snap up to look at mine before they go to Haidyn. “Saint…I didn’t…” “Hit my wife?” I arch a brow, and he swallows. “I guess the footage I saw of you and her in the elevator must have been fake as well?” I look at Haidyn who snorts. “I…uh, no…I didn’t—” he rambles unable to lie but refusing to tell me the truth. “Threaten to rape and kill her.” I finish for him. Not caring what else he has to say, I push off the counter and step forward, and he starts screaming, trying to pull away, but he’s not going anywhere. Devin pushes the cart over to Emerson and removes the syringe as Emerson begins to scream. He knows what’s coming. He’s been through it before. It’s routine for brandings. But this one will be a little different. The Spade brothers pride themselves on being creative. It’s not as if there is a rule book on how to torture and kill people. But if there ever was, we would be the ones to write it.

I don’t give a damn about the rules.” “That’s unlike you. I thought you worshiped rules like they’re your religion. It’s the British education, isn’t it? I bet Oxbridge is quite rigid when it comes to that type of thing. Don’t you—” “Isabella.” I forced a swallow down my throat. “Yes?” “Shut up and let me kiss you.

You call yourself a director?” Farid said. Zaman dropped his hands. “I haven’t been paid in over six months. I’m broke because I’ve spent my life’s savings on this orphanage. Everything I ever owned or inherited I sold to run this godforsaken place. You think I don’t have family in Pakistan and Iran? I could have run like everyone else. But I didn’t I stayed. I stayed because of them.” He pointed at the door. “If I deny him one child, he takes ten. So I let him take one and leave the judging to Allah. I swallow my pride and take his goddam filthy… dirty money. Then I go to the bazaar and buy food for the children.

Isabella.” I forced a swallow down my throat. “Yes?” “Shut up and let me kiss you.

I'm dying, Louisa. I'm an old woman and I'm not going to get an awful lot older, and my son, who I thought was lost to me, has been gracious enough to swallow his pain and his pride and reach out. Can you imagine? Can you imagine what it is to have someone do that for you?

There are many tragedies caused by paranoia and pride, and the same goes for people who make do with poverty. Many years ago, at the Fifth Avenue Baptist Church, I ran into a young man named Hansen, a little gardener who lived a miserable life. Maybe Mr. Hansen thinks that it is a virtue to persist in poverty. He put on a noble appearance and said to me: “Mr. Rockefeller, I think I have a responsibility to discuss with you a question – money is the root of all evil. This is said in the Bible.” At that moment, I knew why Mr. Hansen had no relationship with wealth. He was getting life lessons from a misunderstood Bible. But he did not realize it. I did not want this poor young man to sink deeper and deeper into his narrow-minded swamp. I told him: “Young man, I have been nurtured by various Christian maxims since I was a child and used this as my code of conduct. It is the same with you. But my memory seems to be better than you. You forgot, there is a word in front of that sentence – Love, ‘loving money is the root of all evil’.” “What did you say?” Hansen’s mouth was wide open, as if to swallow a whale. I really hope he has such a big appetite for money.

Isabella." I forced a swallow down my throat. "Yes?" "Shut up and let me kiss you.

My pride is a physical lump in my throat. I have to swallow it, force it down so I can get the words out. “Damon Scott, I want you. I think you want me too. But I need you to say it. I need you to be with me.” My voice cracks. “I can’t stand here alone anymore.

I’m so sick and tired of being judged based on my parents

Loving someone truly sometimes means you have to swallow your pride and let them take care of you too.” “My job is to take care of her,” I say with confusion. “Of course you should take care of her, but you need to make sure you don’t let your pride get in the way and not accept when she wants to return the same care to you.

My billionaire mentor loves telling me, 'The reason I'm successful? I'm not very intelligent. I was a college dropout. No company would hire a college dropout. And I had no money. So when I started my business, I had no choice. I had to succeed. I had no other option. I had nowhere else to go. When customers humiliated me, I just swallowed my pride and went to work. When friends in my business took advantage of me, I took the heat and went back to work. Other people who are intelligent, who have degrees, who have money, will say, 'I don't need to take this crap! I'm outta here.' And so they hop from one opportunity to another. Hop, hop, hop, hop.. They never build anything because they have too many options.

Is it Zeidy’s fault that God sent me into a world that had no place to put me? How do I explain to him about the giant hole that threatens to swallow me up if I don’t fill it with things; how do I tell him about pride and desire, and about the misery that comes with not having?

Let's just say you've got an honest way about you- and a sharper eye than I initially thought." She brushed her fingers over the nearest table. "Not a speck of dust." "Oh." Cinderella felt little pride from the compliment. "It is my job," was all she said. "I'm glad you understand that, girl. Though no one told you to reorganize my books." There was a note of accusation in the duchess's voice, and Cinderella didn't know how to respond. "I apologize, ma'am. I-" "Most of my attendants arrange them like flowers, by color and size, but you did it by substance and author. You couldn't have done that without reading them." She swallowed. "I didn't have time to read any, ma'am... but I couldn't resist skimming a few.

have been blessed because I have been poor—poor enough to swallow my pride and humbly ask for assistance. The result? Not merely success in reaching my occupational goals, but lasting friendships with those who saved the day for me. So, don’t become defensive about your lack by trying to gloss over it or pretending the problem doesn’t exist. Chances are that such an attitude will end in futility and you’ll

Well,” said O’ Devir. “Tha’ ’twas easy.” “It won’t always be. Better start planning now how you’re going to handle her.” “I’d never presume to try and figure that out, Lord Andrew.” “Andrew. Just Andrew. If you’re going to wed her, we might as well dispense with formalities.” “What makes ye think I’m goin’ to wed her?” “Refuse, and I won’t let you leave this cabin alive.” “Ehm, right.” The other man, lips twitching, took a swallow of whiskey, then sat reflecting upon the contents of his glass. “And what about this eldest brother of yers? Will he give consent? I’m told I’d better keep my entrails in good condition as they’ll end up being his chosen instrument of my strangulation.” Andrew guffawed, choking and nearly spilling his drink. “I had a feeling she was only blaggardin’.” “No, she was not. Though Lucien will see to your dispatch in a much less messy way than strangling you with your own entrails.” “Pistols or swords?” “Both, probably.” O’ Devir sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to put up a fight for the sake of pride and appearances.” “I wouldn’t bother, as it will only prolong the inevitable outcome. My brother is one of the most dangerous men in England.” The Irishman lifted his glass and smiled. “Ah, but we are not in England, are we?” Andrew returned the salute. “Indeed, sir, we are not.” He had deliberately goaded, perhaps even insulted the man, trying to gauge the depth of his self-restraint. He was both satisfied and relieved that O’ Devir had not risen to the bait. His sister would be safe with a husband who could control his temper. He would certainly need that ability, married to one such as her. “Of course, I should kill you anyhow,” Andrew murmured, contemplating his own drink. “You abducted my little sister. You’ve probably had your way with her, and most certainly, have ruined her. Her life will never be the same.” “No, it will not.” “Have you had your way with her?” “I’m an officer in the Continental Navy, not a pirate.” Andrew eyed him levelly. “So you haven’t.” “The only reason I’m even goin’ to answer that question is because ye’re the lass’s brother and deserve one. But no, I haven’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, as black and wild a mane as Andrew had ever seen, and sighed. “Got too much respect for her, I do.

Not knowing your self worth will only make people treat you worst. Girls will always take advantage of you. Boys will always lie and tell a different story about the nature of your relationship. The funny part is…. I heard and read and was told every single word they told about me, but they always kept denying it and I always kept playing fool and apologized for it. What hurts the most, none of them swallowed his/her pride for once, admitted his/ her fault and apologized for it. I even lost my writing talents because of the desperate articles I kept writing about them, trying to convince myself not to lose my principles to their misdeeds… If those couple of years taught me something, is that I should value myself above all else. I should never help anyone even if I know I’d be their last resort. Nobody deserves my sacrifices. I quit my job, not feeling a single regret for it. I’m starting a new life. I’m setting myself free…. Dear self, fly high…

Not knowing yourself worth will only make people treat you worst. Girls will always take advantage of you. Boys will always lie and tell a different story about the nature of your relationship. Funniest thing above all else, is that I know every single word they said about me, but they always keep denying it and I always keep playing fool and make it look like I’m a doubtful person and apologize for it. What hurts the most, none of them swallowed his/her pride for once, admitted his/ her fault and apologized for it. I even lost my art of writing because of the desperate articles I kept writing about them, trying to convince myself about not losing my principles to their misdeeds. If those couple of years taught me something, is that I should value myself above all else. I should never help anyone even if I know I’d be their last resort. Nobody deserves my sacrifices. I quit my job, not feeling a single regret for it. I’m starting a new life. I bought new clothes. I’m trying a new Look. I don’t wanna see that wrecked girl in the mirror anymore. Dear self, fly high…

Because I realized that it was love that allowed my father to set aside the injuries done to his reputation, security, and pride. For love of his family, and his country, he swallowed down indignity as if immune to its poison.

My wife and I can't recall how many years we've been married, but we'll never forget our first backpacking trip together. We'd just begun dating and I was her trail-hardened outdoorsman, a knight in shining Cordura, the guy who could handle any wilderness emergency. She was my...well, let's just say I was bent on making a good impression. This was her first backpacking experience and I wanted to have many more with her as my hiking partner. I'd checked and double-checked everything--trail conditions, equipment, weather forecast. I even bought a new stove for the occasion. We set off under overcast skies with packs loaded and spirits high. There was precipitation in the forecast, but it was November and too early for snow, I assured her. (Did I mention that we were just a few miles south of Mount Washington, home to the worst, most unpredictable weather in the Northeast?) As we climbed the few thousand feet up a granite ridge, the trail steadily steepened and we strained a bit under our loads. On top, a gentle breeze pushed a fluffy, light snowfall. The flakes were big and chunky, the kind you chase with your mouth open. Certainly no threat, I told her matter-of-factly. After a few miles, the winds picked up and the snowflakes thickened into a swirling soup. The trail all but dissolved into a wall of white, so I pulled out my compass to locate the three-sided shelter that was to be our base for the night. Eventually we found it, tucked alongside a gurgling freshet. The winds were roaring no, so I pitched our tent inside the shelter for added protection. It was a tight fit, with the tent door only two feet from the log end-wall, but at least we were out of the snowy gale. To ward off the cold and warm my fair belle, I pulled my glittering stove from its pouch, primed it, and confidently christened the burner with a match. She was awestruck by my backwoods wizardry. Color me smug and far too confident. That's when I noticed it: what appeared to be water streaming down the side of the stove. My new cooker's white-gas fuel was bathing the stove base. It was also drenching the tent floor between us and the doorway--the doorway that was zipped tightly shut. A headline flashed through my mind: "Brainless Hikers Toasted in White Mountains." The stove burst into flames that ran up the tent wall. I grabbed a wet sock, clutched the stove base with one hand, and unzipped the tent door with the other. I heaved the hissing fireball through the opening, assuming that was the end of the episode, only to hear a thud as it hit the shelter wall before bouncing back inside to melt some more nylon. My now fairly unimpressed belle grabbed a pack towel and doused the inferno. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, while I swallowed a pound of three of pride. We went on to have a thoroughly disastrous outing. The weather pounded us into submission. A full day of storm later with no letup in sight, we decided to hike out. Fortunately, that slippery, slithery descent down a snowed-up, iced-over trail was merely the end of our first backpacking trip together and not our relationship. --John Viehman

I’ll never turn her away, Clyde. She’s my mate. I’ll protect her till my dying breath. I’ll even swallow my pride and ask a favor as momentous as the one I just asked of a man who has done nothing but try to drive a wedge between her and myself.