Teddy Bears Quotes

Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?" At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting. Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death. Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.

If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper...

Congratulations, love. You traded up. Does he treat you well?' 'He's a teddy bear,' I said. Teddy bear looked like he was suffering from murder withdrawal. (Rene and Kate on Jim!)

You know, most girls sleep with a teddy bear or an extra pillow. But I gotta say, that's kinda hot...

I want neither a terrorist spirituality that keeps me in a perpetual state of fright about being in right relationship with my heavenly Father nor a sappy spirituality that portrays God as such a benign teddy bear that there is no aberrant behavior or desire of mine that he will not condone. I want a relationship with the Abba of Jesus, who is infinitely compassionate with my brokenness and at the same time an awesome, incomprehensible, and unwieldy Mystery.

Gabriel shuffled around the trunk again, searching for faux arrows—arrows designed to injure but not kill. “All these arrows are sharp—and have blood on them.” “Yes, well, I left my cotton candy arrows at home next to my teddy bear.

You sleep okay, sweetie?” “Miss my teddy,” Billie replied. Personally, I thought Detective Mitch Lawson was far superior to a tiny pink teddy bear but I wasn’t six years old.

I shove the wooden debris out of the way until I see the smudged face of the teddy bear. “There she is.” I carefully pull out the bear and sword. I proudly flip the bridal veil skirt to show him the scabbard. Raffe stares at the disguised sword for a second before commenting. “Do you know how many kills this sword has?” “It’s a perfect disguise, Raffe.” “This sword is not just an angel sword. She’s an archangel sword. Better than an angel sword, in case that’s not clear. She intimidates the other angel swords

I don't think my parents liked me. They put a live teddy bear in my crib.

The guy behind the counter scratches his neck. “Are you being serious?” Her face is stoic. “Absolutely. I never kid about teddy bears.

Tell me about Raffe." Nothing. "okay. Let's practice fighting," I said in an enthusiastic voice as if I'm talking to a little kid. "I could use more lessons." Nothing. "Right. Well, I guess I have nothing better to do now than to decorate the teddy bear with ribbons and bows. What do you think of dusky pink?" The room wavers, then morphs.

...as if someone had thrown a hand grenade into the middle of a teddy bear orgy and the only survivors had had their fur blown off.

I have a good mind not to take Aloysius to Venice. I don't want him to meet a lot of horrid Italian bears and pick up bad habits.

Yeah, and Mr. Cuddles is a jealous sort. He doesn’t share us well. (Geary) Does this mean I’ll have to fight him? (Arik) You’d never win. Mr. Cuddles cheats. You think he’s just a pushover teddy bear, but he’s vicious, I tell you. Vicious. (Geary)

Unwisely, Santa offered a teddy bear to James, unaware he had been mauled by a grizzly earlier this year.

Okay, I'll take the pink one with the torn ear.' The guy behind the counter scratches his neck. "Are you being serious?" Her face is stoic. 'Absolutely. I never kid about teddy bears.

Maybe that’s what growing up was really all about. Adults always say how complicated life gets as we age, but really, I think we just look for bigger challenges to overcome. Our biggest fears stretch from sleeping without our beloved teddy bear to finding out that we have no purpose in life. Did time, maturity, and overcoming obstacles offer the kind of contentment so evident in Orvin? Or did we just simply give up and surrender to the life we were already living?

Strider's bedroom "The only thing hanging on the wall that wasn't a weapon was the portrait just over the bed. No. Not true, he thought then. The portrait was a weapon, too. Of seduction. In it Strider was utterly naked and whisking through the cloads like an avenging angel. He was holding a teddy bear in one hand and a stream of pink ribbons in the other. Anya had given him the nearly life-size monstrasity as a joke. But the joke was on her. He loved the thing.

Your spirit is sweet So pull off your sheet And give me a ghost of a smile Show me your teeth 'Cause you're teddy beneath So just grin and bear it a while.

I am not cute. I am a ferocious killing machine. Paranormals everywhere tremble before me."  "My teddy bear.

in the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears.

On Thursdays we're Teddy Bear Doctors

Cuddling was for great aunts and teddy bears. Cuddling gave him cramp.

She was made for ultimate respect. How is she supposed to get that disguised as a teddy bear in a bridal gown?" "It's not a bridal gown, it's a skirt for her scabbard. And it's cute." "She hates cute. She wants to maim and scar cute." "Nobody hates cute." "Angel swords do." He arches his brow and stares down at me. I guess I won't tell him how many cutesy angel figurines and pictures we used to have in the World Before.

We stepped back and looked at the king of the gods, slumped in his chair snoring, and cradling his crook like a teddy bear. I placed the war flail across his lap, hoping it might make a difference—maybe complete his powers or something. No such luck. "Sick weasels," Ra muttered. "Behold," Sadie said bitterly. "the glorious Ra.

Let's call me a shadow child, overlooked rather than broken. I'm the teddy bear gathering dust bunnies under the bed, not the one-legged soldier.

I’m no more used to being without a weapon than you are. (Cassandra) She’s right about that. Her teddy bear is a six-inch retractable knife with a snub-nosed .38 Special. (Katra)

Anyone who's ever tried to tangle with a teddy bear cholla knows there's a whole lot more bear than teddy to it.

He just wasn't good at being a cross between a teddy bear and just a friend.

But the most wonderful thing of all, our highest achievement and the one thing for which I pray we will always be remembered, is stuffing wads of polyester into an anatomically incorrect, cartoonish ideal of one of nature's most fearsome predators for no other reason than to soothe a child.

Virgo: Your teddy bear will reveal that he is pregnant and will require counseling.

I had a dream about you. I opened your chest like a cabinet, it had doors, and when I opened the doors, I saw all kinds of soft things inside you--teddy bears, tiny fuzzy animals, all these soft, cuddly things.

Don't be ashamed of being a big, soft teddy bear, Ham. The world needs more people like you, otherwise it'd just go to shit. - Ten

Leaving my father behind—with all of his baggage—was like giving up an old teddy bear. You know it’s just an object, incapable of comforting you with its tattered fur and missing button eye, but it’s something you cling to, even though you know it can’t give anything back.

our memories change, too. (For instance, I swear the teddy bear I had growing up was green, but according to my parents it was orange.) But when you take a photograph, things stay still. The way that they were, is the way that they are, is the way that they will always be. Which is why I love pictures.

He wanted to reach through the phone and hug his partner, who was, for all intents and purposes, a large teddy bear with a gun.

You're a big, lovable teddy bear.

And that's an even greater love: to love somebody when he's a little...worn at the edges. —Teddy Bear

When he’s around, I’ve noticed those at court are less likely to approach me. When I bought him, he was meant to be a source of protection.” “And instead you were stuck with a teddy bear

Virtue," he said. "The real thing. It's not some kind of cuddly teddy bear you can keep on the shelf until you need a hug. It's dangerous, which is why it makes people so nervous. Virtue has its own agenda, and believe me, it's not always yours. The word itself means strength, power. And when it gets loose, you'd better watch out." Something bad might happen..." Impossible. But possibly something painful" -A Wizard Alone by Diane Duane

Never mind that he saved your ass more times than you can remember, or that he could have killed you a hundred times over, or that there’s something about him, something tormented and sad and terribly, terribly lonely, like he was the last person on Earth, not the girl shivering in a sleeping bag, hugging a teddy bear in a world gone quiet.

Wait, I'm not done.. We didn't have a stuffed bear. And, since I'm not even sure what sort of beast a teddy bear is or where one would find it, I brought you a stuffed baldric instead. It will have to suffice." -Prince Quinn

Holding on to a four-year-old boy wasn't weird, as it should have been. It was comforting. Like holding an incredibly sticky teddy bear.

Gabriel shuffled around the trunk again, searching for faux arrows—arrows designed to injure but not kill. “All these arrows are sharp—and have blood on them.” “Yes, well, I left my cotton candy arrows at home next to my teddy bear.” Gabriel turned to Tristan. “We’re not going to kill that guy.” “We might.” “Tristan, that’s homicide.” “It’s self defense.” “It’s not self defense. He didn’t come after you.” “But he came after Scarlet. And, technically, Scarlet is a piece of me. So, yeah. It’s self-defense. Are you coming with me or not?” “I don’t want to kill him. I just want to hurt him. Or detain him.” “Or maybe you could just give him a big hug.”Tristan started marching into the woods. “You can stay there and clean weapons or whatever, but I’m going after our intruder.

He's a gentle giant, harmless and soft, like a teddy bear. Except deep down, I know he's not. And when his eyes cut my way, and I see the darkness on the surface, I'm reminded that this man hangs out with monsters. And one might even exist inside of him.

He dropped his voice, and came a couple of inches closer. "I think you're beautiful when you wear oversize hoodies and fleece pyjamas with teddy bears on them. Or when you wear thick socks and use them to slide around on marble floors when you think no one's looking at you." "I - Oh. You know about that." "And I think you are especially beautiful when you are giving out to me." "In that case, you must find me constantly compelling.

She had a teddy bear in her arms and murder in her eyes.

He terrified pretty much everyone around him, but when it came to his wife and daughter, he was a teddy bear.

You’re one of the best men I know. You wear your tats and piercings and those damn leather bracelets that only you could get away with. But inside you are one big teddy bear. When someone you love needs you, there is nothing you won’t do for them. When I needed you, you were always there. I’ve never questioned your heart. It’s made of fucking gold, and we all know it. We laugh at your crude jokes and snide comments because we know they mean nothing. It’s part of your shield. Underneath, I don’t know many men that compare. You’re one of the best, Dewayne. One of the best.

Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!

One of us," said Malcolm, "is worth five hundred of you. I can burn you to the ground in six seconds flat and use the ashes to stuff a teddy bear for my girlfriend. Not that I have a girlfriend at the moment," he added, "but one lives to hope.

Are we gonna kill this teddy bear?

Yenay stepped forward, the precious ledger clutched to her chest like a teddy bear. “Please don’t get blood on the books,” she said, in a gasp. “They don’t deserve that.

Behind every good politician is a soft, cuddly teddy bear

Hey. My life’s not all about weird little creatures pretending to be teddy bears.” From Tribe of the Teddy Bear.

It's too bad we're not all teddy bears. More stuffing would only make us cuter and cuddlier.

Any place with a founder who brings a teddy bear to meetings,” he writes, “is a step away from Jonestown.

I knew Sebastian by sight long before I met him. That was unavoidable for, from his first week, he was the most conspicuous man of his year by reason of his beauty, which was arresting, and his eccentricities of behaviour, which seemed to know no bounds... I was struck less by his looks than by the fact that he was carrying a large teddy-bear".

On the other hand, it's like we're three years old. You don't want that scruffy old teddy bear until your friend takes it and starts having a good time with it. Then suddenly it's the cutest bear you've ever seen, and you want to get it away from her.

Oh no, I think Boobear is hurt.” It took some serious thinking, but I finally decoded the mystery. “Do you mean Boudmare?” “Yeah, that’s him. His nickname is Boobear.” “The commentators are calling him Boobear?” I asked, fighting a smile. “No, I nicknamed him Boobear. He looks like a giant teddy bear. He’s so cute!” “Oh, dear God,” Thatch groaned. “Oh,

The black bear is a ridiculously lovable species. There's a reason kids have teddy bears, not teddy goats or teddy eels.

Johnny Guy, some idiot put Flower in panties with teddy bears on them.” “I’m the idiot, Jako. You got a problem?

Twelve years old, Priya, after the worst days of your life, angry and scared and grieving, you threw a teddy bear at my head and told me not to be such a fucking coward.

They were lined with the pelts of cast-off teddy bears. There was no vanity in winter.

The Tausennigan Ob'enn warlords look like cuddly teddy-bears?" "Yes, they do, and they'd cheerfully exterminate your entire race for making that observation!" "I guess that explains their rich military history, then.

Dad says that the world is always changing, every second of every day, and so is everything in it, which means that the you you are right now is different from the you you were when you started reading this sentence. Crazy, right? And your memories change, too. (For instance, I swear the teddy bear I had growing up was green, but according to my parents it was orange.) But when you take a photograph, things stay still. The way that they were, is the way that they are, is the way that they will always be.

It’s not funny,” said Ron, fiercely. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick. . . . You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and . . .” He broke off, shuddering.

God, I’ve just figured out what’s missing – you ditched the hallowed Albermarle Teddy Bear!’ I nodded.   ‘Banished to a dark cupboard for all eternity.’ ‘You cold-hearted bastard.’ ‘Give me a hot water bottle any day.   At least they have some appreciable function.   Not like that pathetic pile of overpriced fake fur and anthropomorphic bullshit I locked in the wardrobe.’ ‘You have serious teddy bear issues.

Then, Valentine’s Day came. There was a dance, and balloons and flowers and cheaply made rings and all sorts of lame teddy bears and stuffed animals, as if teenagers can be wooed with the same shit as five-year-olds. It was the Dietzes’ most hated holiday of the year, too, because it dealt with the consumerization of something sacred. Mom and Dad had agreed never to buy each other anything on the day. It was a false, Hallmark holiday. A sham. A moneymaking sideshow for insecure couples who didn’t have true love. I agreed with this, for the most part.

We teach them not to notice the different sense of the possessive pronoun .. . Even in the nursery a child can be taught to mean by "my Teddy-bear" not the old imagined recipient of affection to whom it stands in a special relation (for that is what the Enemy will teach them to mean if we are not careful) but "the bear I can pull to pieces if I like.

I still think too much about the mothers And ask what is man born of woman. He curls himself up and protects his head While he is kicked by heavy boots; on fire and running, He burns with bright flame; a bulldozer sweeps him into a clay pit. Her child. Embracing a teddy bear. Conceived in ecstasy.

The bear not only had a set of stripes sewn on his arm, it was possibly the first teddy-bear in history to have received a medal for service to the elven nation.

When she was gone, I went to the basement, found an empty box, and sealed the teddy bear and the NYU sweatshirt inside with heavy-duty tape. I started thinking about Leigh's ID bracelet and I imagined that one day, maybe years and years from now, I might open the box and say the same thing to my daughter that Leigh might say to hers: This was from a boy I used to know. He was very special to me, but that was so long ago.

The judge arrived half an hour later with the file he had collected from his office on the way, signed several papers, had Sam sign them, the matron witness them; Josh cried, Norm cried, she cried, the judge grinned, and Timmie waved his teddy bear at the judge with a broad grin as they wheeled into the elevator. "So long!" he shouted, and when the doors closed, the judge was laughing and crying too.

Show me your memories of the kiss.” I close my eyes. The heat creeps up my cheeks, which is silly because the sword was there when the kiss happened and saw the whole thing. So what if I’m curious about what he felt? “Oh, come on. Do we have to do this again?” Nothing. “That last one was totally awful. I need a little comfort. It’s just a small favor. Please?” Nothing. “Extra ribbons and bows for you,” I try to sound like I mean it. “Maybe even sparkly makeup on the teddy bear.” Still nothing. “Traitor.” I know that’s a funny statement since the sword is actually being loyal to Raffe but I don’t care.

Nevertheless, it bothered Vimes, even though he'd got really good at the noises and would go up against any man in his rendition of the HRUUUGH! But is this a book for a city kid? When would he ever hear these noises? In the city, the only sound those animals would make was "sizzle." But the nursery was full of the conspiracy with bah-lambs and teddy bears and fluffy ducklings everywhere he looked. One evening, after a trying day, he'd tried the Vimes street version: Where's my daddy? Is that my daddy? He goes "Bugrit! Millennium hand and shrimp!" He is Foul Ol' Ron! No, that's not my daddy! It had been going really well when Vimes heard a meaningful little cough from the doorway, wherein stood Sybil. Next day, Young Sam, with a child's unerring instinct for this sort of thing, said "Buglit!" to Purity. And that, although Sybil never raised the subject even when they were alone, was that. From then on Sam stuck rigidly to the authorized version.

I remembered that, trying to survive the battle zone, dodging artillery fire between the kid you were and the man you were supposed to be. The world screamed at you to grow up, your zits and your twitchy dick agreed it was about time, but you were still afraid of the dark, you still slept with that old teddy bear, you still wanted your mommy.

It was an intense embrace, no awkwardness, no holding back, the kind of hug two people can only achieve after long intimacy, but anyone can give in an instant to a stuffed bear.

He belongs to me, and I to him... without each-other, we are merely two lost pieces, empty, without purpose...

Have I been conditioned to believe that if I am not solicitous, if I am not forthcoming, if I am not a never-ending cornicopia of entertaining delights, they will take their collections of milk-bottle tops and their mangy one-eared teddy bears and go away into the woods by themselves to play snipers? Probably. What my mother thinks was merely cute may have been lethal.

And I love you." "Remember the night we sat here, and I fed you all the clues the future Em had given me to convince you I was legit? The bluegrass, the belly ring-" "The designated hitter?" "Yes." He grinned. "Hmph." "What else did I tell you?" "That you had a teddy bear named Rupert." He rolled his eyes. "About you, and the first time I saw you." Answering made me feel shy, but I did it anyway. "That I said I would take your breath away the first time you saw me." I was still holding his face, and he reached up to put his hands over mine. "You did it then. And you just did it again." His kiss was sweet, soft, and easy at first. I felt urgency stir just under the surface, but I refused to let the desire to hurry things interfere in the moment. I wanted to savor every single one. We had all the time in the world. My brother's voice floated down from the open window. "Emerson!" Well, as son as my grounding was over, we had all the time in the world.

An endless array of teddy bears and stuffed animals, plastic clowns and porcelain dolls, hang on the branches from webby rope. In the human realm, we call them love-worn and threadbare--playthings that were hugged and kissed by a child until the stuffing fell out or the button eyes popped off. Toys that were loved to death.

Ponder and his fellow students watched Hex carefully. 'It can't just, you know, stop,' said Adrian 'Mad Drongo' Tumipseed. 'The ants are just standing still,' said Ponder. He sighed. 'All right, put the wretched thing back.' Adrian carefully replaced the small fluffy teddy bear above Hex's keyboard. Things immediately began to whirr. The ants started to trot again. The mouse squeaked. They'd tried this three times. Ponder looked again at the single sentence Hex had written. +++ Mine! Waaaah +++ 'I don't actually think,' he said, gloomily, 'that I want to tell the Archchancellor that this machine stops working if we take its fluffy teddy bear away. I just don't think I want to live in that kind of world.' 'Er,' said Mad Drongo, 'you could always, you know, sort of say it needs to work with the FTB enabled... 'You think that's better?' said Ponder, reluctantly. It wasn't as if it was even a very realistic interpretation of a bear. 'You mean, better than "fluffy teddy bear"?' Ponder nodded. 'It's better,' he said.

The German birds didn't taste as good as their French cousins, nor did the frozen Dutch chickens we bought in the local supermarkets. The American poultry industry had made it possible to grow a fine-looking fryer in record time and sell it at a reasonable price, but no one mentioned that the result usually tasted like the stuffing inside of a teddy bear.

We wanted to see the baby!” Hope cries. “Yeah. The whole point is for you to bring Jamie so we can coo over her. I’m almost done with the booties.” Carin pulls out a mess of yarn that looks nothing like a shoe or even a sock. “What is that thing?” I lay down the menu to get a better view of the object she’s holding up. It’s kind of like the wool equivalent of Logan’s horrifying teddy bear. “It’s a sock. Is it too big or too small?” She stretches it out and I vaguely see something shiplike in the mess. “It’s…are you sure that’s a sock?” Hope giggles behind her menu. Carin scowls at me. “Have you ever tried knitting? It’s hard as fuck, thank you very much.

It's a frightening thing to be truly honest with yourself. It means you have no one left to turn to anymore, no-one to blame, and to one to look to for salvation. You have to give up any possibility that there will ever be any refuge for you. You have to accept the reality that you are truly and finally on your own. The best thing you can hope for in life is to meet a teacher who will smash all of your dreams, dash all of your hopes, tear your teddy-bear beliefs out of your arms and fling them over a cliff.

extreme zombie fighting” kit. Tactical boots and tacticals. Firefighting bunker gear. Nomex head cover tucked under the collar of the bunker gear. Full face respirator. Helmet with integrated visor. Body armor with integral MOLLE. Knee, elbow and shin guards. Nitrile gloves. Tactical gloves. Rubber gloves. Assault pack with hydration unit. Saiga shotgun on friction strap rig. A .45 USP in tactical fast-draw holster. Two .45 USP in chest holsters. Fourteen Saiga ten-round 12-gauge magazines plus one in the weapon. Nine pistol magazines in holster plus three in weapons. Kukri in waist sheath. Machete in over-shoulder sheath, right. Halligan tool in over-shoulder sheath, left. Tactical knife in chest sheath. Tactical knife in waist sheath. Bowie knife in thigh sheath. Calf tactical knife times two. A few clasp knives dangling in various places. There was the head of a teddy bear peeking out of her assault pack.

The box room. No bigger than a coffin. It would be like being buried. Maybe she wouldn't keep her Barbies after all. She would make a huge bonfire in the back garden. She would burn her clothes. She would burn all her old toys (except for her old teddy bear Rasputin, obviously—he was more of a guru and personal trainer than a toy). She would burn her CDs and her CD player. She would burn all her makeup. She would shave all her hair off and burn that. She would wear only a pair of Oriental black pajamas. She would sleep in the box room on a small mat made out of rushes. The only item in the room would be a plain white saucer for her tears. Then they'd be sorry.

I'd always assumed Beth and I would be friends forever. But then in middle of the eighth grade, the Goldbergs went through the World's Nastiest Divorce. Beth went a little nuts. I don't blame her. When her dad got involved with this twenty-one year old dental hygienist, Beth got involved with the junk food aisle at the grocery store. She carried processed snack cakes the way toddlers carry teddy bears. She gained, like, twenty pounds, but I didn't think it was a big deal. I figured she'd get back to her usual weight once the shock wore off. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only person who noticed. May 14 was 'Fun and Fit Day" at Surry Middle School, so the gym was full of booths set up by local health clubs and doctors and dentists and sports leagues, all trying to entice us to not end up as couch potatoes. That part was fine. What wasn't fine was when the whole school sat down to watch the eighth-grade cheerleaders' program on physical fitness.

Oh, don’t be afraid of dreams,” a voice said right next to me. I looked over. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find the homeless guy from the rail yard sitting in the shotgun seat. His jeans were so worn out they were almost white. His coat was ripped, with stuffing coming out. He looked kind of like a teddy bear that had been run over by a truck. “If it weren’t for dreams,” he said, “I wouldn’t know half the things I know about the future. They’re better than Olympus tabloids.” He cleared his throat, then held up his hands dramatically:   “Dreams like a podcast, Downloading truth in my ears. They tell me cool stuff.”   “Apollo?” I guessed, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad. He put his finger to his lips. “I’m incognito. Call me Fred.” “A god named Fred?” “Eh, well…Zeus insists on certain rules. Hands off, when there’s a human quest. Even when something really major is wrong. But nobody messes with my baby sister. Nobody.” “Can

He’d decided to keep a journal in the hope that this might help. He looked at the recent entries. Probably Tuesday: hot, flies. Dinner: honey ants. Attacked by honey ants. Fell into waterhole. Wednesday, with any luck: hot, flies. Dinner: either bush raisins or kangaroo droppings. Chased by hunters, don’t know why. Fell into waterhole. Thursday (could be): hot, flies. Dinner: blue-tongued lizard. Savaged by blue-tongued lizard. Chased by different hunters. Fell off cliff, bounced into tree, pissed on by small grey incontinent teddy bear, landed in a waterhole. Friday: hot, flies. Dinner: some kind of roots which tasted like sick. This saved time. Saturday: hotter than yesterday, extra flies. V. thirsty. Sunday: hot. Delirious with thirst and flies. Nothing but nothing as far as the eye can see, with bushes in it. Decided to die, collapsed, fell down sand dune into waterhole.

I curse him silently for moving my hands as he raises them to study the scars. He kisses them, his lips a fluid brush along sensitive flesh, then places them on his cheeks. Mouth inches from mine, he whispers, "Forgive me for bringing you into this. There was no other way." His skin is softer than clouds must feel, and the tears gathering around my fingertips are hot and tangible. But are they sincere? Our breaths swirl between us, and his black eyes swallow me whole. My heart knocks against the bottom of his rib cage. I know what's coming next. I fear it. But it's the surest way to distract him and get the wish. And if it has to happen, I'm going to be the instigator. Rising up on my toes, I press my mouth to his. He moans, frees my wrists, and sweep-s me into his arms—sealing the teddy bear between us.

I coax my palm into his lapel in search of my wish, returning his feverish kiss. "Checkmate, you son of a bug," I say against his mouth two seconds before my fingers find an empty pocket. "Sleight of hand, blossom," he says right back. "'Tis in fact in my pants pocket, if you'd like to search there." I shove him off and drop to the floor, wiping my mouth. "It's mine!" "And you'll receive it when the time is right." His lips, all I can look at, tilt into that smug smile that I've come to detest. He motions toward the chair. "Sit. You've just been soundly kissed. No doubt you're short of breath." "Don't flatter yourself." I huff in an effort to hide the gulp of air and hold the teddy bear against my chest. "That kiss meant nothing. It had underlying motivation." "Oh, to be sure. That kiss was nothing if not motivational.

It was the same book, every day. The pages of said book were rounded and soft where Young Sam had chewed them, but to one person in this nursery this was the book of books, the greatest story ever told. Vimes didn't need to read it any more. He knew it by heart. It was called Where's My Cow? The unidentified complainant had lost their cow. That was the story, really. Page one started promisingly: Where's my cow? Is that my cow? It goes, "Baa!" It is a sheep! That's not my cow! Then the author began to get to grips with their material: Where's my cow? Is that my cow? It goes, "Neigh!" It is a horse! That's not my cow! At this point the author had reached an agony of creation and was writing from the racked depths of their soul. Where's my cow? Is that my cow? It goes, "Hruuugh!" It is a hippopotamus! That's not my cow! This was a good evening. Young Sam was already grinning widely and crowing along with the plot. Eventually, the cow would be found. It was that much of a pageturner. Of course, some suspense was lent by the fact that all other animals were presented in some way that could have confused a kitten, who perhaps had been raised in a darkened room. The horse was standing in front of a hatstand, as they so often did, and the hippo was eating at a trough against which was an upturned pitchfork. Seen from the wrong direction, the tableau might look for just one second like a cow ... Young Sam loved it, anyway. It must have been the most cuddled book in the world. Nevertheless, it bothered Vimes, even though he'd got really good at the noises and would go up against any man in his rendition of the "Hruuugh!" But was this a book for a city kid? When would he ever hear these noises? In the city the only sound those animals would make was "sizzle" But the nursery was full of the conspiracy, with baa-lambs and teddy bears and fluffy ducklings everywhere he looked.

You know who used to scare me when I was a little kid? Snuggle the Bear." "Do I know Snuggle?" "In those TV ads for that fabric softener. Somebody would say how soft their robe was or their towels, and Snuggle the teddy bear would be hiding behind a pillow or creeping around under a chair, giggling." "He was just happy that people were pleased." "No, it was maniacal little giggle. And his eyes were glazed. And how did he get in all those houses to hide and giggle?" "You're saying Snuggle should've been charged with B and E?" "Absolutely. Most of the time when he giggled, he covered his mouth with one paw. I always thought he didn't want you to see his teeth." "Snuggle had bad teeth?" she asked. "I figured they were rows of tiny vicious fangs he was hiding. When I was maybe four or five, I used to have nightmares where I'd be in bed with a teddy bear, and it was Snuggle, and he was trying to chew open my jugular and suck the lifeblood out of me." She said, "So much about you suddenly makes more sense than it ever did before." "Maybe if we aren't cops someday, we can open a toy shop." "Can we run a toy shop and have guns?" "I don't see why not," he said.

I shove the wooden debris out of the way until I see the smudged face of the teddy bear. “There she is.” I carefully pull out the bear and sword. I proudly flip the bridal veil skirt to show him the scabbard. Raffe stares at the disguised sword for a second before commenting. “Do you know how many kills this sword has?” “It’s a perfect disguise, Raffe.” “This sword is not just an angel sword. She’s an archangel sword. Better than an angel sword, in case that’s not clear. She intimidates the other angel swords.” “What, the other swords quake in their scabbards when they see her?” I walk over to the pile of scattered junk by Captain Jake’s boat. “Yes, if you must know,” he says following me. “She was made for ultimate respect. How is she supposed to get that disguised as a teddy bear in a bridal gown?” “It’s not a bridal gown, it’s a skirt for her scabbard. And it’s cute.” [...] “Have you named her yet?” he asks. “She likes powerful names so maybe you could appease her by giving her a good one.” I bite my lip as I remember telling Dee-Dum what I named my sword. “Um, I could rename her anything she likes.” I give him a cheesy smile. He looks like he’s bracing himself for the worst. “She gets named once by each carrier. If you’ve named her, she’s stuck with it for as long as she’s with you.” Damn. He glares at me as if he already hates it. “What is it?” I consider lying but what’s the point? I clear my throat. “Pooky Bear.

I shove the wooden debris out of the way until I see the smudged face of the teddy bear. “There she is.” I carefully pull out the bear and sword. I proudly flip the bridal veil skirt to show him the scabbard. Raffe stares at the disguised sword for a second before commenting. “Do you know how many kills this sword has?” “It’s a perfect disguise, Raffe.” “This sword is not just an angel sword. She’s an archangel sword. Better than an angel sword, in case that’s not clear. She intimidates the other angel swords.” “What, the other swords quake in their scabbards when they see her?” I walk over to the pile of scattered junk by Captain Jake’s boat. “Yes, if you must know,” he says following me. “She was made for ultimate respect. How is she supposed to get that disguised as a teddy bear in a bridal gown?” “It’s not a bridal gown, it’s a skirt for her scabbard. And it’s cute.” “She hates cute. She wants to maim and scar cute.” “Nobody hates cute.” “Angel swords do.” He arches his brow and stares down at me. I guess I won’t tell him how many cutesy angel figurines and pictures we used to have in the World Before.

Jesus Christ is not a cosmic errand boy. I mean no disrespect or irreverence in so saying, but I do intend to convey the idea that while he loves us deeply and dearly, Christ the Lord is not perched on the edge of heaven, anxiously anticipating our next wish. When we speak of God being good to us, we generally mean that he is kind to us. In the words of the inimitable C. S. Lewis, "What would really satisfy us would be a god who said of anything we happened to like doing, 'What does it matter so long as they are contented?' We want, in fact, not so much a father in heaven as a grandfather in heaven--a senile benevolence who as they say, 'liked to see young people enjoying themselves,' and whose plan for the universe was simply that it might be truly said at the end of each day, 'a good time was had by all.'" You know and I know that our Lord is much, much more than that. One writer observed: "When we so emphasize Christ's benefits that he becomes nothing more than what his significance is 'for me' we are in danger. . . . Evangelism that says 'come on, it's good for you'; discipleship that concentrates on the benefits package; sermons that 'use' Jesus as the means to a better life or marriage or job or attitude--these all turn Jesus into an expression of that nice god who always meets my spiritual needs. And this is why I am increasingly hesitant to speak of Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior. As Ken Woodward put it in a 1994 essay, 'Now I think we all need to be converted--over and over again, but having a personal Savior has always struck me as, well, elitist, like having a personal tailor. I'm satisfied to have the same Lord and Savior as everyone else.' Jesus is not a personal Savior who only seeks to meet my needs. He is the risen, crucified Lord of all creation who seeks to guide me back into the truth." . . . His infinity does not preclude either his immediacy or his intimacy. One man stated that "I want neither a terrorist spirituality that keeps me in a perpetual state of fright about being in right relationship with my heavenly Father nor a sappy spirituality that portrays God as such a benign teddy bear that there is no aberrant behavior or desire of mine that he will not condone." . . . Christ is not "my buddy." There is a natural tendency, and it is a dangerous one, to seek to bring Jesus down to our level in an effort to draw closer to him. This is a problem among people both in and outside the LDS faith. Of course we should seek with all our hearts to draw near to him. Of course we should strive to set aside all barriers that would prevent us from closer fellowship with him. And of course we should pray and labor and serve in an effort to close the gap between what we are and what we should be. But drawing close to the Lord is serious business; we nudge our way into intimacy at the peril of our souls. . . . Another gospel irony is that the way to get close to the Lord is not by attempting in any way to shrink the distance between us, to emphasize more of his humanity than his divinity, or to speak to him or of him in casual, colloquial language. . . . Those who have come to know the Lord best--the prophets or covenant spokesmen--are also those who speak of him in reverent tones, who, like Isaiah, find themselves crying out, "Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts" (Isaiah 6:5). Coming into the presence of the Almighty is no light thing; we feel to respond soberly to God's command to Moses: "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground" (Exodus 3:5). Elder Bruce R. McConkie explained, "Those who truly love the Lord and who worship the Father in the name of the Son by the power of the Spirit, according to the approved patterns, maintain a reverential barrier between themselves and all the members of the Godhead.

Somewhere along the line the American love affair with wilderness changed from the thoughtful, sensitive isolationism of Thoreau to the bully, manly, outdoorsman bravado of Teddy Roosevelt. It is not for me, as an outsider, either to bemoan or celebrate this fact, only to observe it. Deep in the male American psyche is a love affair with the backwoods, log-cabin, camping-out life. There is no living creature here that cannot, in its right season, be hunted or trapped. Deer, moose, bear, squirrel, partridge, beaver, otter, possum, raccoon, you name it, there's someone killing one right now. When I say hunted, I mean, of course, shot at with a high-velocity rifle. I have no particular brief for killing animals with dogs or falcons, but when I hear the word 'hunt' I think of something more than a man in a forage cap and tartan shirt armed with a powerful carbine. In America it is different. Hunting means 'man bonding with man, man bonding with son, man bonding with pickup truck, man bonding with wood cabin, man bonding with rifle, man bonding above all with plaid'.

If so, it is inaccurate to say that the majority ‘enjoy bad pictures’. They enjoy the ideas suggested to them by bad pictures. They do not really see the pictures as they are. If they did, they could not live with them. There is a sense in which bad work never is nor can be enjoyed by anyone. The people do not like the bad picture because the faces in them are like those of puppets and there is no real mobility in the lines that are meant to be moving and no energy or grace in the whole design. These faults are simply invisible to them; as the actual face of the Teddy-bear is invisible to an imaginative and warm-hearted child when it is absorbed in its play. It no longer notices that the eyes are only beads.