Till I Met You Quotes

I'm sorry, I says. Fer what? he says. Fer always bein ... you know ... so- Ungrateful? he says. Yeah, I says. Ornery? I guess so. Rude? Pig-headed? Violent? I ain't violent! Oh yes, you are. Very. But I like that in a woman. I laugh. Yer crazy, I says. I was fine till I met you, he says.

True story This morning I jumped on my horse And went for a ride, And some wild outlaws chased me And shot me in the side. So I crawled into a wildcats cave To find a place to hide But some pirates found me sleeping there And soon they had me tied To a pole and built a fire Under me---I almost cried Till a mermaid came and cut me loose And begged to be my bride So I said id come back Wednesday But I must admit I lied. Then I ran into a jungle swamp But I forgot my guide And I stepped into some quicksand And no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get out, until I met A watersnake named Clyde Who pulled me to some cannibals Who planned to have me fried But an eagle came and swooped me up And through the air we flied But he dropped me in a boiling lake A thousand miles wide And you’ll never guess what I did then--- I DIED

Nor would anybody suspect. If was one thing all people took for granted, was conviction that if you feed honest figures into a computer, honest figures come out. Never doubted it myself till I met a computer with a sense of humor.

You couldn't find nobody more pig-headed if you tried, he says. An she's always thinkin she knows best, even when she don't, especially when she don't. She's prickly and stubborn an everythin you'd put at the bottom of a list if you was makin a... a list of that kind. Which I aint. I didn't. But? says Molly. But ohmigawd Molly, she shines so bright, he says. The fire of life burns so strong in her. I never realized till I met her... I bin cold my whole life, Moll. I know, she says softly. It's jest that... aw, hell. She thinks I'm a better man than I really am. Well, yer a better man than you think you are.

I know there's no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks, but I don't care, I am me. My name is Valerie, I don't think I'll live much longer and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography ill ever write, and god, I'm writing it on toilet paper. I was born in Nottingham in 1985, I don't remember much of those early years, but I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tuttlebrook, and she use to tell me that god was in the rain. I passed my 11th lesson into girl's grammar; it was at school that I met my first girlfriend, her name was Sara. It was her wrists. They were beautiful. I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that is was an adolescent phase people outgrew. Sara did, I didn't. In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn't have done it without Chris holding my hand. My father wouldn't look at me, he told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing. But I had only told them the truth, was that so selfish? Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. I'd always known what I wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I starred in my first film, "The Salt Flats". It was the most important role of my life, not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth. The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew Scarlet Carsons for me in our window box, and our place always smelled of roses. Those were there best years of my life. But America's war grew worse, and worse. And eventually came to London. After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone. I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like collateral and rendition became frightening. While things like Norse Fire and The Articles of Allegiance became powerful, I remember how different became dangerous. I still don't understand it, why they hate us so much. They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I've never cried so hard in my life. It wasn't long till they came for me.It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years, I had roses, and apologized to no one. I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An Inch, it is small and it is fragile, but it is the only thing the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you. I love you. With all my heart, I love you. -Valerie

When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it, what will it be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then - that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it. You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?

With Cats, some say, one rule is true: Don’t speak till you are spoken to. Myself, I do not hold with that — I say, you should ad-dress a Cat. But always keep in mind that he Resents familiarity. I bow, and taking off my hat, Ad-dress him in this form: O Cat! But if he is the Cat next door, Whom I have often met before (He comes to see me in my flat) I greet him with an oopsa Cat! I think I've heard them call him James — But we've not got so far as names.

I laugh. Yer crazy, I says. I was fine till I met you, he says.

Song Go, and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me, where all past years are, Or who cleft the Devil’s foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy’s stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be’est born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear Nowhere Lives a woman true, and fair. If thou find’st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet, Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet, Though she were true when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Slowly counting down the days Till I finally know your name The way your hand feels round my waist The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste I missed you but I haven't met you Oh but I want to How I do

God, save me from temperance," Tilly said. "You haven't seen a party till you get a group of Anglicans and Catholics trying to beat each other to the bottom of a bottle." "Now, that's not nice, Mrs Fagan," Father Michel said. "I've never met an Anglican that could keep up with me.

I know what I want.” I settled back and met his gaze. “I know what I’m feeling …” My chest rose sharply. “I want you.” He lifted my hands back to his chest. “You have me, babe.” “Prove it.

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, Whispering I love you, before long I die, I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you, For I could not die till I once look'd on you, For I fear'd I might afterward lose you. Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe, Return in peace to the ocean my love, I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect! But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; Be not impatient--a little space--know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land, Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.

If you wanted to go on from the end of The Hobbit I think the ring would be your inevitable choice as the link. If then you wanted a large tale, the Ring would at once acquire a capital letter; and the Dark Lord would immediately appear. As he did, unasked, on the hearth at Bag End as soon as I came to that point. So the essential Quest started at once. But I met a lot of things along the way that astonished me. Tom Bombadil I knew already; but I had never been to Bree. Strider sitting in the corner of the inn was a shock, and I had no more idea who he was than Frodo did. The Mines of Moria had been a mere name; and of Lothlorien no word had reached my mortal ears till I came there. -- (J.R.R. Tolkien to W.H. Auden, June 7, 1955.)

I did not want any external influence in my life. You know how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray.

Song Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true, and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet; Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three. —John Donne, 1572–1631

Yer crazy, I says. I was fine till I met you, he says.

The most pleased of the lot was the other lion, who kept running about everywhere pretending to be very busy but really in order to say to everyone he met, “Did you hear what he said? Us lions. That means him and me. Us lions. That’s what I like about Aslan. No side, no standoffishness. Us lions. That meant him and me.” At least he went on saying this till Aslan had loaded him up with three dwarfs, one dryad, two rabbits, and a hedgehog. That steadied him a bit.

I’m not some random guy you just met. I’m not someone who doesn’t know that what’s at the core of you is worth working at, breaking through those walls for.” Oh my God. “People don’t get second chances often, Sasha, but we got one, and I’m not going to let that pass us by.” “A second chance?” I repeated dumbly. “For us?” “That’s what I’m thinking.” Stunned, I was quiet for a moment. “What if I don’t want a second chance?” He laughed. “Oh, you want a second chance.

If was one thing all people took for granted, was conviction that if you feed honest figures into a computer, honest figures come out. Never doubted it myself till I met a computer with sense of humor.

I turned half-way round and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then--but

I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows

Bella Swan: Jasper? Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help? Jasper Hale: Well just your presence alone, your scent, will distract the newborns. Their hunting instinct will take over, and drive 'em crazy. Bella Swan: Good, I'm glad. [Jasper nods and begins to walk away] Bella Swan: . Bella Swan: Hey, [Jasper turns around] Bella Swan: how do you know so much about this? Jasper Hale: I didn't have quite the same upbringing as my adopted siblings. [Rolls up sleeves and shows Bella his arms, which have bite marks on them] Jasper Hale: . Bella Swan: [Hops off Jeep] Those bites are like mine. Jasper Hale: Battle scars [smiles] Jasper Hale: . All the training the Confederate Army gave me was useless against the newborns, but still, I never lost a fight. Bella Swan: Hey, this - this happened during the Civil War? Jasper Hale: I was the youngest major in the Texas Calvary, all without having seen any real battle. Bella Swan: Until...? Jasper Hale: Till I met a certain immortal... Maria

I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then - but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.

From the first day I met his daughter, all I could think about was snuffling up under that sweet dimity like some bad old bear, just crawling up into that honeycomb, nose twitching, and never come out of there till early spring. Think that’s disgusting? Dammit, I do, too, but that’s the way male animals are made. Those peculiar delights were created to entrap us, and anybody who disapproves can take it up with God. In their wondrous capacity of knowing the Lord’s mind, churchly folks will tell you that He would purely hate to hear such dirty talk. My idea is, He wouldn’t mind it half so much as they would have us think, because even according to their own queer creed, we are God’s handiwork, created in His image, lust, piss, shit, and all. Without that magnificent Almighty lust that we mere mortals dare to call a sin, there wouldn’t be any more mortals, and God’s grand design for the human race, if He exists and if He ever had one, would turn to dust, and dust unto dust, forever and amen. Other creatures would step up and take over, realizing that man was too weak and foolish to properly reproduce himself. I nominate hogs to inherit the Earth, because hogs love to eat any old damned thing God sets in front of them, and they’re ever so grateful for God’s green earth even when it’s all rain and mud, and they just plain adore to feed and fuck and frolic and fulfill God’s holy plan. For all we know, it’s hogs which are created in God’s image, who’s to say?

Nevertheless" you've seen a strawberry that's had a struggle; yet was, where the fragments met, a hedgehog or a star- fish for the multitude of seeds. What better food than apple seeds - the fruit within the fruit - locked in like counter-curved twin hazelnuts? Frost that kills the little rubber-plant - leaves of kok-sagyyz-stalks, can't harm the roots; they still grow in frozen ground. Once where there was a prickley-pear - leaf clinging to a barbed wire, a root shot down to grow in earth two feet below; as carrots from mandrakes or a ram's-horn root some- times. Victory won't come to me unless I go to it; a grape tendril ties a knot in knots till knotted thirty times - so the bound twig that's under- gone and over-gone, can't stir. The weak overcomes its menace, the strong over- comes itself. What is there like fortitude! What sap went through that little thread to make the cherry red!

Come, Paul!" she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman. I thought he receded; I thought he would go. Pierced deeper than I could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression, I cried - "My heart will break!" What I felt seemed literal heart-break; but the seal of another fountain yielded under the strain: one breath from M. Paul, the whisper, "Trust me!" lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many a deep sob, with thrilling, with icy shiver, with strong trembling, and yet with relief - I wept. "Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass," said the calm Madame Beck. To be left to her and her cordial seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly - "Laissez-moi!" in the grim sound I felt a music strange, strong, but life-giving. "Laissez-moi!" he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke. "But this will never do," said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman - "Sortez d'ici!" "I will send for Père Silas: on the spot I will send for him," she threatened pertinaciously. "Femme!" cried the Professor, not now in his deep tones, but in his highest and most excited key, "Femme! sortez à l'instant!" He was roused, and I loved him in his wrath with a passion beyond what I had yet felt. "What you do is wrong," pursued Madame; "it is an act characteristic of men of your unreliable, imaginative temperament; a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent - a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in the view of persons of steadier and more resolute character." "You know not what I have of steady and resolute in me," said he, "but you shall see; the event shall teach you. Modeste," he continued less fiercely, "be gentle, be pitying, be a woman; look at this poor face, and relent. You know I am your friend, and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts, you well and deeply know I may be trusted. Of sacrificing myself I made no difficulty but my heart is pained by what I see; it must have and give solace. Leave me!" This time, in the "leave me" there was an intonation so bitter and so imperative, I wondered that even Madame Beck herself could for one moment delay obedience; but she stood firm; she gazed upon him dauntless; she met his eye, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort; I saw over all M. Paul's face a quick rising light and fire; I can hardly tell how he managed the movement; it did not seem violent; it kept the form of courtesy; he gave his hand; it scarce touched her I thought; she ran, she whirled from the room; she was gone, and the door shut, in one second. The flash of passion was all over very soon. He smiled as he told me to wipe my eyes; he waited quietly till I was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself - re-assured, not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life, and seeking death. "It made you very sad then to lose your friend?" said he. "It kills me to be forgotten, Monsieur," I said.

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place. Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all. We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn: But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind, So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind. We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace, Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place, But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome. With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch, They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch; They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings; So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things. When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know." On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life (Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife) Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death." In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all, By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die." Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more. As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man There are only four things certain since Social Progress began. That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire; And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins, As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn, The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

By the way, a Bulgarian I met lately in Moscow," Ivan went on, seeming not to hear his brother's words, "told me about the crimes committed by Turks and Circassians in all parts of Bulgaria through fear of a general rising of the Slavs. They burn villages, murder, outrage women and children, they nail their prisoners by the ears to the fences, leave them so till morning, and in the morning they hang them- all sorts of things you can't imagine. People talk sometimes of bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that's all he can do. He would never think of nailing people by the ears, even if he were able to do it. These Turks took a pleasure in torturing children, -too; cutting the unborn child from the mothers womb, and tossing babies up in the air and catching them on the points of their bayonets before their mothers' eyes. Doing it before the mothers' eyes was what gave zest to the amusement. Here is another scene that I thought very interesting. Imagine a trembling mother with her baby in her arms, a circle of invading Turks around her. They've planned a diversion: they pet the baby, laugh to make it laugh. They succeed, the baby laughs. At that moment a Turk points a pistol four inches from the baby's face. The baby laughs with glee, holds out its little hands to the pistol, and he pulls the trigger in the baby's face and blows out its brains. Artistic, wasn't it? By the way, Turks are particularly fond of sweet things, they say.

Four Day’s Four Night’s My desire her eyes Her attention my life I claim she refuses..! In the passion of hope I was All day all night Her ignorance my fall I like rides so I moved I know now she wants After immense instance We met With less in words..! Exchanging thru eyes a lot Jovial and congenial All day all night I claim again..! Response remains..? My hope is my ecstasy Your woe is your wait I hope…! You sense the harmony Of my bond on two wheels You will always My first love Till the cease I loved you All days all nights

Taking a beating is part of being alive, … The best brawlers I’ve ever met were the ugliest, too, broken noses and missing teeth and cauliflower ears, because the best way to learn to win is by losing … You can’t know how sweet it is to breathe ‘till you’ve had your ribs broken. You can’t appreciate being happy ‘till someone’s made you cry. And there’s no point in blaming yourself for the kickings life gives you. Just think about how much it hurt, and how much you don’t want to feel that way again, and that’ll help you go what you need to do the next time to win.

One can never call me a quitter I take something right and see it through till it’s wrong Auctioning myself off to the lowest bidder Going once, going twice Gone Sold to the man for the price of disdain Some are sold for a song I don’t rate a refrain I guess it was all going just a little too well If I wasn’t careful I’d be happy pretty soon Heaven’s no place for one who thrives on hell, One who prefers the bit to the silver spoon. Then just when I’d almost resigned myself to winning When it seemed my bright future would never dim When my luck looked as though it was only beginning I met him. Sullen and scornful; a real Marlboro man The type who pours out the beer and eats the can A tall guy with a cultivated leer One you can count on to diaprove or disappear I knew right away that he was a find Given this, he was the kindest man I’d ever met Back came my sense of worthlessness And my long lost pangs of regret I was my old self again, lost and confused Reunited with that old feeling Of being misunderstood and misused. Sold to the man for the price of disdain All of this would be interesting If it weren’t so mundane

I never knew the charm of spring Never met it face to face I never knew my heart could sing Never missed a warm embrace Till April in Paris Whom can I run to What have you done to My heart

Who is he?” Eleanor lowered her voice, the name rolling off her tongue like a dark secret. “Dante Berlin.” I laughed. “Dante? Like the Dante who wrote the Inferno? Did he pick that name just to cultivate his ‘dark and mysterious’ persona?” Eleanor shook her head in disapproval. “Just wait till you see him. You won’t be laughing then.” I rolled my eyes. “I bet his real name is something boring like Eugene or Dwayne.” I expected Eleanor to laugh or say something in return, but instead she gave me a concerned look. I ignored it. “He sounds like a snob to me. I bet he’s one of those guys who know they’re good-looking. He probably hasn’t even read the Inferno. It’s easy to pretend you’re smart when you don’t to anyone.” Eleanor still didn’t respond. “Shh . . .” she muttered under her breath. But before I could say “What?” I heard a cough behind me. Oh God, I thought to myself, and slowly turned around. “Hi,” he said with a half grin that seemed to be mocking me. And that’s how I met Dante Berlin. So how do you describe someone who leaves you speechless? He was beautiful. Not Monet beautiful or white sandy beach beautiful or even Grand Canyon beautiful. It was both more overwhelming and more delicate. Like gazing into the night sky and feeling incredibly small in comparison. Like holding a shell in your hand and wondering how nature was able to make something so complex yet to perfect: his eyes, dark and pensive; his messy brown hair tucked behind one ear; his arms, strong and lean beneath the cuffs of his collared shirt. I wanted to say something witty or charming, but all I could muster up was a timid “Hi.” He studied me with what looked like a mix of disgust and curiosity. “You must be Eugene,” I said. “I am.” He smiled, then leaned in and added, “I hope I can trust you to keep my true identity a secret. A name like Eugene could do real damage to my mysterious persona.” I blushed at the sound of my words coming from his lips. He didn’t seem anything like the person Eleanor had described. “And you are—” “Renee,” I interjected. “I was going to say, ‘in my seat,’ but Renee will do.” My face went red. “Oh, right. Sorry.” “Renee like the philosopher Rene Descartes? How esoteric of you. No wonder you think you know everything. You probably picked that name just to cultivate your overly analytical persona.” I glared at him. I knew he was just dishing back my own insults, but it still stung. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said curtly, and pushed past him before he could respond, waving a quick good-bye to Eleanor, who looked too stunned to move. I turned and walked to the last row, using all of my self-control to resist looking back.

Friends are all souls that we've known in other lives. We're drawn to each other. That's how I feel about friends. Even if I have only known them for a day, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to wait till I have known them two years, because anyway we have met somewhere before, you know. [...] Those people who you know much more easily or more quickly are people whom you've already known in other lives.

Breathing Under Water,” a title taken from a telling poem by Carol Bieleck, r.s.c.j., which seemed to sum up so much of the common message. I quote it here in full:   “Breathing Under Water”   I built my house by the sea. Not on the sands, mind you; not on the shifting sand. And I built it of rock. A strong house by a strong sea. And we got well acquainted, the sea and I. Good neighbors. Not that we spoke much. We met in silences. Respectful, keeping our distance, but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand. Always, the fence of sand our barrier, always, the sand between.   And then one day, —and I still don’t know how it happened— the sea came. Without warning.   Without welcome, even Not sudden and swift, but a shifting across the sand like wine, less like the flow of water than the flow of blood. Slow, but coming. Slow, but flowing like an open wound. And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning and I thought of death. And while I thought the sea crept higher, till it reached my door. And I knew then, there was neither flight, nor death, nor drowning. That when the sea comes calling you stop being neighbors Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors And you give your house for a coral castle, And you learn to breathe underwater.3

XXIV. And more than that - a furlong on - why, there! What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, Or brake, not wheel - that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? With all the air Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. XXV. Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh it would seem, and now mere earth Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood - Bog, clay and rubble, sand, and stark black dearth. XXVI. Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss, or substances like boils; Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils. XXVII. And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening, naught To point my footstep further! At the thought, A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom friend, Sailed past, not best his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap - perchance the guide I sought. XXVIII. For, looking up, aware I somehow grew, Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place All round to mountains - with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. How thus they had surprised me - solve it, you! How to get from them was no clearer case. XXIX. Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick Of mischief happened to me, God knows when - In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then Progress this way. When, in the very nick Of giving up, one time more, came a click As when a trap shuts - you're inside the den. XXX. Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! those two hills on the right, Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight; While to the left a tall scalped mountain ... Dunce, Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! XXXI. What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on, only when the timbers start. XXXII. Not see? because of night perhaps? - why day Came back again for that! before it left The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay, - Now stab and end the creature - to the heft!' XXXIII. Not hear? When noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears Of all the lost adventurers, my peers - How such a one was strong, and such was bold, And such was fortunate, yet each of old Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. XXXIV. There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture! In a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, And blew. 'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.

Cam has been an outsider for his entire life. Even when he lived with the Rom. I think he’s always secretly hoped he could someday find a place where he would belong. But until he met you, it didn’t occur to him that it might not be a place he was looking for, but a person.

Having seen my love now / and said farewell / I know how very shallow my heart was of old / as if I had never before known love,’” Tokai intoned. “Gonchunagon Atsutada’s poem,” I said. I had no idea why I remembered this. “In college,” he said, “they taught us that ‘seen’ meant a lover’s tryst, including a physical relationship. At the time it didn’t mean much, but now, at this age, I’ve finally experienced what the poet felt. The deep sense of loss after you’ve met the woman you love, have made love, then said goodbye. Like you’re suffocating. The same emotion hasn’t changed at all in a thousand years. I’ve never had this feeling up till now, and it makes me realize how incomplete I’ve been, as a person. I was a little late in noticing this, though.

At the time it didn’t mean much, but now, at this age, I’ve finally experienced what the poet felt. The deep sense of loss after you’ve met the woman you love, have made love, then said goodbye. Like you’re suffocating. The same emotion hasn’t changed at all in a thousand years. I’ve never had this feeling up till now, and it makes me realize how incomplete I’ve been, as a person.

and even if I remembered them, whom could they interest?’ ‘Then how’s it to be?’ began the master of the house. ‘There was nothing much of interest about my first love either; I never fell in love with any one till I met Anna Nikolaevna, now my wife, – and everything went as smoothly as possible with us; our parents arranged the match, we were very soon in love with each other, and got married without loss of time. My story can be told in a couple of words. I must confess, gentlemen, in bringing up the subject of first love, I reckoned upon you, I won’t say old, but no longer young, bachelors. Can’t you enliven us with something, Vladimir Petrovitch?’ ‘My first love, certainly, was not quite an ordinary one,’ responded, with some reluctance, Vladimir Petrovitch, a man of forty, with black hair turning grey. ‘Ah!’ said

A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, Andrail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. 'No, sir,' quoth he, 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:' And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

The day after she went to walk on the Pincian Hill—the Hyde Park of the Roman idlers—possibly in hopes to have another sight of Lord Steyne. But she met another acquaintance there: it was Mr. Fiche, his lordship's confidential man, who came up nodding to her rather familiarly and putting a finger to his hat. "I knew that Madame was here," he said; "I followed her from her hotel. I have some advice to give Madame." "From the Marquis of Steyne?" Becky asked, resuming as much of her dignity as she could muster, and not a little agitated by hope and expectation. "No," said the valet; "it is from me. Rome is very unwholesome." "Not at this season, Monsieur Fiche—not till after Easter." "I tell Madame it is unwholesome now. There is always malaria for some people. That cursed marsh wind kills many at all seasons. Look, Madame Crawley, you were always bon enfant, and I have an interest in you, parole d'honneur. Be warned. Go away from Rome, I tell you—or you will be ill and die.

Stop it. Right now. Why torture yourself Layla? It’s not as many as you think. If I had to give you a number, which by the way I find a little unsettling, it would be…sixty, approximately. I started having sex when I was sixteen Layla. So when you think about it, that’s ten women per year. Not that many is it? And that’s including you. But none of them even matter because I’m with you. You’re the only woman I want in my bed, shower, tub, dining table, counter top, sofa and anywhere else I can throw you over. You, Layla Jennings are the only woman I will sleep with from now till the day I die. And I bet I know the next question and the answer is no. I didn’t love them. I never knew what love was. I cared about them sure and I wanted to make them happy but I didn’t love them. I love you. I’ve never met anyone that affects me the way you do. I feel like I could conquer the world, bench press a bus and run a marathon when I’m with you. You make me feel alive and so happy I can’t even think straight.

Jill had, as you might say, quite fall in love with the Unicorn. She thought- and she wasn't far wrong- that he was the shiningest, delicatest, most graceful animal she had ever met; and he was so gentle and soft of speech that, if you hadn't known, you would hardly have believed how fierce and terrible he could be in battle. "Oh, this is nice!" said Jill. "Just walking along like this. I wish there could be more of this sort of adventure. It's a pity there's always so much happening in Narnia." But the Unicorn explained to her that she was quite mistaken. He said that the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve were brought out of their own strange world into Narnia only at times when Narnia was stirred and upset, but she mustn't think it was always like that. In between their visits there were hundreds and thousands of years when peaceful King followed peaceful King till you could hardly remember their names or count their numbers, and there was really hardly anything to put into the History Books. And he went on to talk of old Queens and heroes whom she had never heard of. He spoke of Swanwhite the Queen who had lived before the days of the White Witch and the Great Winter, who was so beautiful that when she looked into any forest pool the reflection of her face shone out of the water like a star by night for a year and a day afterwards. He spoke of Moonwood the Hare who had such ears that he could sit by Caldron Pool under the thunder of the great waterfall and hear what men spoke in whispers at Cair Paravel. He told how King Gale, who was ninth in descent from Frank the first of all Kings, had sailed far away into the Eastern seas and delivered the Lone Islanders from a dragon and how, in return, they had given him the Lone Islands to be part of the royal lands of Narnia for ever. He talked of whole centuries in which all Narnia was so happy that notable dances and feasts, or at most tournaments, were the only things that could be remembered, and every day and week had been better than the last. And as he went on, the picture of all those happy years, all the thousands of them, piled up in Jill's mind till it was rather like looking down from a high hill on to a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

A pleasure is fully grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking, Hmān, as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing. The séroni could say it better than I say it now. Not better than I could say it in a poem. What you call remembering is the last part of the pleasure, as the crah is the last part of a poem. When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it. But still we know very little about it. What it will be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then⁠—that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it.

Would a panther carry off a little girl, Pa?” “Yes,” said Pa. “And kill her and eat her, too. You and Mary must stay in the house till I shoot that panther. As soon as daylight comes I will take my gun and go after him.” All the next day Pa hunted that panther. And he hunted the next day and the next day. He found the panther’s tracks, and he found the hide and bones of an antelope that the panther had eaten, but he did not find the panther anywhere. The panther went swiftly through tree-tops, where it left no tracks. Pa said he would not stop till he killed that panther. He said, “We can’t have panthers running around in a country where there are little girls.” But he did not kill that panther, and he did stop hunting it. One day in the woods he met an Indian. They stood in the wet, cold woods and looked at each other, and they could not talk because they did not know each other’s words. But the Indian pointed to the panther’s tracks, and he made motions with his gun to show Pa that he had killed that panther. He pointed to the tree-tops and to the ground, to show that he had shot it out of a tree. And he motioned to the sky, and west and east, to say that he had killed it the day before. So that was all right. The panther was dead. Laura asked if a panther would carry off a little papoose and kill and eat her, too, and Pa said yes. Probably that was why the Indian had killed that panther.

All these thoughts flashed through Amelia’s mind in one searing mass. But as she stiffened and waited for the ax to fall, Rohan came to her in two long strides. And before Amelia could move, or think, or even breathe, he had jerked her full length against him, and pulled her head to his. Rohan kissed her with an indecent frankness that sent her reeling. His arms were firm around her, keeping her steady while his mouth caught hers at just the right angle. Her hands moved in tentative objection, her palms encountering the tough muscles of his chest, the catch of his shirt buttons. He was the only solid thing in a kaleidoscopic world. She stopped pushing as her body absorbed the arousing details of him, the hard masculine contours, the fresh outdoors scent, the sensuous probing of his mouth. She had relived his kiss a thousand times in her dreams. She just hadn’t realized it until now. Graceful fingers cupped around her neck and jaw, turning her face upward. The tips of his fingers found the fine skin behind her ears, where it met the silken edge of her hairline. And all the while he continued to fill her with concentrated fire, until the inside of her mouth prickled sweetly and her legs shook beneath her. He used his tongue delicately, exploring without haste, entering her repeatedly while she clung to him in bewildered pleasure. His mouth lifted, his breath a hot caress against her lips. He turned his head as he spoke to whoever had entered the room. “I beg your pardon, my lord. We wanted a moment of privacy.” Amelia turned crimson as she followed his gaze to the doorway, where Lord Westcliff stood with an unfathomable expression. An electric moment passed while Westcliff appeared to marshal his thoughts. His gaze moved to Amelia’s face, then back to Rohan’s. A smile flickered in his dark eyes. “I intend to return in approximately a half hour. It would probably be best if my study were vacated by then.” Giving a courteous nod, he took his leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, Amelia dropped her forehead to Rohan’s shoulder with a groan. She would have pulled away, but she didn’t trust her knees to hold. “Why did you do that?” He didn’t look at all repentant. “I had to come up with a reason for both of us to be in here. It seemed the best option.

Now, I’ve been eating the pretzels with my wife since we met in 1962 and I don’t think they are especially good. I certainly don’t think they are “thicker,” but she had been eating them far longer than I, and she insisted the formula had changed, or perhaps the machinery, and that as a result they were very slightly “thicker,” and she would no longer eat them and complained about them for months. She tried to call the manufacturer but got only recorded voice greetings. She wrote emails and even letters but nobody answered. My wife is not one to give up on a thing and I’d be hearing about it until I died. So one day I was looking at the package, while she complained behind me, and I said, “By God, we should drive to the factory and tell them in person.” We are retired now and have an RV.

Perhaps you should speak to Cam,” Evie said, “before any decisions are made.” “He has nothing to do with my decisions.” Evie gave her a thoughtful look. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t make assumptions. It’s just that the ring on your finger … Cam’s worn it since he was twelve years old.” Amelia tugged violently at the ring. “I don’t know why he gave it to me. I’m sure it’s of no significance.” “I think it has very great significance,” Evie said softly. “Cam has been an outsider for his entire life. Even when he lived with the Rom. I think he’s always secretly hoped he could someday find a place where he would belong. But until he met you, it didn’t occur to him that it might not be a place he was looking for, but a person.” “I’m not that person,” Amelia whispered. “Truly, I’m not.” Evie regarded her with kind sympathy. “It’s your decision, of course. But as someone who has known Cam for a very long time, I must tell you … he’s a good man, and entirely trustworthy.

Being held, she thought, a little dazed. She was being held by a man, by Beckett, and in a way that didn't feel friendly or helpful. In a way that made something coil inside her, a long, slow wind. Something that felt exactly like lust. It spread in a swamping wave as she watched his gaze slide down to her mouth, hold there. She smelled honeysuckle. Moonlight and honeysuckle. "Elizabeth". I call her Elizabeth because the first time I was sure she was here I was in Elizabeth and Darcy. This building - or parts of it- has been here for two and a half centuries. It would strike me odder if there wasn't a ghost. Not everthin, everyone, leaves. You don't know people till you know them. In the instant that he looked up, met her eyes, his warm, warm fule and full of fun, she fell. Maybe she'd been sling, she realized, inching her way along. But this was the finish line, the moment she knew-no coubts-she loved. The moment she could see herself with him next month, next year, next always.

3.335: Narrated Ata bin Yasar: I met `Abdullah bin `Amr bin Al-`As and asked him, "Tell me about the description of Allah's Apostle which is mentioned in Torah (i.e. Old Testament.") He replied, 'Yes. By Allah, he is described in Torah with some of the qualities attributed to him in the Qur'an as follows: "O Prophet ! We have sent you as a witness (for Allah's True religion) And a giver of glad tidings (to the faithful believers), And a warner (to the unbelievers) And guardian of the illiterates. You are My slave and My messenger (i.e. Apostle). I have named you "Al-Mutawakkil" (who depends upon Allah). You are neither discourteous, harsh Nor a noisemaker in the markets And you do not do evil to those Who do evil to you, but you deal With them with forgiveness and kindness. Allah will not let him (the Prophet) Die till he makes straight the crooked people by making them say: "None has the right to be worshipped but Allah," With which will be opened blind eyes And deaf ears and enveloped hearts.

Ancestors To tell the truth, we should not exist. We, not any collective plural, just you and me. Let us use our imaginations to visualize for a moment the circumstances and conditions of the life of our parents, then our grandparents, then great-grandparents, thus further and further back. Even if among them all there happened to be wealthy individuals or men of privilege, the stench and filth in which they lived, as that then was the rule, would have astonished us who use showers and toilets. What was even more certain was among them the presence of starvelings, for whom a piece of dry bread in pre-harvest time meant happiness. Our ancestors died like flies from epidemics, from starvation, from wars, though children swarmed, for every twelve of them only one or two survived. And what strange tribes, what ugly snouts behinds you and me, what bloody rites in honor of gods carved in the trunk of a linden tree! Back to those who are stalking through the undergrowth of a murky primeval forest with chipped stones for their only weapons, in order to split the skulls of their enemies. It would seem as if we had only parents and that's all, but those other pre-pre-predecessors exist, and with them their afflictions, manias, mental illnesses, syphilis, tuberculosis, and whatnot, and how do you know they do not continue on in you? And what was the probability that among the children of your great-great-grandparents the one survived who would beget your ancestor? And what the probability that this would repeat itself in the next generation? Altogether, a very slim chance that we would be born in these skins, as these, not other, individuals, in whom the genes met those of the devil knows what whores and oafs. The very fact that our species survived and even multiplied beyond measure is astonishing, for it had much against it, and the primeval forest full of animals stronger than humans may serve till now as a metaphor for man's precarious situation - let us add viruses, bacteria, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, floods, but also his own works, atomic weapons and the pollution of nature. Our species should have disappeared a long time ago, and it is still alive, incredibly resistant. That you and I happen to be part of it should be enough to give us pause for meditation.

The Constructed Space" Meanwhile surely there must be something to say, Maybe not suitable but at least happy In a sense between us two whoever We are. Anyhow here we are and never Before have we two faced each other who face Each other now across this abstract scene Stretching between us. This is a public place Achieved against subjective odds and then Mainly an obstacle to what I mean. It is like that, remember. It is like that Very often at the beginning till we are met By some intention risen up out of nothing. And even then we know what we are saying Only when it is said and fixed and dead. Or maybe, surely, of course we never know What we have said, what lonely meanings are read Into the space we make. And yet I say This silence here for in it I might hear you. I say this silence or, better, construct this space So that somehow something may move across The caught habits of language to you and me. From where we are it is not us we see And times are hastening yet, disguise is mortal. The times continually disclose our home. Here in the present tense disguise is mortal. The trying times are hastening. Yet here I am More truly now this abstract act become.

Don’t jump to conclusions over first impressions. They’re often dead wrong. When I first met Mark, I thought he was spoiled. When I met Shirley, I assumed she was tough as nails. But getting to know them both as a member of their family, I saw how wrong I was. Shirley is a teddy bear, a caring, loving person who would do anything for me. And Mark? I think of him as a brother, in every sense of the word. I’ve learned to make a special effort to get to know the people who put up walls and seem cold or tough. It’s like an onion; you have to peel back the layers. I’m sure some of my DWTS partners made an assumption about who I was the first time they worked with me. They probably thought I was a tough taskmaster and cursed me out for putting them through this! But anyone who truly knows me will tell you, I’m harder on myself than I am on anyone else. And I’m a softie who loves to goof around. But to see that side of me, you need to move past the first impression. What’s the lesson here? Dig a little deeper. Get to know people and what makes them tick. Don’t make an assumption till you know someone a lot better. Think of all the people you might have dismissed who could have been great friends, mentors, or allies, if you’d only given them the chance. Perfect example: dancing with Lil’ Kim on DWTS. She had recently spent time in jail and I remember thinking, Oh my gosh, I’m afraid I’m going to get shanked in the middle of the dance! Then I realized I was judging her without knowing her, something that I have hated people doing to me in the past. It took only a few minutes to see the sweet, loving person she truly was. Had I not given us the chance to get to know each other better, I never would have learned that.

You aren’t worried about tomorrow, are you?” “What do you think?” He propped himself up on his elbows and studied my face. “You told me last spring it was the easiest thing in the whole wide world. You could hardly wait to jump. Why, even when you got sick you worried you’d die without having a chance to do it.” “I must have been a raving lunatic,” I muttered. Theo scowled, but the sound of a Model T chugging up the driveway stopped him from saying more. Its headlamps lit the trees and washed across the house. “It’s John again,” Theo said. “Papa will start charging him room and board soon.” Hidden in the shadows, we watched John jump out of the car and run up the porch steps. Hannah met him at the door. From inside the house, their laughter floated toward us as silvery as moonlight, cutting into my heart like a knife. “Hannah has a beau.” Theo sounded as if he were trying out a new word, testing it for rightness. He giggled. “Do you think she lets him kiss her?” I spat in the grass, a trick I’d learned from Edward. “Don’t be silly.” “What’s silly about smooching? When I’m old enough, I plan to kiss Marie Jenkins till our lips melt.” Making loud smacking sounds with his mouth, Theo demonstrated. Pushing him away, I wrestled him to the ground and started tickling him. As he pleaded for mercy, we heard the screen door open. Thinking Mama was about to call us inside, we broke apart and lay still. It was Hannah and John. “They’re sitting in the swing,” Theo whispered. “Come on, let’s spy on them. I bet a million zillion dollars they start spooning.” Stuffing his jar of fireflies into his shirt, Theo dropped to his knees and crawled across the lawn toward the house. I followed him, sure he was wrong. Hannah wasn’t old enough for kissing. Or silly enough. We reached the bushes beside the porch without being seen. Crouched in the dirt, we were so close I could have reached up and grabbed Hannah’s ankle. To keep from giggling, Theo pressed his hands over his mouth. Sick with jealousy, I watched John put his arm around Hannah and draw her close. As his lips met hers, I felt Theo jab my side. I teetered and lost my balance. The bushes swayed, the leaves rustled, a twig snapped under my feet. “Be quiet,” Theo hissed in my ear. “Do you want to get us killed?” We backed out of the bushes, hoping to escape, but it was too late. Leaving John in the swing, Hannah strode down the porch steps, grabbed us each by an ear, and shook us like rats. “Can’t a body have a second of privacy?

Every Monday and Friday night, leaving us with awful suppers to reheat, our mum didn’t work late shifts at the printworks. She went to an office in Shoreditch. And from there, by radio, by note, by telephone and letters, she exchanged messages with Miss Carter and Mrs. Henderson and Queenie and others like them on what she called ‘humanitarian war work’. She’d never met any of them in person. ‘I can’t tell you any more details. It’s secret work. How you know even this much is really quite beyond me,’ she admitted. ‘I worked most of it out myself,’ I told her. She might’ve hidden it from me all this time, but I wasn’t stupid. ‘Sounds like Sukie did too.’ ‘Your sister spied on me,’ Mum replied bitterly. ‘She stole paperwork, listened in to private conversations. She was very foolish to get caught up in something she knew nothing about.’ ‘She did know about it, though. What Hitler’s doing really got to her. She was desperate to do something about it. All that post from Devon? It wasn’t from Queenie. Those were letters from the lighthouse, written by Ephraim, who feels the same about the Jewish people as Sukie does.’ ‘It was stupid, impulsive behaviour,’ Mum argued, ‘of the sort your sister’s very good at.’ Yet to me she had missed a vital point. ‘You know Sukie wanted to help you, don’t you? She saw how ill you’d got over Dad. By standing in for you on this job, she was making sure you’d get some rest, like the doctor said you should.’ ‘I might’ve known you’d stick up for your sister,’ Mum remarked. ‘But it didn’t help me – it worried me sick!’ ‘It did help thirty-two refugees, though,’ I reminded her. ‘She was lucky she didn’t get arrested straight away.’ Mum went on as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘When I found out that night what she’d done, I was all for going after her, hauling her back and locking her in her bedroom, till this frightful war was over if I had to. But it was too late by then. She was already halfway to France.’ ‘You knew the night she disappeared?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘And admit that I do undercover work and Sukie was doing it too?’ Mum cried. ‘Good grief, Olive, it’s secret business. It was too dangerous to tell you. There’s a war on, remember!’ ‘People always use that excuse,’ I muttered. It stunned me that Mum had known all this time. But then, hadn’t there been signs? The looks in our kitchen between her and Gloria, the refusal to talk about Sukie, the bundling us off out of the way – to here, the very place Sukie might, with any luck, show up. It was a clever way of making sure we knew the moment she set foot on British soil again.

He'd found a sweet-water stream that I drank from, and for dinner we found winkles that we ate baked on stones. We watched the sun set like a peach on the sea, making plans on how we might live till a ship called by. Next we made a better camp beside a river and had ourselves a pretty bathing pool all bordered with ferns; lovely it was, with marvelous red parrots chasing through the trees. Our home was a hut made of branches thatched with flat leaves, a right cozy place to sleep in. We had fat birds that Jack snared for our dinner, and made fire using a shard of looking glass I found in my pocket. We had lost the compass in the water, but didn't lament it. I roasted fish and winkles in the embers. For entertainment we even had Jack's penny whistle. It was a paradise, it was." "You loved him," her mistress said softly, as her pencil resumed its hissing across the paper. Peg fought a choking feeling in her chest. Aye, she had loved him- a damned sight more than this woman could ever know. "He loved me like his own breath," she said, in a voice that was dangerously plaintive. "He said he thanked God for the day he met me." Peg's eyes brimmed full; she was as weak as water. The rest of her tale stuck in her throat like a fishbone. Mrs. Croxon murmured that Peg might be released from her pose. Peg stared into space, again seeing Jack's face, so fierce and true. He had looked down so gently on her pitiful self; on her bruises and her bony body dressed in salt-hard rags. His blue eyes had met hers like a beacon shining on her naked soul. "I see past your always acting the tough girl," he insisted with boyish stubbornness. "I'll be taking care of you now. So that's settled." And she'd thought to herself, so this is it, girl. All them love stories, all them ballads that you always thought were a load of old tripe- love has found you out, and here you are. Mrs. Croxon returned with a glass of water, and Peg drank greedily. She forced herself to continue with self-mocking gusto. "When we lay down together in our grass house we whispered vows to stay true for ever and a day. We took pleasure from each other's bodies, and I can tell you, mistress, he were no green youth, but all grown man. So we were man and wife before God- and that's the truth." She faced out Mrs. Croxon with a bold stare. "You probably think such as me don't love so strong and tender, but I loved Jack Pierce like we was both put on earth just to find each other. And that night I made a wish," Peg said, raising herself as if from a trance, "a foolish wish it were- that me and Jack might never be rescued. That the rotten world would just leave us be.

So…,” I began. Was it just a high school thing? Or worse, I imagined, is it just that I’m not and never will be a country girl? Is it that country girls have some wild sense of abandon that I wasn’t born with? A reckless side, a fun, adventurous side that makes them worthy of riding next to boys in pickups? Am I untouchable? Am I too prim? Too proper? I’m not! I’m really not! I’m fun and adventurous. Reckless, too! I have a pair of jeans: Anne Kleins! And I want to be Middle Seat Worthy. Please, Marlboro Man…please. I’ve never wanted anything this much. “So, um…why don’t you do it anymore?” I asked. “Bucket seats,” Marlboro Man answered, his hand still resting on my leg. Made sense. I settled in and relaxed a bit. But I had another question I’d been mulling over. “Mind if I ask you another question?” I said. “Go ahead,” he replied. I cleared my throat and sat up straight in my seat. “How come…how come it took you so long to call me?” I couldn’t help but grin. It was one of the most direct questions I’d ever asked him. He looked in my direction, then back toward the road. “You don’t have to tell me,” I said. And he didn’t. But I’d wondered more than a handful of times, and as long as he was coming clean about bucket seats and other important matters, I thought it would be a good time to ask him why four months had passed between the first night we’d met in the smoky bar and the night he’d finally called to invite me to dinner. I remembered being knocked over by his magnetism that night during Christmas vacation. What had he thought of me? Had he forgotten me instantly, then remembered me in a flash that April night after my brother’s wedding? Or had he intentionally waited four months to call? Was it some kind of country boy protocol I didn’t know about? I was a girl. I simply had to know. “I was…,” he began. “Well, I was dating someone else.” I’ll kill her with my bare hands. “Oh,” I said in return. It was all I could muster. “Plus, I was running a herd of cows in Nebraska and having to drive up there every week,” he continued. “I just wasn’t here enough to break things off with her in the right way…and I didn’t want to call you and ask you out until that was all resolved.” I repeated myself. “Oh.” What was her name? She’s dead to me. “I liked you, though,” he said, flashing me a smile. “I thought about you.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “You did?” I asked quietly, still wondering what the girl’s name was. I wouldn’t rest till I knew. “I did,” he said sweetly, stroking my leg with his hand. “You were different.” I stopped short of interrogating him further, of asking him to specify what he meant by “different.” And it didn’t take much imagination to figure it out. As he drove me around his familiar homeland, it was obvious what he would have considered “different” about me. I didn’t know anything about the country.

III. But we must close with a third remark. Christ really underwent yet a third trial. He was not only tried before the ecclesiastical and civil tribunals, but, he was really tried before the great democratical tribunal, that is, the assembly of the people in the street. You will say, "How?" Well, the trial was somewhat singular, but yet it was really a trial. Barabbas—a thief, a felon, a murderer, a traitor, had been captured; he was probably one of a band of murderers who were accustomed to come up to Jerusalem at the time of the feast, carrying daggers under their cloaks to stab persons in the crowd, and rob them, and then he would be gone again; besides that, he had tried to stir up sedition, setting himself up possibly as a leader of banditti. Christ was put into competition with this villain; the two were presented before the popular eye, and to the shame of manhood, to the disgrace of Adam's race, let it be remembered that the perfect, loving, tender, sympathizing, disinterested Savior was met with the word, "Crucify him!" and Barabbas, the thief, was preferred. "Well," says one, "that was atrocious." The same thing is put before you this morning—the very same thing; and every unregenerate man will make the same choice that the Jews did, and only men renewed by grace will act upon the contrary principle. I say, friend, this day I put before you Christ Jesus, or your sins. The reason why many come not to Christ is because they cannot give up their lusts, their pleasures, their profits. Sin is Barabbas; sin is a thief; it will rob your soul of its life; it will rob God of his glory. Sin is a murderer; it stabbed our father Adam; it slew our purity. Sin is a traitor; it rebels against the king of heaven and earth. If you prefer sin to Christ, Christ has stood at your tribunal, and you have given in your verdict that sin is better than Christ. Where is that man? He comes here every Sunday; and yet he is a drunkard? Where is he? You prefer that reeling demon Bacchus to Christ. Where is that man? He comes here. Yes; and where are his midnight haunts? The harlot and the prostitute can tell! You have preferred your own foul, filthy lust to Christ. I know some here that have their consciences open pricked, and yet there is no change in them. You prefer Sunday trading to Christ; you prefer cheating to Christ; you prefer the theater to Christ; you prefer the harlot to Christ; you prefer the devil himself to Christ, for he it is that is the father and author of these things. "No," says one, "I don't, I don't." Then I do again put this question, and I put it very pointedly to you—"If you do not prefer your sins to Christ, how is it that you are not a Christian?" I believe this is the main stumbling-stone, that "Men love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil." We come not to Christ because of the viciousness of our nature, and depravity of our heart; and this is the depravity of your heart, that you prefer darkness to light, put bitter for sweet, and choose evil as your good. Well, I think I hear one saying, "Oh! I would be on Jesus Christ's side, but I did not look at it in that light; I thought the question was. "Would he be on my side? I am such a poor guilty sinner that I would fain stand anywhere, if Jesu's blood would wash me." Sinner! sinner! if thou talkest like that, then I will meet thee right joyously. Never was a man one with Christ till Christ was one with him. If you feel that you can now stand with Christ, and say, "Yes, despised and rejected, he is nevertheless my God, my Savior, my king. Will he accept me? Why, soul, he has accepted you; he has renewed you, or else you would not talk so. You speak like a saved man. You may not have the comfort of salvation, but surely there is a work of grace in your heart, God's divine election has fallen upon you, and Christ's precious redemption has been made for you, or else you would not talk so. You cannot be willing to come to Christ, and y

Something's got you panicked and it's too late. You may be the biggest thing ever to hit this area, but in the long run, you're just two-bit outlaws. I never met a soul more affable than you, Butch, or faster than the Kid, but you're still nothing but a couple of two-bit outlaws on the dodge... —you just want to hide out till it's old times again, but it's over. It's over, don't you get that? It's over and you're both gonna die bloody, and all you can do is choose where.

At the time it didn’t mean much, but now, at this age, I’ve finally experienced what the poet felt. The deep sense of loss after you’ve met the woman you love, have made love, then said goodbye. Like you’re suffocating. The same emotion hasn’t changed at all in a thousand years. I’ve never had this feeling up till now, and it makes me realize how incomplete I’ve been, as a person. I was a little late in noticing this, though.

There’s been some speculation that Donovan is dating you to get a better contract with the Knights,” she continued. Fury rose in Donovan so fast it damn near obscured his vision. A loud guffaw stopped him from setting Kayla so straight she’d never look askance again. Jada slapped her hand on the table. “Are you serious right now? He’s dating me to get a better contract? That would be a big fat hell no. He’s the most upstanding man I’ve ever met and the last person to ever do something so underhanded. He didn't even know who I was when we first met. Please apologize to him right now or I will walk off this show.” Jada was deadly serious. She looked for all the world like a warrior ready to defend her family. He was touched beyond belief. Despite everything that had gone down between them, despite the way he’d hurt her feelings in that supply closet, she still had his back.

Ye Micht Hae Kinder Been I wonder, John, if ye forget The lightsome days o' youth ; Nae frown was seen then on your face. Your words were love and truth. But oh ! it's sadly changed noo Frae what I once hae seen ; It grieves my heart indeed to say, Ye're no what ye hae been. My love to you is aye the same, An' shall be to the last ; 'Mid scenes like this 'twill no' be lang Till a' my cares are past. And when I'm laid aneath the clod, An' ye come hame at e'en, Remorse may force you to confess Ye micht hae kinder been. 'Mid a' the changing scenes o' life, Its trials an' its care, Without a frown I met them a'. An' tried to tak' my share. My object was to cheer you aye When ye cam' hame at e'en. But noo its hardly in my power ― Ye micht hae kinder been. Whate'er I thought wad gie offence I tried aye to remove ; To me the hardest task seemed light When tempered doun wi' love. Your failings frae the world were hid― I tried them a' to screen ; Nae wonder, noo, I often think, Ye micht hae kinder been. James Munce (1881)

Cicero - Good even, Casca. Brought you Cæsar home? Why are you breathless and why stare you so? Casca - Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen the ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, to be exalted with the threatening clouds. But, never till tonight, never till now, did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, or else the world, too saucy with the gods, incenses them to send destruction. Cicero - Why, saw you anything more wonderful? Casca - A common slave—you know him well by sight—held up his left hand, which did flame and burn like twenty torches joined. And yet his hand, not sensible of fire, remained unscorched. Besides, I had not since put up my sword 'gainst the Capitol I met a lion, who glared upon me, and went surly by, without annoying me. And there were drawn upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, transformed with their fear who swore they saw men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit even at noon-day upon the marketplace, hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies do so conjointly meet, let not men say "These are their reasons; they are natural," for I believe they are portentous things unto the climate that they point upon. Cicero - Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time, but men may construe things after their fashion, clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Cæsar to the Capitol tomorrow? Casca - He doth, for he did bid Antonius send word to you he would be there tomorrow. Cicero - Good night then, Casca. This disturbed sky is not to walk in. Casca - Farewell, Cicero.

I met Mr. Persimmons in the village to-day," Mr. Batesby said to the Archdeacon. "He asked after you very pleasantly, although he's sent every day to inquire. It was he that saw you lying in the road, you know, and brought you here in his car. It must be a great thing for you to have a sympathetic neighbour at the big house; there's so often friction in these small parishes." "Yes," the Archdeacon said. "We had quite a long chat," the other went on. "He isn't exactly a Christian, unfortunately, but he has a great admiration for the Church. He thinks it's doing a wonderful work—especially in education. He takes a great interest in education; he calls it the star of the future. He thinks morals are more important than dogma, and of course I agree with him." "Did you say 'of course I agree' or 'of course I agreed'?" the Archdeacon asked. "Or both?" "I mean I thought the same thing," Mr. Batesby explained. He had noticed a certain denseness in the Archdeacon on other occasions. "Conduct is much the biggest thing in life, I feel. 'He can't be wrong whose life is for the best; we needs must love the higher when we see Him.' And he gave me five pounds towards the Sunday School Fund." "There isn't," the Archdeacon said, slightly roused, "a Sunday School Fund at Fardles." "Oh, well!" Mr. Batesby considered. "I daresay he'd be willing for it to go to almost anything active. He was very keen, and I agree—thought just the same, on getting things done. He thinks that the Church ought to be a means of progress. He quoted something about not going to sleep till we found a pleasant Jerusalem in the green land of England. I was greatly struck. An idealist, that's what I should call him. England needs idealists to-day." "I think we had better return the money," the Archdeacon said, "If he isn't a Christian—" "Oh, but he is," Mr. Batesby protested. "In effect, that is. He thinks Christ was the second greatest man the earth has produced." "Who was the first?" the Archdeacon asked. Mr. Batesby paused again for a moment. "Do you know, I forgot to ask?" he said. "But it shows a sympathetic spirit, doesn't it? After all, the second greatest! That goes a long way. Little children, love one another—if five pounds helps us to teach them that in the schools. I'm sure mine want a complete new set of Bible pictures." -Chap. VI The Sabbath

Cicero: Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless, and why stare you so? Casca: Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests when the scolding winds have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen the ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, to be exalted with the threat'ning clouds. But never till tonight, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. Cicero: Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? Casca: A common slave — you know him well by sight — held up his left hand, which did flame and burn like twenty torches joined, and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remained unscorched. Besides — I ha' not since put up my sword — Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glared upon me, and went surly by, Without annoying me. And there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, Transformèd with their fear, who swore they saw Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit, Even at noonday, upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigiesFor I believe they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. Cicero Indeed, it is a strange-disposèd time. But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Come Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow? Casca He doth, for he did bid Antonius Send word to you he would be there tomorrow. Cicero Good night then, Casca; this disturbèd sky Is not to walk in.

Yes, I suppose so,” said Lord Pomfret. “Though I admit I did not kiss old women in cottages, or young women either. In fact no one till I met you, Sally. I don’t count Rosina.” “And who on earth is Rosina?” said his countess, curious but quite unmoved by his confession. “One of my best friends,” said Lord Pomfret. “She was cook and everything else in the house my father had in Italy and she looked after it when he was in England. She was rather kind to me when I was a boy. I think she was sorry for me not having a mother. She married the inn-keeper’s son and has twelve children. I believe I’m godfather to one of them, but I couldn’t get out to the christening, so the Sindaco, a sort of Mayor, took my place. I rather think he was the baby’s father.” “Gillie! you never told me that before,” said his wife indignantly. “Did they call the baby Gillie? Or I suppose it would be Giglio.” “Certainly not,” said Lord Pomfret. “They called it Antonio after the local poacher. I daresay he was its father too. You never know.

A server arrives to top up our glasses. I wait till he’s poured, returned the bottle to its bucket, and laid the white napkin over the top. ‘A group of us had the idea three or four years ago. You met Gen—I was at uni with her, Callum, and Zach, our other co-founders. I went to school with Cal and Zach too. There were so many flash members’ clubs opening up around Mayfair. We joined a few, and they were fun. Predictable. Total meat markets, obviously. They got formulaic pretty quickly. Just posh people looking to get fucked and fuck. We felt that, for the amount of money they were charging, we should get more bang for our buck. Stupid pun intended.’ She rewards my lame joke with a little smile. ‘Anyway, there were some pop-up sex clubs around that were killing it. We thought it would be fun to try something more permanent. Somewhere with rules and vetting that meant you were far safer than in any of those other places, but where you could also try out things that maybe you’d just fantasised about.’ She nods. ‘Makes sense. Maddy never goes home alone from Annabel’s. I worry sometimes, because a lot of these guys are super-entitled, and God knows what they might think they’re entitled to. It freaks me out.’ ‘Exactly. The safety and the freedom go hand in hand. You can’t let go if you don’t feel safe. That’s at the heart of everything we do.’ ‘So why the name Alchemy?

i am done with dating i am too intense for just drinks or a coffee i fall in love either immediately or never i am a stay-up-till-three-am girl talk-all-night girl tell-me-all-your-secrets girl i know we just met but we might as well get married it was less i was in love with you and more you made me feel like i was standing on stable ground for once

If man had kept the law of God, as given to Adam after his fall, preserved by Noah, and observed by Abraham, there would have been no necessity for the ordinance of circumcision. And if the descendants of Abraham had kept the covenant, of which circumcision was a sign, they would never have been seduced into idolatry, nor would it have been necessary for them to suffer a life of bondage in Egypt; they would have kept God’s law in mind, and there would have been no necessity for it to be proclaimed from Sinai or engraved upon the tables of stone. And had the people practiced the principles of the Ten Commandments, there would have been no need of the additional directions given to Moses. The sacrificial system, committed to Adam, was also perverted by his descendants. Superstition, idolatry, cruelty, and licentiousness corrupted the simple and significant service that God had appointed. Through long intercourse with idolaters the people of Israel had mingled many heathen customs with their worship; therefore the Lord gave them at Sinai definite instruction concerning the sacrificial service. After the completion of the tabernacle he communicated with Moses from the cloud of glory above the mercy seat, and gave him full directions concerning the system of offerings and the forms of worship to be [365] maintained in the sanctuary. The ceremonial law was thus given to Moses, and by him written in a book. But the law of Ten Commandments spoken from Sinai had been written by God himself on the tables of stone, and was sacredly preserved in the ark. There are many who try to blend these two systems, using the texts that speak of the ceremonial law to prove that the moral law has been abolished; but this is a perversion of the Scriptures. The distinction between the two systems is broad and clear. The ceremonial system was made up of symbols pointing to Christ, to his sacrifice and his priesthood. This ritual law, with its sacrifices and ordinances, was to be performed by the hebrews until type met antitype in the death of Christ, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world. Then all the sacrificial offerings were to cease. It is this law that Christ “took ...out of the way, nailing it to his cross.” Colossians 2:14. But concerning the law of Ten Commandments the psalmist declares, “Forever, O Lord, Thy word is settled in heaven.” Psalm 119:89. And Christ himself says, “Think not that I am come to destroy the law.... Verily I say unto you”—making the assertion as emphatic as possible—“Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.” Matthew 5:17, 18. Here he teaches, not merely what the claims of God’s law had been, and were then, but that these claims should hold as long as the heavens and the earth remain. The law of God is as immutable as his throne. It will maintain its claims upon mankind in all ages.

Just a negative attitude, you understand. growing up in alt geld, i'd soaked up all the poison the white man feeds us. see, the folks you're working with got the same problem, even though they dont realize it yet. they spend half they lives worrying about what the white folks think. start blaming themselves for the shit they see every day, thinking they cant do no better till the white man decides they all right. but deep down they know that ain't right. they know what this country has dont to their momma, their daddy, their sister. so the truth is they hate their folks, but they cant admit it to themselves, keep it all bottled up, fighting themselves. waste a lot of energy that way. i tell you one thing i admire about the white folks, they know who they are. look at the italians. they didn't care about the American flag and all that when they got here. first thing they did is to put together the mafia to make sure their intrests were met. the irish they took the city hall and found their boys jobs. the Jews the same thing.. you telling me they care more about some black kid in the south side than they do about they relatives in isarel? shit!> its about blood, Barack, looking after your own. period. black people the only ones stupid enough to worry about their enemies.

When they got back to town the hunters had returned and Mel was delighted to see no evidence of murdered wildlife in the truck beds or tied to roofs. But her elation was short-lived, because once inside the bar she learned that they had bagged two bucks, four-by-fours, both of which had already been taken to the meat processor to be butchered. “Oh,” she whined emotionally. “Who did it?” Jack looked at his feet. But he made an attempt. “I think Ricky did it.” Mel met Rick’s eyes and the boy put up two hands, palms toward her. It wasn’t him. Mel leaned against her husband and, unbelievably, started to cry. Jack shook his head, put an arm around her and led her away from the gathering, back toward the kitchen. As he did so, David was bouncing up and down on Mel’s hip, waving his arms wildly and reaching for his dad. “Melinda,” Jack said. “You knew we were going hunting. We didn’t torture the deer. We’re going to have venison.” “I hate it,” she sniveled. “I know you hate it, but it’s not a cruel thing. It’s probably more humane than the way cattle are slaughtered.” “Don’t try to make me feel better about this.” “Jesus, I wouldn’t dare,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?” “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I’m weepy.” “No shit. Here, let me have him. He’s out of his mind.” “Sugar,” she said. “I should go nurse him.” “He’s going to be riding his bike up to the breast before long.” “He doesn’t want to give it up.” “Understandable. But you’re worn out. Maybe you should go home and go to bed.” “I don’t sleep till he sleeps. And he isn’t going to sleep until he detoxes.” “All right,” Jack said, taking his son. “Go cry or wash your face or nap or something. I’ll hang on to the wild one until he calms down a little.” He kissed her forehead. “This really isn’t like you. Not even over deer.” “By the way, you smell really bad,” she said. “Thank you, my love. You smell really good. I’ll wash this off before I smell the rest of you, how’s that?” She

Do you have any idea how much I love you?” “I do,” she said, smiling. “Well, I’d give my life for you, that’s how much. I’ve never been happier than these past few weeks. But I was just telling Matt—I’d give it all up and live alone and miserable and jealous till the end of time if I could get him back. He was the most amazing man, the most incredible friend. It would probably kill me, but I’d give this up if it meant he could live.” Vanni put a hand along his cheek. “He knows that already, Paul. He always knew that.” “You have to be real sad sometimes, honey. Even now. You don’t ever have to hide that from me. I’ll hold you through the tears now, just like I did before—and I won’t feel cheated. Not by a long shot.” “Paul, I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” she said sweetly. “Not long after Matt and I met, I lost my mom—and she was the best friend I ever had. And then I lost my husband to a war. Do you have any idea what a gift I have in you? It was like being rescued. I didn’t know I could feel like this. I thought every day would hurt forever. It’s probably not really stronger than what I felt for Matt, but coming after all that loss and pain, it sure feels like a miracle to me. Oh—I’ll always miss him, too. I can’t help that. But I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I’m not giving you up.” “I just wish there was a way I could know—I wish I knew he was okay with this—you and me.” “Remember, I told you,” she said, smiling. “I ran it by him already. A few times. Before you ever let me know how you felt.” “I wish I could know he forgives me for—for wanting you all those years you belonged to him…” She laughed softly, sweetly. “I think you’re being silly now. You showed him such incredible respect, never letting anyone know. Paul, there’s nothing to forgive.” “The night Mattie came, I was out here talking to him. Jack came and got me—he said Matt had moved on. He said we each have our destiny and Matt’s took him somewhere else.” “Yeah—wherever he is, he’s tearing the place up, making people laugh, feel good. Paul, this would make Matt happy. You know how much you love him? He loved you that much or more. I can’t think of anyone he’d rather have raise his son.” “I’ll do the best I can with that, honey. I’d sure like to make Matt proud. I’ll try to be as good a husband as Matt was….” She shook her head and smiled at him. “You’re not going to have to try. As far as I can tell, you’re a natural.” *

Zuckerman turned his attention back to Myron. “So tell me, you trying to sign Crispin?” “I haven’t even met him yet,” Myron said. Zuckerman put his hand to his chest, feigning surprise. “Well then, Myron, this is some eerie coincidence. You being here when we’re about to break bread with him—what are the odds? Wait.” Norm stopped, put his hand to his ear. “I think I hear Twilight Zone music.” “Ha-ha,” Myron said. “Oh, relax, Myron. I’m teasing you. Lighten up, for crying out loud. But let me be honest for a second, okay? I don’t think Cripsin needs you, Myron. Nothing personal, but the kid signed the deal with me himself. No agent. No lawyer. Handled it all on his own.” “And got robbed,” Win added. Zuckerman put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Win.” “Crispin told me the numbers,” Win said. “Myron would have gotten him a far better deal.” “With all due respect to your centuries of upper-crust inbreeding, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The kid left a little money in the till for me, that’s all. Is that a crime nowadays—for a man to make a profit? Myron’s a shark, for crying out loud. He rips off my clothes when we talk. He leaves my office, I don’t even have undies left. I don’t even have furniture. I don’t even have an office. I start out with this beautiful office and Myron comes in and I end up naked in some soup kitchen someplace.” Myron

8Cain said to his brother Abel*…and when they were in the field, Cain set upon his brother Abel and killed him. 9The Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” And he said, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” 10Then He said, “What have you done? Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground! 11Therefore, you shall be more cursed than the ground,* which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. 12If you till the soil, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. You shall become a ceaseless wanderer on earth.” 13Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is too great to bear! 14Since You have banished me this day from the soil, and I must avoid Your presence and become a restless wanderer on earth—anyone who meets me may kill me!” 15The Lord said to him, “I promise, if anyone kills Cain, sevenfold vengeance shall be taken on him.” And the Lord put a mark on Cain, lest anyone who met him should kill him.

if you’d only met her in Gotham, for instance, I should have had a song all ready for you. When you came in, I was just perfecting a little song about a wild woman of Gotham, who made love to young men and then shot ’em—till

What is it?” he asked quietly, his eyes full of concern. “What have you been doing that’s so terrible?” A great shudder of anguish moved through Velvet. Once he learned the truth Hank would never forgive her, but there had been enough running away, and she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not to this man. She accepted the handkerchief he offered and dried her face. “Things was hard after Pa and Eldon died,” she managed to say, mopping at her eyes again. Hank nodded, his gaze tender, silently urging her to go on. Velvet drew in a deep breath and gripped a picket of the gate in one hand. For the first time in her life she thought she might faint. “I did cleanin’ work mostly till I came to Fort Deveraux. I’d heard I could make a lot of money here, washin’ clothes for the soldiers.” She paused and looked away for a moment, drawing strength from the orange and crimson blaze of the setting sun. “I found out soon enough that there were a lot of other women here lookin’ to wash clothes—there just wasn’t enough work to go around. I—I ended up takin’ money from men.” For a moment Hank just stood there, the color draining out of his skin. “For what?” he asked, his voice a low rasp. Velvet felt as though she was being torn apart piece by piece, organ by organ. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then met Hank’s gaze squarely. He knew—she could see that—but he was going to make her tell him. “For sleepin’ with me,” she said. With a muttered exclamation Hank turned away, his broad shoulders stiff beneath the rough, plain fabric of his shirt. Velvet reached out her hand, then let it fall helplessly to her side. She’d lost him a second time, and the experience was a cruel one. She doubted she’d ever recover from it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He whirled so suddenly that Velvet was startled and leapt backward. His face was taut with anger and pain. “You were my woman,” he whispered with hoarse fury. “How could you have let another man touch you?” The resilience that had allowed Velvet to survive the many hardships life had dealt her surged to the fore. She advanced on Hank, raging. “I wasn’t your woman. I wasn’t anybody’s woman. I was all alone in this world, and I did what I had to do!” Hesitantly Hank lifted his hand to her face. His thumb brushed away a tear. “There wasn’t a day or a night that I didn’t think about you, Velvet.” She hugged herself, afraid to hope or trust. “I didn’t love none of those men,” she said miserably. “I could only stand lettin’ them touch me because I pretended they was you.” Hank’s smile was soft and infinitely sad. “I’m not going to lose you again because of pride,” he said. “I don’t like that you took money from those men, but I figure I love you enough to get by that in time. All that really matters to me is now, Velvet. Now and next week and next year, and all the years after that, when you and I are going to be together.” Velvet hardly dared to believe her ears. She’d had very little good fortune in her life; she didn’t know how to deal with much besides trouble. “Folks around here won’t ever forget—there’ll be talk—” He laid two fingers to her lips, silencing her. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’ve found you. That’s all that’s important.” With a sob, Velvet let her head drop against Hank’s sturdy chest. Tenderly he enfolded her in his arms. “Hush, now,” he said. “Things are going to be different after this. Very different.” An

The banker isn’t good enough for you,” he said, carefully inspecting one of Chloe’s china shepherdesses as he spoke. His blithe confidence nettled Emma, and so did the tantalizing scent of bay rum he’d brought with him. He was completely disrupting the sanctity of that parlor where Emma had always felt so safe. “But you are?” she inquired, raising one eyebrow. “Yes.” “You’re a drifter—an outlaw!” Steven’s gaze never left hers. “Until now I didn’t have a reason to stay in one place. And I’m not an outlaw.” “You’re wanted—you admitted yourself that someone is looking to kill you.” He gave a ragged sigh. “All right, it’s true—I’m wanted in the state of Louisiana. But I’m innocent.” “Criminals always declare their innocence,” Emma said stubbornly, even though, deep inside, she knew Steven would not have deliberately broken the law. Still, she longed to know what he’d been accused of. That maddening grin was back. “You’re wasting your breath trying to discourage me, Miss Emma. Once I decide I want something, I don’t ever give up on it. If it takes from now till the crack of doom, I’ll bed you properly, and I’ll prove you were born to love me.” Emma’s hands flew to her hips. “If you aren’t the most arrogant and impossible man I’ve ever met—” Before Emma could finish the sentence, Chloe arrived home.

Though she were true when you met her. and last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

I guess because people change and we don’t want them to.” He could find no better words. “You start out with a woman; she’s magical and mysterious and marvelous, the way they sing it. Then you get to know each other. The excitement goes away. It gets comfortable. Then even that fades. She starts to sag and turn grey and get lined and you feel cheated. You remember the fey, shy one you met and talked with till her father threatened to plant a boot in your ass. You resent this stranger. So you take a poke. I guess it’s the same for your mother. Inside, I’m still twenty, Stance. Only if I pass a mirror, or if my body won’t do what I want, do I realize that I’m an old man. I don’t see the potbelly and the varicose veins and the grey hair where I’ve got any left. She has to live with it. “Every time I see a mirror I’m amazed. I end up wondering who’s taken over the outside of me. A disgusting old goat, from the look of him. The kind I used to snicker at when I was twenty. He scares me, Stance. He looks like a dying man. I’m trapped inside him, and I’m not ready to go.

The kind of wrestle that God invites us to is not easy or quick. It requires us to continue to bring our hearts to God as we navigate the painful chasm between how life was supposed to be and how it is. But this wrestling has a purpose. God never requires anything from us that is not for our good, for the outworking of His Kingdom, and for the glory of His name. We may know the following promise well, but it’s especially important to remember it when we’re wrestling: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). When we enter a wrestling season, we just have to keep holding on to see Him do that work. What does it look like to keep holding on? Jacob’s story shows us. Although he was tired of trying, Jacob was also determined to receive a blessing from the one who met him in his struggle. Scripture describes Jacob’s wrestle in just six verses: So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” The man asked him, “What is your name?” “Jacob,” he answered. Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.” Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.” But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then he blessed him there. GENESIS 32:24-29, NIV

He studied by himself, starting with the eighteenth-century treatise on common law, Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England. “The more I read,” Lincoln wrote later, “the more intensely interested I became. Never in my whole life was my mind so thoroughly absorbed. I read until I devoured [the Commentaries].” When he finished Blackstone, Lincoln dug into other books. He became fixated on his studies. Lincoln the law student, a neighbor remembered, “would go day after day for weeks and sit under an oak tree on [a] hill . . . and read.” When the sun moved, the neighbor continued, Lincoln “moved round [the] tree to keep in [the] shade . . . [he] was so absorbed that people said he was crazy. Sometimes [he] did not notice people when he met them.” Years later, Lincoln advised a young man who was considering a legal career: If you are resolutely determined to make a lawyer of yourself, the thing is more than half done already. It is but a small matter whether you read with any body or not. I did not read with any one. Get the books, and read and study them till, you understand them in their principal features; and that is the main thing. It is of no consequence to be in a large town while you are reading. I read at New-Salem, which never had three hundred people living in it. The books, and your capacity for understanding them, are just the same in all places. . . . Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed, is more important than any other one thing.

Now then, looking at this, and speaking as one optimist to another, do you think he could have cracked his own skull by being over-enthusiastic in staging an accident?” The doctor took the “cosh” with an amused smile. “Want me to try it out on myself? Speaking as one fool to another, which is what you were thinking of saying, I should say not. More in your line than mine, this. Oh, I see. Rubber loops. Quite a nice rebound. Of course, you could hit yourself, if you were a fakir or a contortionist. Try it on yourself, laddie. I’m here to attend to the lesions. You won’t get pneumonia, otherwise, ceteris paribus... Come along, put some spunk into it! Scotland for ever. I’ve met your scrum half, and he wasn’t half so careful of himself as you’re being.” “Deuce take it,” said Macdonald, “if I really try to hit the back of my own head—so,” and he bent his long head well forward, “I can’t regulate the blow. I don’t want to be laid out just now—but there is a possibility.” The surgeon had succumbed to mirth. He laughed till he shook. “Pity there isn’t a movie merchant at hand,” he spluttered. “Nothing Charlie Chaplin ever did is so funny as the sight of a Scots detective trying to hit the base of his own skull with a loaded rubber cosh. Man, ye’re a grand sicht!

I was very well pleased with what I knowed, And I reckoned myself no fool— Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road That turned me back to school. Singing, low down—low down! Where the liddle green lanterns shine— Oh! maids, I have done with 'ee all but one, And she can never be mine! 'Twas right in the midst of a hot June night, With thunder duntin' round, And I seed her face by the fairy light That beats from off the ground. She only smiled and she never spoke, She smiled and went away; But when she'd gone my heart was broke, And my wits was clean astray. Oh! Stop your ringing and let me be— Let be, O Brookland bells! You'll ring Old Goodman out of the sea, Before I wed one else! Old Goodman's farm is rank sea sand, And was this thousand year; But it shall turn to rich plough land Before I change my dear! Oh! Fairfield Church is water-bound From Autumn to the Spring; But it shall turn to high hill ground Before my bells do ring! Oh! leave me walk on the Brookland Road, In thunder and warm rain— Oh! leave me look where my love goed And p'raps I'll see her again! Singing, low down—low down! Where the liddle green lanterns shine— Oh! maids, I've done with 'ee all but one, And she can never be mine!

her wrist, warm and fragile, tugging it away from the other man. Instantly she drew a sharp, hissing breath. Her head swung round, eyes widening and pupils dilating as she saw him. Those soft brown eyes had once, too long ago, looked adoringly at him. And he, like a fool, had thought they always would. Matteo had learned his lesson. He took nothing for granted anymore. ‘Hello, Angela.’ His face felt tight as he smiled. Was he smiling or grimacing? He didn’t give a damn. He turned to the lanky crew member who, up till this point, he’d been so pleased to have work on this project. Now Matteo wished him to the devil, despite his cinematic skill. All trace of a smile disintegrated as he stared at the other man. ‘I see you already know my wife.’ CHAPTER TWO His wife! Angela flung open the lid of her suitcase and grabbed a pile of neatly folded clothes. She stalked across the vast, opulent room and pulled open an antique door, looking for the wardrobe. Instead she found a palatial dressing room, with sleek modern shelves and endless hanging spaces. She shoved her clothes onto a random shelf and pivoted on her heel. Matteo had referred to her as his wife, just as if he hadn’t received her request for a divorce. The paparazzi who’d snooped around for a story behind their separation would have a field day if they heard that. But more, Matteo had her checked into this extraordinary private hotel that was more like a palace than a place for a cash-strapped screenwriter. The walls were hung in exquisite eau de nil silk. The wide tester bed was topped with a gilt crown from which hung matching silk. Antiques, elegant and perfectly positioned, turned the room into a suite fit for royalty. Even the fresh flowers in their crystal vases were so gorgeous it was a shame she’d be the only one to see them.   When she was met at the vaporetto stop on the Grand Canal, fresh off the plane, she’d been only too grateful to relinquish her luggage, not knowing it would be taken somewhere like this. Having it taken on ahead had been a luxury, for dragging a heavy case over the quaint cobbled streets wasn’t fun. Besides, despite herself, she’d been eager to detour and catch a glimpse of the filming. Angela’s step faltered in the doorway of the dressing room and she sagged against the door frame. Face the truth. You wanted to see Matteo. Even now, even after his betrayal. Even knowing the pair of you were never meant to be together. Her heart crashed against her ribs and her knees turned

Can you talk?” I ask Sevro. He nods, lips trembling from the pain, but his eyes are all fire. I give my arm and help him stand. I hold up a fist, demanding silence. Sons shout the others down till the twenty five thousand breaths balance on the beating heart of my little friend. He looks out at them, startled by the love he sees, the reverence, the wet eyes. “Darrow’s wife . . .” Sevro croaks, larynx damaged. “His wife,” he says more deeply. “And my father never met. But they shared a dream. One of a free world. Not built on corpses, but on hope. On the loves that binds us, not the hate that divides. We have lost many. But we are not broken. We are not defeated, We fight on, But we do not fight for revenge for those who have died. We fight for each other. We fight for those who live. We fight for those who don’t yet live. “Cassius au Bellona killed my father...” He stands over the man, swallowing before looking back up. “But I forgive him. Why? Because he was protecting the world he knew, because he was afraid.

Because the dog was after her, Poor Cat Fright. As I was going up Pippin Hill, Pippin Hill was dirty, There I met a pretty miss, And she dropped me a curtsey. Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise. Old woman, old woman, shall we go a-shearing? Speak a little louder, sir, I am very thick o' hearing. Old woman, old woman, shall I kiss you dearly? Thank you, kind sir, I hear very clearly. The Cuckoo's a bonny bird, She sings as she flies, She brings us good tidings, And tells us no lies. She sucks little birds' eggs, To make her voice clear, And never cries "Cuckoo!" Till spring-time of the year.

You have many faults, of course. I shall be pointing some of them out when I am at leisure. For one thing,' she said, not waiting till she was at leisure, 'you smoke too much. You must give that up when we are married. Smoking is just a habit. Tolstoy,' she said, mentioning someone I had not met, 'says that just as much pleasure can be got from twirling the fingers.' My impulse was to tell her Tolstoy was off his onion, but I choked down the heated words. For all I knew, the man might be a bosom pal of hers and she might resent criticism of him, however justified. And one knew what happened to people, policemen for instance, whose criticism she resented. 'And that silly laugh of yours, you must correct that. If you are amused, a quiet smile is ample. Lord Chesterfield said that since he had had the full use of his reason nobody had ever heard him laugh. I don't suppose you have read Lord Chesterfield's Letters To His Son?' . . .Well, of course I hadn't. Bertram Wooster does not read other people's letters. If I were employed in the post office, I wouldn't even read the postcards.