Twice Is A Charm Quotes

I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too.

He was my equal in beauty, a paragon of grace and charm, sparkling with wit, and burning with love. I adored him to distraction, to the point of idolatry: I loved him as one can never love twice.

To the train yard,' she says and pushes on the pedals. We don't move. `Anytime,' I tell her. `You know. While we're still young and beautiful.' She pushes hard again. `You weigh a tonne.' `You need me to drive?' `I need momentum, that's all. Get off.' `You're very charming, but you must hear that all the time.' `Get off,' she says.`I'll ride and you run after me and jump on the bike.' `Do many guys ask you out twice?' `Only the ones with balls.

I know you adore Father, but he isn't the white knight you imagine him to be. He never was. True, he's charming and loving in his way. But he's selfish. He's a limited man determined to bring about his own end-" "But-" Tom grabs both my hands in his and gives them a small squeeze. "Gemma, you can't save him. Why can't you accept that?" I see my reflection on the surface of the Thames. My face is a watery outline, all blurred edges with nothing settled. "Because if I let go of that" - I swallow hard, once, twice - "then I have to accept that I am alone." The ship's horn howls again as it slips out toward sea. Tom's reflection appears beside mine, just as uncertain. "We're every one of us alone in this world, Gemma." He doesn't say it bitterly. "But you have company, if you want.

That's quite gallant of you. After you've ignored me for the better part of a week, like a boy half your age with twice your charm.

Twice two makes four seems to me simply a piece of insolence. Twice two makes four is a pert coxcomb who stands with arms akimbo barring your path and spitting. I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too.

If you do it once, it’s a mistake. If you do it twice, it’s not a mistake anymore.

That twinkle in his eye was undimmed. The twinkle that gave an entirely undeserved suggestion of wisdom and charm. The twinkle that could make you walk down the aisle with a man almost ten years your junior and regret it within months. The twinkle you soon realize is actually the beam of a lighthouse, warning you off the rocks.

Slowly, even though I thought it would never happen, New York lost its charm for me. I remember arriving in the city for the first time, passing with my parents through the First World's Club bouncers at Immigration, getting into a massive cab that didn't have a moment to waste, and falling in love as soon as we shot onto the bridge and I saw Manhattan rise up through the looks of parental terror reflected in the window. I lost my virginity in New York, twice (the second one wanted to believe he was the first so badly). I had my mind blown open by the combination of a liberal arts education and a drug-popping international crowd. I became tough. I had fun. I learned so much. But now New York was starting to feel empty, a great party that had gone on too long and was showing no sign of ending soon. I had a headache, and I was tired. I'd danced enough. I wanted a quiet conversation with someone who knew what load-shedding was.

You take your flashlight out on your walks, right?” Simon asked. “Depends on the moonlight.” “From now on, take it with you every night. When you’re out walking this way, you’ll pass the gazebo, where, chances are, I will be smoking.” “Then what?” “You can signal—say, three times if you want to take a walk with me. Twice if you want to walk alone. that way I’ll just let you walk on. It’ll be like a military code. No one gets hurt.” I laughed. “that’s silly and charming.” “I try. I can signal back with my cigarette lighter too,” Simon said, holding up the lighter and firing off three short bursts of flame. “So, like, if I see you first and I happen to not wish to talk to you, I can fire off two bursts and block you in your tracks.

Hey, how many guys get to say their woman fell head over heels in love with them twice? It’s not so bad to be me.

Once a month, only for a few days, my charming sweetheart transforms into a furious avatar.

[339] Vita femina. To see the ultimate beauties in a work-all knowledge and good-will is not enough; it requires the rarest, good chance for the veil of clouds to move for once from the summits, and for the sun to shine on them. We must not only stand at precisely the right place to see this, our very soul itself must have pulled away the veil from its heights, and must be in need of an external expression and simile, so as to have a hold and remain master of itself. All these, however, are so rarely united at the same time that I am inclined to believe that the highest summit of all that is good, be it work, deed, man, or nature, has hitherto remained for most people, and even for the best, as something concealed and shrouded-that, however, which unveils itself to us, unveils itself to us but once. The Greeks indeed prayed: "Twice and thrice, everything beautiful!" Ah, they had their good reason to call on the Gods, for ungodly actuality does not furnish us with the beautiful at all, or only does so once! I mean to say that the world is overfull of beautiful things, but it is nevertheless poor, very poor, in beautiful moments, and in the unveiling of those beautiful things. But perhaps this is the greatest charm of life: it puts a gold- embroidered veil of lovely potentialities over itself, promising, resisting, modest, mocking, sympathetic, seductive. Yes, life is a woman!

You sure you’re ready to play me again?” I ask him as I walk toward the baseline. “Can you suffer the indignity of losing to a woman twice in one day?” “I told you, Carrie,” Bowe says. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.” “Okay,” I say, shrugging. “But I don’t think I’m very charming at all.

She points at two big steps on the back of her bike. "You have training... somethings? What are they?" "Feet platforms. My dad made them for my cousin to use. Step on." "But I don't have a cool helmet with a lightning bolt." "Your head is hard enough." "Funny." I steady myself without touching her. "To the train yard," she says and pushes on the pedals. We don't move. "Anytime," I tell her. 'You know. While we're still young and beautiful." She pushes hard again. "You weight a ton." "You need me to drive?" "I need momentum, that's all. Get off." "You're very charming, but you must hear that all the time." "Get off," she says. "I'll ride, and you run after me and jump on the bike." "Do many guys ask you out twice?" "Only the ones with balls.

But man is a frivolous and incongruous creature, and perhaps, like a chess player, loves the process of the game, not the end of it. And who knows (there is no saying with certainty), perhaps the only goal on earth to which mankind is striving lies in this incessant process of attaining, in other words, in life itself, and not in the thing to be attained, which must always be expressed as a formula, as positive as twice two makes four, and such positiveness is not life, gentlemen, but is the beginning of death. Anyway, man has always been afraid of this mathematical certainty, and I am afraid of it now. Granted that man does nothing but seek that mathematical certainty, he traverses oceans, sacrifices his life in the quest, but to succeed, really to find it, dreads, I assure you. He feels that when he has found it there will be nothing for him to look for. When workmen have finished their work they do at least receive their pay, they go to the tavern, then they are taken to the police-station–and there is occupation for a week. But where can man go? Anyway, one can observe a certain awkwardness about him when he has attained such objects. He loves the process of attaining, but does not quite like to have attained, and that, of course, is very absurd. In fact, man is a comical creature; there seems to be a kind of jest in it all. But yet mathematical certainty is after all, something insufferable. Twice two makes four seems to me simply a piece of insolence. Twice two makes four is a pert coxcomb who stands with arms akimbo barring your path and spitting. I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too.

Thus a man looking through a tremendous telescope does not see the cirri of an Indian summer above his charmed orchard, but does see, as my regretted colleague, the late Professor Alexander Ivanchenko, twice saw, the swarming of hesperozoa in a humid valley of the planet Venus.

I recall writing, long ago, that any new poem is rather like a little child who has been stationed with a large group of other small children in a playroom, where there are a limited number of toys and no adult supervision whatsoever. Those toys are the tricks, turns, and tropes of poetic language, Oscar Wilde’s “beautiful untrue things” that save the imagination from falling into “careless habits of accuracy.” Oscar, who worshipped and twice visited Walt during an American tour, charmingly termed criticism “the only civilized form of autobiography.” I have aged not, alas, into Wilde’s wit but into a firm conviction that true criticism recognizes itself as a mode of memoir.

But what stupendous good fortune! What an answer to prayer. A guest house, and a charming hostess. My Rolls Royce, alas, has run into a snowdrift. blinding snow everywhere. I do not know where I am. Perhaps, I think to myself, I shall freeze to death. And then I take a little bag, I stagger through the snow, I see before me big iron gates. A habitation! I am saved. Twice I fall into the snow as I come up your drive, but at last I arrive and immediately - despair turns to joy. You can let me have a room - yes?

Only the Great Poison, he who is handsome and wise and charming and handsome, can lead the faithful to Edom. So cater to the Great Poison with food and drink and baths and the occasional massage. "They wrote 'handsome' twice," murmured Alec. "Why is it called the Red Scrolls," said Shiyun, "when it is a book? And not a scroll?" "It's definitely not plural scrolls," said Alec. "I'm sure whoever this handsome, handsome cult founder is," said Magnus, his chest constricting, "he had his reasons." Shinyun read on. "The prince wishes only the best for his children. Thus, to honor his name, there must be a hearth crowded with only the finest of liquors and cigars and bonbons. Tithes of treasure and gifts showered upon the Great Poison symbolize the love between the faithful, so keep the spirits flowing and the gold growing, and always remember the sacred roles. "Life is a stage, so exit in style. "Only the faithful who make a truly great drink shall be favored. "Offend not the Great Poison with cruel deeds or poor fashion. "Seek the children of demons. Love them as you love your lord. Do not let the children be alone. "In times of trouble, remember: all roads lead to Rome." Alec looked at Magnus, and Magnus could not entirely understand Alec's small smile. "I think you wrote this.

Jill was born into an inner-city home. Her father began having sex with Jill and her sister during their preschool years. Her mother was institutionalized twice because of what used to be termed “nervous breakdowns.” When Jill was 7 years old, her agitated dad called a family meeting in the living room. In front of the whole clan, he put a handgun to his head, said, “You drove me to this,” and then blew his brains out. The mother’s mental condition continued to deteriorate, and she revolved in and out of mental hospitals for years. When Mom was home, she would beat Jill. Beginning in her early teens, Jill was forced to work outside the home to help make ends meet. As Jill got older, we would have expected to see deep psychiatric scars, severe emotional damage, drugs, maybe even a pregnancy or two. Instead, Jill developed into a charming and quite popular young woman at school. She became a talented singer, an honor student, and president of her high-school class. By every measure, she was emotionally well-adjusted and seemingly unscathed by the awful circumstances of her childhood. Her story, published in a leading psychiatric journal, illustrates the unevenness of the human response to stress. Psychiatrists long have observed that some people are more tolerant of stress than others.

I’ve met you twice, yes? And both times, you mesmerized me. We’re on our third try, aren’t we? What’s that saying?” “Three strikes and you’re out?” Ryan said flatly. Lars huffed indignantly. This stupid language. “Third time’s the charm.

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine. Parker and Danielle

I had found the apartment in San Telmo with the help of a motherly rental agent in a pink suit who had tried to cheat me on her percentage not once but twice, and reacted with a broad and charming laugh both times I pointed it out, as if we were flirting on a date and I was removing her hand from my thigh.

You take my breath away From mile away Hair, twice as nice Smile is your make up, angelic face You light up the entire place Captured my attention Can't help but stare at your perfection so charming, You will set the red carpet on fire With that amazing attire Best dress among the rest Pretty girls are envy in your beauty And one of a kind personality

The Black is roasted, browned, burned. But he deserves to die twice instead of once. He is therefore hanged, or more exactly, what is left of the corpse is hanged. And all those who were not able to help with the cooking applaud now. Hurrah! When everybody has had enough, the corpse is brought down. The rope is cut into small pieces which will be sold for three or five dollars each, souvenirs and lucky charms to be quarreled over by the ladies. "Popular justice," as they say over there, has been done. Calmed down, the crowd congratulate the "organizers," then stream away slowly and cheerfully, as if after a feast… While on the ground, stinking of fat and smoke, a black head, mutilated, roasted, deformed, grins horribly and seems to ask the setting sun, "Is this civilization?

You have to ignore risks, put your brain on hold and follow your instincts, even when your head insists you do otherwise. Sometimes you got burned. I've signed many times. Roasted once or twice. You have to live with the fire. Because if you start thinking too much or playing safe, you're lost to its wondrous charms forever. You become part of the real world again, the mundane, the ordinary, from where there's no escape. (The Cardinal to Capac Raimi)

I have spent these several days past, in reading and writing, with the most pleasing tranquility imaginable. You will ask, "How that can possibly be in the midst of Rome?" It was the time of celebrating the Circensian games; an entertainment for which I have not the least taste. They have no novelty, no variety to recommend them, nothing, in short, one would wish to see twice. It does the more surprise me therefore that so many thousand people should be possessed with the childish passion of desiring so often to see a parcel of horses gallop, and men standing upright in their chariots. If, indeed, it were the swiftness of the horses, or the skill of the men that attracted them, there might be some pretence of reason for it. But it is the dress they like; it is the dress that takes their fancy. And if, in the midst of the course and contest, the different parties were to change colours, their different partisans would change sides, and instantly desert the very same men and horses whom just before they were eagerly following with their eyes, as far as they could see, and shouting out their names with all their might. Such mighty charms, such wondrous power reside in the colour of a paltry tunic! And this not only with the common crowd (more contemptible than the dress they espouse), but even with serious-thinking people. When I observe such men thus insatiably fond of so silly, so low, so uninteresting, so common an entertainment, I congratulate myself on my indifference to these pleasures: and am glad to employ the leisure of this season upon my books, which others throw away upon the most idle occupations.

That is something I like to look at with any villain. What twists and knots went into the thread tying the creature at Charm to the little girl who was? Consider little children. There are not many of them not cute and lovable and precious, sweet as whipped honey and butter. So where do all the wicked people come from? I walk through our barracks and wonder how a giggling, inquisitive toddler could have become a Three Fingers, a Jolly, or a Silent. Little girls are twice as precious and innocent as little boys. I do not know a culture that does not make them that way.

It won't work. You see, he is a liar and a thief. And he's been one for too long. He can't retire now. In addition to which. He has become, I'm afraid, a hack.' 'He may be all those things but she knows he's not.' 'What gives her that curious idea?' 'She's been with him constantly for the last few days. She's seen him shaking with terror, exhausted, ready to quit. She's watched him pull himself together again and she's also seen him be warm and tender. And funny. Not famous-international-wit funny but really funny.' 'Do you think she's an idiot? Do you think she doesn't know what kind of man he is? Or what he needs?' 'And what he needs is L-O-V-E? Uh-uh it's too late. He is 43 years old. Or will be this October. He's been married twice, both times disastrously and there have been too many years of... too much dough, too much bad writing and too much whiskey. He's got nothing left inside to give. Even if he could, which he can't.' 'But that's not true. You can, you have. I just know it.' 'No, you don't. It's lousy. In any case, the problem is you're not in love with the script. You're in love with me. And why shouldn't you be? When suddenly, waltzing into your life comes this charming and relatively handsome stranger. Me. Smooth as silk, with a highly practised line of chatter, specifically designed to knock relatively unsophisticated chicks like you Miss Simpson, right on their ears. Which I'm terribly afraid I've done. Well if it's the last decent thing I do in this world, and it very well may be, I'm going to fix that. I'm going to send you packing Miss Simpson before I cause you serious and irrevocable harm. You want the truth? Of course you don't. I'll give it to you anyway. I do not give one damn about anything.

Your inclination appears to be much as it was last night.’ Damen found himself saying, ‘You talk the same in bed,’ and the words came out sounding like he felt: helplessly charmed. ‘Can you think of a better way of putting it?’ ‘I want you,’ said Damen. ‘You’ve had me,’ said Laurent. ‘Twice. I can still feel the . . . sensation of it.’ Laurent shifted, just so. Damen buried his face in Laurent’s neck and groaned, and there was laughter too, and something akin to happiness that hurt as it pushed at the inside of his chest. ‘Stop it. You will not be able to walk,’ said Damen. ‘I’d welcome the chance to walk,’ said Laurent. ‘I have to ride a horse.’ ‘Is it . . . ? I tried to . . . I wouldn’t—’ ‘I like the way it feels,’ said Laurent. ‘I liked the way it felt. You’re a generous, giving lover, and I feel—’ Laurent broke off, and gave a shaky laugh at his own words. ‘I feel like the Vaskian tribe, in the body of one person. I suppose it is often like this?’ ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘No, it’s—’ It’s never like this. The idea that Laurent might find this with someone else hurt him. ‘Does that betray my inexperience? You know my reputation. Once every ten years.’ ‘I can’t,’ said Damen. ‘I can’t have this for just one night.’ ‘One night and one morning,’ said Laurent, and this time it was Damen who found himself pushed down onto the bed. *

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine.

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine.

I know what the problem is.” Curran pulled his shoulders back and flexed, warming up a little. I stole a glance. He had decided to fight in jeans and an old black T-shirt, from which he’d torn the sleeves. Probably his workout shirt. His biceps were carved, the muscle defined and built by countless exertions, neither too bulky nor too lean. Perfect. Kissing him might make me guilty of catastrophically bad judgment, but at least nobody could fault my taste. The trick was not to kiss him again. Once could be an accident; twice was trouble. “You said something?” I arched an eyebrow at him. Nonchalance—best camouflage for drooling. Both the werebison and the swordsman looked ready to charge: the muscles of their legs tense, leaning forward slightly on their toes. They seemed to be terribly sure that we would stay in one place and wait for them. Curran was looking at their legs, too. They must be expecting a distraction from the lamia. She sat cocooned in magic, holding on with both hands as it strained on its leash. “I said, I know why you’re afraid to fight with me.” “And why is that?” If he flexed again, I’d have to implement emergency measures. Maybe I could kick some sand at him or something. Hard to look hot brushing sand out of your eyes. “You want me.” Oh boy. “You can’t resist my subtle charm, so you’re afraid you’re going to make a spectacle out of yourself.” “You know what? Don’t talk to me.

This is not a barren place. Villanelle, whose talent is to look at everything at least twice, taught me to find joy in the most unlikely places and still to be surprised by the obvious. She had a knack of raising your spirits just by saying, 'Look at that,' and that was always an ordinary treasure brought to life. She can even charm the fishwives. So I go from my room in the morning and make the journey to the garden very slowly, feeling the walls with my hands, getting a sense of surface, of texture. I breathe carefully, smelling the air, and when the sun is up I turn my face that way and let it lighten me. . . . At the garden, although I have a spade and a fork, I often dig with my hands if it’s not too cold. I like to feel the earth, to squeeze it hard and tight or to crumble it between my fingers. There's time here to love slowly.

Jane and Mr. Nobley entered the great hall, the ceiling dazzling with thousands of real candles that put fire into the white dresses and cravats. Five musicians were seated on a dais--a cello and two violins (or maybe a viola?), a harpsichord, and some kind of wind instrument. From keys and strings, they coaxed a grand prelude to the minuet. Jane looked at everything, smiling at the amusement park novelty of it all. She looked at Mr. Nobley. He was beaming at her. At last. “You are stunning,” he said, and every inch of him seemed to swear that it was true. “Oh,” she said. He kissed her gloved fingers. He was still smiling. There was something different about him tonight, and she couldn’t place what it was. Some new plot twist, she presumed. She was eager to roll around in all the plot she could on her last night, though once or twice her eyes strayed to spot Martin. Mr. Nobley stood opposite her in a line of ten men. She watched Amelia and Captain East perform the figures. They held each other’s gazes, they smiled with the elation of new love. All very convincing. Poor Amelia, thought Jane. It was a bit cruel, now that she thought about it, all these actors who made women fall in love with them. Amelia seemed so tenderhearted, and Miss Charming and her heaving breasts so delighted with this world. Jane caught sight of a very striking Colonel Andrews who, now that she watched him dance, might just be gay. Jane felt a thrumming of foreboding. All the ladies were so happy and open-hearted and eager to love. What would happen to them in the dregs of tomorrow?

I agree with Miss Erstwhile, you are acting like a scarecrow. I do not know why you put on this act, Nobley, when around the port table or out in the field you’re rather a pleasant fellow.” “Really? That is curious,” Jane said. “Why, Mr. Nobley, are you generous in your attentions with gentlemen and yet taciturn and withdrawn around the fairer sex?” Mr. Nobley’s eyes were back on the printed page, though they didn’t scan the lines. “Perhaps I do not possess the type of conversation that would interest a lady.” “You say ‘perhaps’ as though you do not believe it yourself. What else might be the reason, sir?” Jane smiled. Needling Mr. Nobley was feeling like a very productive use of the evening. “Perhaps another reason might be that I myself do not find the conversation of ladies to be very stimulating.” His eyes were dark. “Hm, I just can’t imagine why you’re still unmarried.” “I might say the same for you.” “Mr. Nobley!” cried Aunt Saffronia. “No, it’s all right, Aunt,” Jane said. “I asked for it. And I don’t even mind answering.” She put a hand on her hip and faced him. “One reason why I am unmarried is because there aren’t enough men with guts to put away their little boy fears and commit their love and stick it out.” “And perhaps the men do not stick it out for a reason.” “And what reason might that be?” “The reason is women.” He slammed his book shut. “Women make life impossible until the man has to be the one to end it. There is no working it out past a certain point. How can anyone work out the lunacy?” Mr. Nobley took a ragged breath, then his face went red as he seemed to realize what he’d said, where he was. He put the book down gently, pursed his lips, cleared his throat. No one in the room made eye contact. “Someone has issues,” said Miss Charming in a quiet, singsongy voice. “I beg you, Lady Templeton,” Colonel Andrews said, standing, his smile almost convincingly nonchalant, “play something rousing on the pianoforte. I promised to engage Miss Erstwhile in a dance. I cannot break a promise to such a lovely young thing, not and break her heart and further blacken her view of the world, so you see my urgency.” “An excellent suggestion, Colonel Andrews,” Aunt Saffronia said. “It seems all our spirits could use a lift. I think we feel the lack of Sir Templeton’s presence, indeed I do.” Mr. Nobley, of course, declined to dance, so Jane and the colonel stood up with Captain East and Miss Charming, whose spirits were speedily improving. Twice she turned the wrong way, ramming herself into the captain’s shoulder, saying “pip, pip” and “jolly good.” Jane spied Mr. Nobley on the sofa, staring at the window and a reflection of the dancers.

And who knows (there is no saying with certainty), perhaps the only goal on earth to which mankind is striving Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com lies in this incessant process of attaining, in other words, in life itself, and not in the thing to be attained, which must always be expressed as a formula, as positive as twice two makes four, and such positiveness is not life, gentlemen, but is the beginning of death. Anyway, man has always been afraid of this mathematical certainty, and I am afraid of it now. Granted that man does nothing but seek that math- ematical certainty, he traverses oceans, sacri ces his life in the quest, but to succeed, really to nd it, dreads, I assure you. He feels that when he has found it there will be noth- ing for him to look for. When workmen have nished their work they do at least receive their pay, they go to the tavern, then they are taken to the police-station—and there is oc- cupation for a week. But where can man go? Anyway, one can observe a certain awkwardness about him when he has attained such objects. He loves the process of attaining, but does not quite like to have attained, and that, of course, is very absurd. In fact, man is a comical creature; there seems to be a kind of jest in it all. But yet mathematical certainty is a er all, something insu erable. Twice two makes four seems to me simply a piece of insolence. Twice two makes four is a pert coxcomb who stands with arms akimbo bar- ring your path and spitting. I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes ve is sometimes a very charming thing too. And why are you so rmly, so triumphantly, convinced that only the normal and the positive—in other words, only what is conducive to welfare—is for the advantage of man? Notes from the Underground Is not reason in error as regards advantage? Does not man, perhaps, love something besides well-being? Perhaps he is just as fond of su ering? Perhaps su ering is just as great a bene t to him as well-being? Man is sometimes extraor- dinarily, passionately, in love with su ering, and that is a fact. ere is no need to appeal to universal history to prove that; only ask yourself, if you are a man and have lived at all. As far as my personal opinion is concerned, to care only for well-being seems to me positively ill-bred. Whether it’s good or bad, it is sometimes very pleasant, too, to smash things. I hold no brief for su ering nor for well-being either. I am standing for ... my caprice, and for its being guaran- teed to me when necessary. Su ering would be out of place in vaudevilles, for instance; I know that. In the ‘Palace of Crystal’ it is unthinkable; su ering means doubt, negation, and what would be the good of a ‘palace of crystal’ if there could be any doubt about it? And yet I think man will never renounce real su ering, that is, destruction and chaos. Why, su ering is the sole origin of consciousness. ough I did lay it down at the beginning that consciousness is the great- est misfortune for man, yet I know man prizes it and would not give it up for any satisfaction. Consciousness, for in- stance, is in nitely superior to twice two makes four. Once you have mathematical certainty there is nothing le to do or to understand. ere will be nothing le but to bottle up your ve senses and plunge into contemplation. While if you stick to consciousness, even though the same result is attained, you can at least og yourself at times, and that will, at any rate, liven you up. Reactionary as it is, corporal punishment is better than nothing.

That twinkle in his eye was undimmed. The twinkle that gave an entirely undeserved suggestion of wisdom and charm. The twinkle that could make you walk down the aisle with a man almost ten years your junior, and regret it within months. The twinkle you soon realize is actually the beam of a lighthouse, warning you off the rocks.

I make the morning fat. A lie in. And why shouldn’t I? I have been working half the night and now I sprawl in slightly sweat-stained sheets, delighting in the sordid luxury of wanton greasy nakedness. I had been tempted, when the maid came in to clean, to try my borrowed Gallic charm. If I had been a younger man. But, maybe, twice-divorced, now orphaned, battered by the storms of life, I have at last learned just enough self-knowledge to perceive what she would see in me. An old man. Lecherous. At best a source of cash. So I apologised. Said I was sleeping in. Sent her away.

Trust is an invaluable gem. But mind you, when you lose it twice, it loses its charm and shine.

So he has lived on his charm ever since. There were worse lives. But he has lost touch with what charming is. He sees new generations of men, who know what to say and how to say it, and he is left with the tools of a different age. Jokes he can’t tell, passes he can’t make. And without them, what has he got?

I admit that twice two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, twice two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too

And Lymond’s bright, sardonic face, looking into hers, lost all its amusement; all its icy amiability; all its social charm. ‘My dear sister in Christ, and mother in expectation, I may be what Buccleuch has called me: a harlot. But a discriminating harlot, my dear.’ And, flashing out an arm, he snatched, lightly from below her labouring grasp, a fine glass vase of Sybilla’s at her side. ‘You don’t sign your work twice,’ he said softly. ‘It’s unlucky.

Feeling the hairs on her nape prickle with awareness, Beatrix sent a quick glance around the room. Her gaze was immediately caught by a pair of cool gray eyes. Christopher was staring at her, unsmiling. Chickering gracefully pulled her into the waltz. Following the completion of one turn, Beatrix glanced over her shoulder, but Christopher was no longer staring at her. In fact, he didn’t glance at her even once after that. Beatrix forced herself to laugh and dance with Chickering, while privately reflecting that there was nothing so trying as pretending you were happy when you weren’t. Discreetly she watched Christopher, who was inundated with women who wanted to flirt with him and men who wanted to hear war stories. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to associate with the man whom many were calling England’s most celebrated war hero. Christopher bore it all with equanimity, looking composed and courteous, occasionally flashing a charming smile. “It’s hard for a fellow to challenge that,” Chickering told Beatrix dryly, nodding in Christopher’s direction. “Fame, great wealth, and a full head of hair. And one can’t even despise him, because he singlehandedly won the war.” Beatrix laughed and gave him a mock-pitying glance. “You’re no less impressive than Captain Phelan, Mr. Chickering.” “By what measure? I wasn’t in the military, and I have neither fame nor great wealth.” “But you do have a full head of hair,” Beatrix pointed out. Chickering grinned. “Dance with me again, and you can view my abundant tresses at your leisure.” “Thank you, but I’ve already danced with you twice, and any more would be scandalous.” “You have broken my heart,” he informed her, and she laughed. “There are many delightful ladies here who would be happy to mend it,” she said. “Please go and favor them--a gentleman who dances as well as you should not be monopolized.

How did you know where I live?” Deanna asked when he turned onto her street. “I run by here on my way to the gym. I’ve seen you a few times.” That was the absolute truth. He did run by on his way to the gym. And he’d seen her a few times. He’d also asked around and known where to look. “Oh, okay.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s the whole story.” Normally, being caught in a partial truth wouldn’t have been high up on the list of things Lucky liked, but the fact that she knew, or at least had a feeling, that he wasn’t being totally forthright made him happy. He liked that she had called him out. “I may have asked Sue Ann, Nikki, and then finally Lauren, who hooked me up with my rental, if anyone knew where you were staying.” He smiled the smile that usually got him out of the stickiest of spots. He called it “old faithful.” And it didn’t let him down. A smile spread across Deanna’s face even as she was shaking her head. “Jessie’s right. You’re not as cute as you think you are.” “Does that mean you think I’m cute?” “I think you’re trouble.” She blushed as her hand reached for the door. “Goodnight.” “What?” he asked, purposely sounding offended. “You’re not even going to ask if I want to come in for coffee?” She stared at the door handle and licked her lips, which made his solider stand at attention. With only the moonlight streaming in through the window, he could tell by her hesitancy that she was battling an internal war of whether or not she should. He waited. Though he wanted to use his charms to give her a gentle, or not so gentle, shove in the direction of green-light-go, he didn’t want her to do anything she didn’t want to. So, as much as it killed him to know that, within a few sentences, he could have her laughing and inviting him in, he remained quiet. After inhaling deeply through her nose, she opened the door, and his heart sank as his balls turned bluer than a Smurf. He smiled up at her to hide his discomfort and disappointment. He would walk her to the door, but he didn’t trust himself to be that close to her and not touch her or kiss her or do a lot of other things he’d been dying to do to her. Things he knew she wanted and, with a little encouragement, would be begging for. But that’s not how he wanted this to be. Not with her. She was too special. This was too special. “Goodnight. Thank you for coming with me today. You were great with the kids. They loved you. I…” He stopped himself. Had he been about to say that he loved her? No. Maybe? Shit. He didn’t have time to think about that. Trying to play it off, he finished his thought, “I really loved having you there.” A small grin pulled at her lips. “Fine. You can come in for coffee.” He didn’t need to be asked twice. He was out of the SUV and beside her so fast that it made her laugh. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll come in, but only because you asked so nicely.” She was still chuckling and shaking her head at him—which she did a lot—as they made their way up to the door. Once she’d opened it, he stepped inside. Small and cozy, it smelled like clean and fresh, just like Deanna. A small couch rested against the far wall, and a longer one, with a knit blanket thrown over it, was near the window. A flat screen television was on the wall opposite the larger couch, and a small fireplace took up one corner. Lucky could picture Deanna curled up on the couch, in sweats with her hair pulled up, showcasing her sexy neck, the fire roaring as she watched television. At the thought, the same word that continued to pop up in his mind made an appearance. Mine. “Do you want decaf or…” she asked over her shoulder as she closed the door. “Oh, I don’t want coffee, but thanks.” He grinned and took a step closer to her. Stepping back, she was flat against the door. Then she pointed accusatorily at him. “You said you wanted coffee.” “No. I didn’t.

Human beings are rat-cunning and will happily kill you twice over for a hot meal. That’s what long observation has taught me. On the other hand, with a full belly, and a good harvest in the barn, and a fire in the hearth, there’s nothing so charming, so generous, no one more decent than a well-fed man. But

We can fly from New York to Los Angeles in a matter of hours, but we also mingle our energy fields with hundreds or even thousands of people who are strangers to us. Our physical senses report the airplane flight to us in all its details, but we receive no such report of the consequences of intermingling our energy fields with so many people. Only those few people with finely attuned spiritual senses are aware of the difficulty that such mingling may bring. In the old days we lived a quiet life. We seldom saw anyone outside the family structure. Many people lived an entire lifetime on a farm or in a small town. In 1900 many thought it was a great event to travel twice a year to a town twenty or fifty miles away in order to do the seasonal shopping. People were intimately familiar with their personal surroundings, and they kept them clean. There were few strangers among us. When strangers arrived, we knew how to cope with the energy field they brought with them. Every home had its protective charms, and every family had its household rituals.

You ever hear the saying 'The third time's the charm'? It isn't. It's just a way of saying that you've tried something twice and failed and you're too stubborn or stupid to quit and move on. - Ernest Stone

Are you certain you’re unharmed?” he asked as the carriage surged into motion. “My nerves are a little rattled, as can be expected, but other than that, I’m fine.” She caught his eye. “I’m incredibly grateful that you and everyone else worked so hard to find me, and were able to rid me of Silas once and for all.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I’m sure after a few weeks have passed, or . . . maybe a few years, when it’s not so very fresh to me, I’ll be able to laugh about it and tell people I was able to participate in my very own gothic-style story, quite like one our favorite author, Mr. Grimstone, might pen.” The mention of Mr. Grimstone had him leaning forward. “We have much to discuss.” Lucetta immediately took to looking wary. “Why do I have the feeling we’re no longer talking about me and . . . my abduction?” “Because we need to talk about us, and talk about where we go from here before we get back to Abigail’s house and everyone distracts us.” Lucetta’s wariness immediately increased. “I’m not certain there’s any need for that, Bram. The danger to me has passed, which means I’m free to return to the theater, and . . . you and I are free to go on our merry ways—and our separate merry ways, at that.” Bram settled back against the carriage seat. “I never took you for a coward, Lucetta.” Temper flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a coward.” “Then why aren’t you willing to at least see where whatever this is between us leads?” “There’s nothing between us.” “Your lips said differently a few days ago, and . . . you enjoy my company—you can’t deny that.” “Perhaps I do enjoy your company, but we’ll leave my lips out of further discussion, if you please. The truth of the matter is that I don’t trust you, I don’t like secrets, which you’re obviously keeping, and . . . I have no desire to become attached to a gentleman who spends time in a dungeon, of all places, and has a mausoleum marking the entrance to his drive.” “Ah, well, yes, but you see, those are some of the things I’d like to discuss with you.” He sent her what he hoped was a most charming smile, but one that only had her arching a brow his way again. Clearing his throat, he sat forward. “To continue, I have to admit that I’ve thought out my explanation regarding all of the things I need to explain in a certain order. So . . . if you’ll humor me, I wrote down a list, and . . .” Digging a hand into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the list and read it through, nodding before he lifted his head. “First, I need to say that—” he blew out a breath—“I’ve bungled practically everything with you so far, starting when I almost drowned you in the moat, er . . . twice.” “You won’t get an argument from me on that.” “I neglected to warn you about my goat.” Her lips twitched right at the corners. “That might be being a little hard on yourself, Bram. You couldn’t have known someone would turn Geoffrey loose on me up in the tower room.” “True, but I should have mentioned that I owned a goat with a curious dislike for ladies in skirts.” “I don’t believe Geoffrey is really at the root of the issues I have with you and Ravenwood, Bram.” He caught her eye and nodded. “I’m at the root of your issues, Lucetta—me and all of my secrets—which is why . . .” He consulted his notes again before he lifted his head. “I’m going to tell you everything, and then . . . ” He glanced one last time at his notes before he looked her way. “After you hear me out, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d consider allowing me to . . . court you.” “Court me?” She began inching toward the carriage door, which was rather disturbing considering the carriage was traveling at a fast clip down the road. Stiffening his resolve, and ignoring the disbelief in her eyes, he nodded. “It would be my greatest honor to court you, especially since I should have asked to court you before I kissed you, and certainly before I offered to marry you . . . twice.” “You

You look beautiful, Alex. All grown up.” Blackmoor’s grey eyes darkened, narrowing on the garment in question, then rising to meet her gaze. The look in his eyes was one she’d never seen before, and it sent a tremor of excitement through her as she felt heat rising in her cheeks again. He looked away, then back again, and the emotion she had seen there was gone, so quickly that she couldn’t be certain it was ever there to begin with. She forced a smile, attempting to bring the conversation back to the realm of the comfortable. “Thank you, my lord.” “If I may speak frankly?” “Certainly.” “I know you want to try out all your lessons, but take care with whom you test your skills. I noticed how Stanhope was looking at you earlier.” “Lord Stanhope was a charming partner.” Alex met Blackmoor’s eyes, daring him to disagree. “I’m certain I don’t know to what you are referring.” “I think you know all too well to what I’m referring. Any man would have to be blind not to notice you. This dress is designed to lure a lion. I assure you that particular lion will bite.” “What are you saying?” “Simply that I would prefer not to have to play protector tonight. I merely caution you to think twice before getting wrapped up with Stanhope, or any like him.” Alex’s spine stiffened in response. Her tone turned frosty. “As usual, my lord, your caution—or shall I say interference?—is unnecessary. Need I remind you that I’ve been managing Freddie Stanhope since he was in short pants?” His chuckle held no humor. “Take my advice, Alex. Your ‘Freddie’ is no longer in the schoolroom. And you’re out of your league if you think you can, as you say, ‘manage’ him. Just because you wear a gown that marks you as all grown up doesn’t mean you are prepared to take him on.” Alex’s temper flared. “I require neither your advice, nor your opinion, my lord. I would thank you to remember that, besides the fact that you’re not that much older than I am, I already have a father—and three brothers. I hardly need another overbearing male telling me what to do and with whom to do it.” “More like what not to do. And with whom not to do it.” She inhaled in a sharp intake of air, eyes narrowing, and made a move to leave him mid-waltz. To an outside observer, nothing changed about their movements—but Alex felt Blackmoor’s arms turn to stone around her. He held her fast, and tight, and his voice lowered. “You will finish this waltz with me, Alexandra. I will not allow you the pleasure of giving me a set-down at your first ball.” Recognizing

At Jenna's questioning glance, he explained, "As the White Rider, I used to wear all white. Few people here have ever seen me dressed in any other way. I wouldn't wonder that most of them could be standing right in front of me, wearing these clothes, and not even look twice." Jenna grinned at him. "Not if they're female, they won't. I doubt there's a woman alive who would not look twice at you, babe." He snorted, absurdly pleased by the flattery, although he tried not to show it. "We'll just have to try and stay away from women, then, won't we?

He’d stopped talking about bonding her to him forever and had apparently decided to concentrate on being charming instead. Liv never would have believed that such an intensely alpha male could be light and playful but she had been seeing an entirely different side of Baird lately. Aside from the sushi class, he’d also taken her to an alien petting zoo where she was able to see and touch animals that were native to the three home worlds of the Kindred and they’d been twice to the Kindred version of a movie theater where the seats were wired to make the viewer feel whatever was happening on the screen. He’d also taken her to a musical performance where the musicians played giant drums bigger than themselves and tiny flutes smaller than her pinky finger. The music had been surprisingly beautiful—the melodies sweet and haunting and Liv had been moved. But it was the evenings they spent alone together in the suite that made Liv really believe she was in danger of feeling too much. Baird cooked for her—sometimes strange but delicious alien dishes and once Earth food, when she’d taught him how to make cheeseburgers. They ate in the dim, romantic light of some candle-like glow sticks he’d placed on the table and there was always very good wine or the potent fireflower juice to go with the meal. Liv was very careful not to over-imbibe because she needed every ounce of willpower she had to remember why she was holding out. For dessert Baird always made sure there was some kind of chocolate because he’d learned from his dreams how much she loved it. Liv had been thinking lately that she might really be in trouble if she didn’t get away from him soon. If all he’d had going for him was his muscular good looks she could have resisted easily enough. But he was thoughtful too and endlessly interested in her—asking her all kinds of questions about her past and friends and family as well as people he’d seen while they were “dream-sharing” as he called it. Liv found herself talking to him like an old friend, actually feeling comfortable with him instead of being constantly on her guard. She knew that Baird was actively wooing her, doing everything he could to earn her affection, but even knowing that couldn’t stop her from liking him. She had never been so ardently pursued in her life and she was finding that she actually liked it. Baird had taken her more places and paid her more attention in the past week than Mitch had for their entire relationship. It was intoxicating to always be the center of the big warrior’s attention, to know that he was focused exclusively on her needs and wants. But attention and attraction aside, there was another factor that was making Liv desperate to get away. Just as he had predicted, the physical attraction she felt for Baird seemed to be growing exponentially. She only had to be in the same room with him for a minute or two, breathing in his warm, spicy scent, and she was instantly ready to jump his bones. The need was growing every day and Liv didn’t know how much longer she could fight it.

As they say, the broken clock may be right but twice a day, but a silent cuckoo will never reveal how wrong it is.

Briar waved a hand and gave a tinkling happy laugh. He flinched. This was unbearable. The lass was as fresh and pretty as a daisy and seemed just as oblivious to her own charms as a garden flower was, too. She smelled much better than a daisy, however. Daisies were highly overrated flowers. When you got up close to one, they smelled disappointingly like manure. No, Briar Blakeley smelled like something delicious. Like something you wouldn’t mind popping straight into your mouth. Like cake baked with vanilla and cinnamon. Or a confectionary’s shop. She was sweet as honey, probably twice as naive, and something about her was making his blood pound and his loins tighten. The sooner he could get rid of her the better.

At first, Old Madam Cheng was not very optimistic about Cheng Yujin’s marriage. When two calm and rational people were put together, no one would take the initiative to show emotions to the other. It was better to put a charming and innocent woman next to the Crown Prince, who surely would please him more. After all, men didn’t like women who were too smart. Like Huo Changyuan and Cheng Yumo, one was a formidable man, and the other was an innocent woman who knew nothing of the world. The man was the absolute authority, and the woman was relying wholeheartedly on the man, which was doing good for their relationship. But who would have thought that the final result would be quite different? Facts proved that smart people could live well anywhere. Two smart people put together only ended up twice as good. The so-called excellent men did not like smart and capable wives was merely a self-comfort of stupid people.

convergent evolution: a strikingly similar trait that arose independently in different branches of the tree of life. As milk scientist Katie Hinde has written on her blog, Mammels Suck: “The production of milk independently arose after the divergence of avian and mammalian lineages over 300 million years ago. However, these milks seemingly serve the same function: body-nourishing, bacteria-inoculating, immune-programming substances produced by parents specifically to support offspring development.” Milk, in other words, is so useful that evolution created it twice.

The house itself bore the same attention to detail that made the garden so charming; the doorstep had been neatly scrubbed and the brass knocker polished to a high sheen. The knocker was a charming little dormouse, and my hand went instinctively to the tiny velvet mouse in my pocket. Chester had been my most constant companion, much loved and carried around the world and back. The fact that he had been mended once or twice with Stoker’s painstaking stitching only made him the more valuable. I stroked his back with a fingertip while Augusta rapped at the cottage door.

Hey, how many guys get to say their woman fell head over heels in love with them twice? It’s not so bad to be me.” “By that logic, how many girls get to say their guy is so great they fell in love with him twice?” I counter.

mouth was greasy. Not that DI Hogarth would have thought twice about snaffling a quick Kung Po washed down with his favourite whisky before a job, but Sue Palmer was a woman and whatever the blokes said, it was different. At least Hogarth wasn’t one of the PC brigade who said there was no glass ceiling. Hogarth was a dark realist with a cynical sense of humour. Lately Palmer had almost gotten used to Hogarth’s unintended sexism. It had almost become amusing. And under Hogarth’s rough, rotten exterior, she had found a sliver of charm which made her wonder about the distant possibilities… maybe if she was

Lucky Devon Pixies, said the sign. I’m a lucky Devon pixie, from the legend old and true, Kiss me once and turn me twice and I’ll bring luck to you. The pixies were silver charms in pretty little boxes with the verse on the lid,

Garden of the Dragons (The ’Halla, Vol. # 3) Chapter Ten Excerpt (original editing) ... Hachiman, surveys he the woe, Wipes his brow, hate does flow. A ruined life, heh, a loss of face, He must have her now, to his disgrace (Wed to Kari now, locked in time and place). Battle over, moon still shines, Lilies float soft in quiet time. Scented visions and memories sear remains, Of this terrible night of what was feigned. Visuals lithe, of sword and blade, Disguise the carnage and the pain. Petals soft, they hide our gaze, And cover the ground and its grave. Flowers and moon in water light, T'winkills the calm of a zen-burst night. Now to life, the poem to seek repose, And bury beneath those riddles she holds. Nectars sweet, precious flowers, A fragranted grave that allures and empowers. Heart~beat, heart~beat, tells the way, Of things long remembered and a far lost day. How many memories, Kari knew, That stain with age, being so few. Samurai remembers - feels it as a man, Clutches he his fist; wind in hand. . . . ". . .I have searched for you a very long time." "Do not waste breath, kill. It is our way here." "Not before I have my say, Corpse-eater." "No wonder you took so long to find me." "I have had a lot of time for thought," quietly he, "- T'is a shame we could not agree." "No more room for that," forcefully he snapped, "You dishonored me twice and now, I will take one back." "- Not enough? Hachi," said cordially she, "If you are going to - cut the artery, please." Tilt she her neck, exposed but her vein, Samurai frowned, decidedly vain. Looked he at his hands - "They're already too bloody for today." "Hummph. Such trite man'ers are atrocious. For yourself you are much too engaged." ("Yet, a moment and it is done," thought he, "But to gain it thus, a hollow travesty. I must face her in all her strength, The bladed Valkyrie, the one called great"). "I could kill you now, but I'd rather not, This room is too unbecoming for the proper job." "Charmed that you still think so highly of me." "- Only then of your haunted beauty, I shall be free." Feeling that weight, slowly dropped he his blade, Time enough - rituals to cleanse and to pray. Tossed his sword, pined her down - Smooshed her face to the floor, Pinching it to a frown. "Oh no, my little angel, you have it all wrong! I mean only to kill you when you are strong. Do not fear, I won't let anyone harm you in strife, In the meantime, try not to flirt with your life. Stay healthy - then we shall settle our love, unrequite." A biting grin creased Samurai's scarved face, "Let us fix it properly, according to my r'ace." "Bushido," mouthed Kari, her voice empty as the word. "And there will be no running away this time - Rest assured." Slowly withdrew he and left the room, "Bastard," spit Kari, caustic of his doom. The girl breathing vexiously, then calmly in the dark, The door closed, silent, the light dribbling out. Sounds below, drip mute in time, Reality presses, she makes her fate thind. And Skuld drinking, contemplates she her sibylline, It was her hour now, the night of the wolverine.

You’d think. But unless he’s killing as a zombie, it’s not possible. He died that night in the hospital after somehow managing to drive him and his sister there, despite his injuries. If he drove from Delaney Grove… Hell, I don’t know how he didn’t die from the blood loss alone. The sister was beat to hell and back, stabbed multiple times, face caved in, a huge piece of glass sticking out of her. She had severe signs of sexual trauma too, but she claimed it was a car accident, just like he did. It’s noted they were too scared to speak, and the girl died later that night from complications. That’s all I could charm out of a helpful nurse without a warrant.” My hand runs over the scar on Lana’s side, even though it’s covered by her clothing. Lana is sleeping hard, not noticing the way I touch her. The glass part strikes a nerve, reminding how she’s actually come close to dying twice now.

Once upon a time On your May Day, you had the strength to face it all Everything was new, you strived to have it all You lived in daydreams like you knew it all You dream to change the world, and you stand tall You feasted upon the world and everything it had to offer And that good feeling would last forever Every hug, every smile, every acceptance a victory Everything you did was recorded into your psyche Your essence glowed with curiosity Your life filled with mystery Your vitality your being Filled with love and happiness In the world you lived in And you thought nothing will change at all This was just the frame of mind you were going through That invincibility that lived in you That beauty that radiance of life That you thought you would keep it all Time peeled away your emotions You looked and saw everyone grew old Those beautiful days that beautiful life so far away That once upon a time you stood tall You thought you knew it all You couldn’t see it all Now only memories play in that place you lived in Beauty and love still remain in your old age The young faces faded in the old pictures Smiling back at you as if they had it all Now our soul is soothed by mercy A privilege that you lived to see today at all You count your blessings twice each morning Your comfort, liberty, and freedom Pacify charm and calm your old eyes Looking back on life, you travelled And you say, once upon a time You had it all Once upon a time, you stood tall And you loved it all

Once upon a time On your May Day, you had the strength to face it all Everything was new, you strived to have it all You lived in daydreams like you knew it all You dream to change the world, and you stand tall You feasted upon the world and everything it had to offer And that good feeling would last forever Every hug, every smile, every acceptance is a victory Everything you did was recorded into your psyche Your essence glowed with curiosity Your life is filled with mystery Your vitality, your being Filled with love and happiness In the world you live in And you thought nothing would change at all This was just the frame of mind you were going through That invincibility that lived in you That beauty, that radiance of life That you thought you would keep it all Time peeled away your emotions You looked and saw that everyone had grown old Those beautiful days, that beautiful life, are so far away That once upon a time, you stood tall You thought you knew it all You couldn’t see it all Now, only memories play in the place you lived in Beauty and love remain in your old age The young faces faded in the old pictures Smiling back at you as if they had it all Now your soul is soothed by mercy A privilege that you lived to see today at all You count your blessings twice each morning Your comfort, liberty, and freedom Pacify charm and calm your old eyes Looking back on life, you travelled And you say, once upon a time You had it all Once upon a time, you stood tall And you loved it all

Once upon a time On your May Day, you had the strength to face it all Everything was new, you strived to have it all You lived in daydreams like you knew it all You dream to change the world, and stand tall You feasted upon every emotion to feed your soul Especially the love everyone had to offer Your holy grail of life is to be seen and understood Searching for the soul to call home That intense love to share and complete you And that good feeling would last forever Every hug, every smile, every acceptance is a victory Everything was recorded into your psyche Your essence glowed with curiosity Your life is filled with mystery Your vitality, your being Filled with love and happiness In the world you live in And you thought nothing would change at all This was just the frame of mind you were going through That invincibility that lived in you That beauty, that radiance of life That you thought you would keep it all Time peeled away your emotions You looked and saw that everyone had grown old Those beautiful days that beautiful life is so far away That once upon a time, you stood tall You thought you knew it all You couldn’t see it all Now, only memories play in the place you lived in Beauty and love remain in your old age The young faces faded in the old pictures Smiling back at you as if they had it all Now your soul is soothed by mercy A privilege that you lived to see today at all You count your blessings twice each morning Your comfort, liberty, and freedom Pacify charm and calm your old eyes Looking back on life, you travelled And you say, once upon a time You had it all Once upon a time, you stood tall And you loved it all

Once upon a time On your May Day, you had the strength to face it all Everything was new, you strived to have it all You lived in daydreams like you knew it all You dream to change the world, and you stand tall You feasted upon every emotion to feed your soul Especially the love everyone had to offer Your holy grail of life is to be seen and understood Searching for the soul to call home That intense love to share and complete you all And that good feeling would last forever Every hug, every smile, every acceptance was a victory Everything was recorded into your psyche Your essence glowed with curiosity Your life is filled with mystery Your vitality, your being Filled with love and happiness In the world you live in And you thought nothing would change at all This was just the frame of mind you were going through That invincibility that lived in you That beauty, that radiance of life That you thought you would keep it all Time peeled away your emotions You looked and saw that everyone had grown old Those beautiful days that beautiful life is so far away That once upon a time, you stood tall You thought you knew it all You couldn’t see it all Now, only memories play in the place you lived in Beauty and love remain in your old age The young faces faded in the old pictures Smiling back at you as if they had it all Now your soul is soothed by mercy A privilege that you lived to see today at all You count your blessings twice each morning Your comfort, liberty, and freedom Pacify charm and calm your old eyes Looking back on life, you travelled And you say, once upon a time You had it all Once upon a time, you stood tall And you loved it all

Mark Hensley Jr. And Flore Barbu refuse to watch These Charming Men, a seemingly odd decision when you consider they each paid thirty dollars to attend a convention where that band was performing twice. These are the prototypical "weird white kids": Hensley appears to be auditioning for Bud Cort's role in a remake of Harold and Maude, and Barbu seems like the kind of woman who thinks Sylvia Plath was an underrated humorist. Both are wearing neckties for no apparent reason. These are the people you remember as being Smiths fans. And heaven knows they're miserable now.

It’s been said that from the moment of the Stockholm awards ceremony, she wore a Nobel Prize charm around her neck (given to her by her husband) and signed every piece of correspondence “Rosalyn Yalow, PhD, Nobel Laureate.” It’s also been said that Yalow tacked a sign on the bulletin board in her laboratory saying, “To be considered half as good as a man, a woman must work twice as hard and be twice as good.” That’s a common feminist maxim. But Yalow added the punch line: “Fortunately, that is not difficult.” Her children dismissed the jewelry/signature talk as the typical bluster of male colleagues. But they remember the sign well.

What about the occasions when you want repetition, in order to achieve a particular effect? Three’s the charm, as the old folk-saying has it. If the same word appears twice, it looks like an accident. But the third time (and after, if you don’t carry the device to absurdity) your reader assumes it’s intentional and for a reason: “It was a day for color. Not just one color, but many. The color of Sandra’s lips. The color of Ed’s worn blazer. The color of sea and sand and sky.

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She blinks. Once. Twice. And then she nods, and I swear, I think I could take on an entire army alone right now.

I know what he is. He’s the nicest guy in the room. He’s your best friend, as long as he gets what he wants. As long as things go according to his plan. But I’ve seen what’s behind all that charm—what comes out when nobody’s watching. What he’ll do to get what he thinks he deserves. He’ll leave you behind without thinking twice.

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And that was it. I was yours. I fell in love with you in less time than it took you to blink. Even though I knew from that first moment that I could never have you.

The days bleed together. I take refuge in books, losing myself in tales where evil is vanquished and love conquers all. The heroines are always brave, resourceful, unbreakable—everything I wish I could be. But that’s the magic of books, I guess. They’re not real.

Part of me shears away, sliced through by the knowledge that, even curseless, he still believes himself unworthy.

That was probably crossing a line, but I don’t regret it. Maybe I’ll even make this a habit. Because it’s better to cross lines once in a while than to live safely within someone else’s borders.

Don’t you understand? I have nothing to give. Fortuna made sure I can only take. Especially when it comes to you.

The scar he’s just carved into my heart won’t heal any time soon.

And my wife,” I drawled, “where do I even begin with her?” She faced me, the lift of a brow the only warning I’d get. From this close, I noticed the chill bumps littering her neck. The crimson coat she wore did wonders for her figure and nothing to keep her warm. I shimmied off my own and draped it over her shoulders. “What about your wife?” she asked, pulling the edges of my coat tighter around her body. My hand went for her throat, the only section of bare skin available, and slid around the curve of her neck to thread my fingers into her hair. With a gentle pull, I canted her chin, made those hazel eyes focus where I wanted them. “I think I’ve slept a whole three hours since she took the title of Mrs. Attano. Chaos every damn day, almost started another war with the queen of bleeders, has nearly died under my protection twice.” Milla rolled her eyes. “At least I’m not afraid of a box.” I smiled, continuing. “Yet she has managed to charm my evil grandmother, befriend those who were once her enemy, wear the color of my family with the grace of a princess.” My fingers squeezed her neck gently, sucking a gasp from her parted lips. Her pulse was a feathery stroke across my thumb. “They are not all you have, Milla. You have me, and there is no time limit for my friendship. No contract to negotiate those terms. It is freely given for as long as you’ll take it.” “Nico,” she breathed. Never had my name sounded so sensual. I wanted to kiss her again just to know what it would taste like. “I see you, Milla. I see all of you. The good, the better, and the best because there is no bad in you. You are enough. Stop letting those Marcheses make you think you need to do something to earn their approval. There is a house full of Attanos who think you’re wonderful, just the way you are.