Um Sad Quotes

He froze, becoming stone still. As the hover climbed the hill to the palace, his shoulders sank, and he returned his gaze to the window. "She's my alpha," he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice. Alpha. Cress leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, "Like the star?" "What star?" She stiffened, instantly embarrassed, and scooted back from him again. "Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she's...like...your brightest star." Looking away, she knotted her hands in her lap, aware that she was blushing furiously now and this beast of a man was about to realize what an over-romantic sap she was. But instead of sneering or laughing, Wolf sighed, "Yes," he said, his gaze climbing up to the full moon that had emerged in the blue evening sky. "Exactly like that.

-Ouve esta música? É a expressão da minha vida: uma partitura admirável, estragada por um horrível, por um infame executante...

They were in Imasu’s house, as Magnus was not allowed to play anywhere else in Puno. Imasu’s mother and sister were both sadly prone to migraines, so many of Magnus’s lessons were on musical theory, but today Magnus and Imasu were in the house alone. “When can we expect your mother and sister back?” Magnus asked, very casually. “In a few weeks,” Imasu replied. “They went to visit my aunt. Um. They didn’t flee—I mean, leave the house—for any particular reason.

Isso é bem outra coisa", replicou Alberto, "porque um homem que se deixa arrastar por uma paixão violenta perde a faculdade de refletir e deve ser considerado como um ébrio, como um demente.

Speaking of tongues, they are the main reason I'm a nervous wreck. Ryan is a senior and well, sadly, I'm not all that experienced with boys. I mean, I'm a freshman and have been to dances with boys my age and even have gone out with boys, but I've never really kissed them. Not like I hope to kiss Ryan anyway. Bobby Robinson did shove his tongue into my mouth one time, when we were kissing under the bleachers at a football game, but it didn't feel so good. I'm pretty sure he didn't have it exactly right. So I talked to my friends, Katie and Lisa, about how to properly make out. But, well, here is just a bit of their unhelpful advice. Just let him take the lead, do what ever he does. Um, couldn't that get me into a lot of trouble? Just sort of kiss his tongue, but try not to drool. Don't open your mouth too wide. And then, just open your mouth wide. See? Stupid, conflicting information. And this from girls who supposedly know how to do this! I feel like I'm an undercover CIA agent trying to wrestle vital information out of a ruthless double agent, and the fate of the free world depends upon it. All the while, the President is yelling at me in a panic, saying, Somebody! Anybody! Just get me the truth!

She's my alpha," he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice. Alpha. "Like the star?" "What star?" "Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she's...like...your brightest star." "Yes, exactly like that.

O horrível dever é o de ir até o fim. E sem contar com ninguém. Viver-se a si mesma. E para sofrer menos embotar-me um pouco. Porque não posso mais carregar as dores do mundo. Que fazer quando sinto totalmente o que outras pessoas são e sentem? Vivo-as mas não tenho mais força.

She smoothed her skirt around her knees. “This Scarlet … you’re in love with her, aren’t you?” He froze, becoming stone still. As the hover climbed the hill to the palace, his shoulders sank, and he returned his gaze to the window. “She’s my alpha,” he murmured, with a haunting sadness in his voice. Alpha. Cress leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “Like the star?” “What star?” She stiffened, instantly embarrassed, and scooted back from him again. “Oh. Um. In a constellation, the brightest star is called the alpha. I thought maybe you meant that she’s … like … your brightest star.” Looking away, she knotted her hands in her lap, aware that she was blushing furiously now and this beast of a man was about to realize what an over-romantic sap she was. But instead of sneering or laughing, Wolf sighed. “Yes,” he said, his gaze climbing up to the full moon that had emerged over the city. “Exactly like that.” With a quick twist to her heart, Cress’s fear of him began to subside. She’d been right back at the boutique. He was like the hero of a romance story, and he was trying to rescue his beloved. His alpha.

Para mim, o mundo é apenas o mundo, Graciano: um palco em que todos nós representamos um papel, sendo o meu triste.

THEY FOUND LEO AT THE TOP of the city fortifications. He was sitting at an open-air café, overlooking the sea, drinking a cup of coffee and dressed in…wow. Time warp. Leo’s outfit was identical to the one he’d worn the day they first arrived at Camp Half-Blood—jeans, a white shirt, and an old army jacket. Except that jacket had burned up months ago. Piper nearly knocked him out of his chair with a hug. “Leo! Gods, where have you been?” “Valdez!” Coach Hedge grinned. Then he seemed to remember he had a reputation to protect and he forced a scowl. “You ever disappear like that again, you little punk, I’ll knock you into next month!” Frank patted Leo on the back so hard it made him wince. Even Nico shook his hand. Hazel kissed Leo on the cheek. “We thought you were dead!” Leo mustered a faint smile. “Hey, guys. Nah, nah, I’m good.” Jason could tell he wasn’t good. Leo wouldn’t meet their eyes. His hands were perfectly still on the table. Leo’s hands were never still. All the nervous energy had drained right out of him, replaced by a kind of wistful sadness. Jason wondered why his expression seemed familiar. Then he realized Nico di Angelo had looked the same way after facing Cupid in the ruins of Salona. Leo was heartsick. As the others grabbed chairs from the nearby tables, Jason leaned in and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said, “what happened?” Leo’s eyes swept around the group. The message was clear: Not here. Not in front of everyone. “I got marooned,” Leo said. “Long story. How about you guys? What happened with Khione?” Coach Hedge snorted. “What happened? Piper happened! I’m telling you, this girl has skills!” “Coach…” Piper protested. Hedge began retelling the story, but in his version Piper was a kung fu assassin and there were a lot more Boreads. As the coach talked, Jason studied Leo with concern. This café had a perfect view of the harbor. Leo must have seen the Argo II sail in. Yet he sat here drinking coffee—which he didn’t even like—waiting for them to find him. That wasn’t like Leo at all. The ship was the most important thing in his life. When he saw it coming to rescue him, Leo should have run down to the docks, whooping at the top of his lungs. Coach Hedge was just describing how Piper had defeated Khione with a roundhouse kick when Piper interrupted. “Coach!” she said. “It didn’t happen like that at all. I couldn’t have done anything without Festus.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “But Festus was deactivated.” “Um, about that,” Piper said. “I sort of woke him up.” Piper explained her version of events—how she’d rebooted the metal dragon with charmspeak.

What it lacks in pizzaz, it makes up for in practicality,” I said, hoping Aislinn couldn’t hear how terrified I was. But she put her hand on my shoulder-the first time she’d ever touched me-and said, “You’ll be fine. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, Sophie Brannick, it’s that you are one tough little thing.” I almost sad, “Sophie Mercer.” Instead I just said, “Thanks, um, Aunt Aislinn.” She pulled her hand back. “Let’s not get carried away.” “Right, sorry.

Eu me corto porque não consigo lidar com as coisas. É simples assim. O mundo se torna um oceano, o oceano cai em cima de mim, o som da água é ensurdecedor, a água afoga meu coração, meu pânico fica do tamanho do mundo.

Triste é como me sinto quando penso em Ellis, e até isso não é verdade, porque quando digo "tristeza", o que quero mesmo dizer é "um buraco negro dentro de mim cheio de pregos e pedras e vidro quebrado e de palavras que não tenho mais".

Oh apologies,” Merlin’s face blotched with red. “I, um, come from a society with a history of gender assumptions based on physical markers, aesthetics…et cetera.” Ew,” Ari said. “That’s wicked sad,” Kay added. Merlin, at least, looked deeply ashamed. “You’ve no idea.

De repente, acontece de novo, só que desta vez tenho a lembrança de como é cortar, cortar com força. O jeito como você tem que enfiar o vidro bem fundo, com rapidez, para abrir a pele e depois arrastar, arrastar com força, para fazer um rio no qual valha a pena se afogar.

Um, excuse me, but, wait. Uh...uh...are all domestic our allies?" came a frail voice from a bushtit whose name roughly translates as Gary. "During this War, they are all our allies. We will work together," said Kraai. "Not cats though, right?" asked a yellow-breasted western meadowlark. Kraai gave his measured answer: "Not every cat is bad." Mutters of disbelief rose like bubbles. Gary the bushtit, shifting his balance, lifted up his sad twig of a leg stump as a silent rebuttal. "You're right, Gary. Cats can't be trusted. But everything else.

Ali od sveg njegovog lika, vidljivog i nevidljivog, samo sam ociju bila svjesna, sivih, velikih, upornih, nepomicnih. Te oci... o, Boze, kakve oci! Oci koje osvoje i ne pustaju... Koje zovu. Mame i oduzimaju um. Oci kojim ne treba rijec. Ledene, s dubokim crnim zjenicama u kojim kao da su bili hipnoticki virovi i kao da ih je okruzivala tanka nit od zlata koja se spustala u spirali sve do u dubinu njegove duse. A kad me njegov pogled dotaknuo, ta nit se pruzala preko prostora i sputala me. Osjecala sam da ne zelim da me pusti ikad vise. Stajala sam nepomicna i sledena nasred puste ulice. On, tamo u uglu, zasjenjenog lica, leda okrenutih svjetlosti, nije davao znak zivota od sebe. Kao da je lutka koju je netko za salu ostavio da stoji na uglu. Samo njegove oci su bile zive. I od tog sjaja ili mozda zracenja, koje sam mogla osjetiti kako jaca, nesto se oslobodi u meni, panicno se trgne kao da u ljudskoj utrobi postoji kakav mjerni uredaj koji vristi kad se sretne s necime sto dise drugim zivotom. Nova zapazanja, ponovno izdvojena iz konteksta. Kosa mu je bila boje staroga zlata i padala je do ramena i mutna je svjetlost cinila da ta boja postane tamnija i toplija. A lice, koje nije bilo blijedo vec bijelo, bijelo poput papira ili zida iza njega, sjalo je na nacin na koji ljudsko lice nebi smjelo sjati. I bila sam svjesna toga da zaboravljam crte njegovog lica svakoga trenutka i svakoga ga trenutka ponovno upoznajem, uvijek s onim istim odusevljenjem i s mislju: Zaista, to je najljepse lice koje sam ikad vidjela. I bila sam svjesna toga da je ostatak njegovog tijela sjena i da uopce nije vazno tko je on i sto je on, da je vazno samo to da je on sad tu i da sam ja tu i onda bi se to ponavljalo, ta ideja u mojoj glavi, kako je to u redu, kako je to upravo ono kako bi trebalo biti i da nema razloga za strah, jer on je tu i ja sam tu i to je upravo kako treba biti... u beskonacnost, stvarajuci blagu vrtoglavicu i osamucenost.

Did he say anything to you?” “Just that I was supposed to watch you while he was gone. A hunt can take several days.” “Really? I had no idea it would take that long.” I hestitated, “So…he doesn’t mind you staying here while he’s gone.” “Oh, he minds,” he chuckled, “but he wants to make sure you’re safe. At least he trusts me that much.” “Well, I think he’s mad at both of us right now.” Kishan looked at me curiously with a raised eyebrow. “How so?” “Um…let’s just say we had a misunderstanding.” Kishan’s face turned hard. “Don’t worry, Kelsey. I’m sure that whatever he’s upset about is foolish. He’s very argumentative.” I sighed and shook my head sadly. “No, it’s really all my fault. I’m difficult, a hindrance, and I’m a pain to have around sometimes. He’s probably used to being around sophisticated, more experienced women who are much more…more…well, more than I am.” Kishan quirked an eyebrow. “Ren hasn’t been around any women as far as I know. I must confess that I’m now exceedingly curious as to what your argument was about. Whether you tell me or not, I won’t tolerate any more derogatory comments about yourself. He’s lucky to have you, and he’d better realize it.” He grinned. “Of course, if you did have a falling out, you’re always welcome to stay with me.” “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really want to live in the jungle.” He laughed. “For you, I would even consider a change of residence. You, my lovely, are a prize worth fighting for.” I laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. “You, sir, are a major flirt. Worth fighting for? I think you two have been tigers for too long. I’m no great beauty, especially when I’m stuck out here in the jungle. I haven’t even picked a college major yet. What have I ever done that would make someone want to fight over me?” Kishan apparently took my rhetorical questions seriously. He reflected for a moment, and then answered, “For one thing, I’ve never met a woman so dedicated to helping others. You put your own life at risk for a person you met only a few weeks ago. You are confident, feisty, intelligent, and full of empathy. I find you charming and, yes, beautiful.” The golden-eyed prince fingered a strand of my hair. I blushed at his assessment, sipped my water, and then said softly, “I don’t like him being angry with me.” Kishan shrugged and dropped his hand, looking slightly annoyed that I’d steered the conversation back to Ren. “Yes. I’ve been on the receiving side of his anger, and I’ve learned not to underestimate his ability to hold a grudge.

Now you've done it." His tone was quietly playful. I couldn't help it.I looked up at him questioningly. "You've added a third word to your repitoire. Hi,thanks,and now yes." His lips turned up at the corners,and the heat rushed to my face. He noticed. "At least that much hasn't changed." I turned back to my notebook,my hands trembling. He leaned toward me. "Now that we have our first conversation out of the way, do you want to tell me where you've been?" From the way he spoke I knew his smile was gone. I could feel little beads of sweat form on my forehead. "You left me.Without a word," he said. He sounded tentative, as if he were trying to keep his voice even. I took in a deep breath,but I couldn't figure out what he was feeling. There wasn't one singular emotion that was stronger than the others. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" He waited. My heart felt like it would burst through my chest into a million little pieces,and I could see this wasn't going to work. I started to close my book. "Don't-" he blurted, and I froze. "Don't go.You don't have to talk to me.I'm the one who should go." His voice sounded achingly sad. I could hear him packing his bag. Say something.Say something. "Um..." Jack paused, as if further movement might stop my words. He was the reason I came back.I couldn't scare him off. As hard as it would be to talk to him,it would be much harder to watch him walk out that door. "No," I said. I took a shaky breath. "You don't...have to leave. Please." He took his book back out and put it on his desk. I followed,setting my own books out. "Thank you," Jack whispered. We didn't talk for the rest of the hour.

— Para você — Gisa diz, estendendo a mão boa, de onde pende um retalho de seda preta. O tecido é frio e escorregadio. — De antes. Flores vermelhas e douradas enfeitam o pano, bordadas com uma habilidade de mestre. — Eu lembro — murmuro, correndo o dedo sobre a perfeição impossível. Ela bordou isto há muito tempo, uma noite antes de o agente quebrar sua mão. Está inacabado, assim como o antigo destino dela. Assim como Shade. Trêmula, amarro o tecido no punho. — Obrigada, Gisa. — Enfio a mão no bolso e digo: — Também tenho uma coisa para você, minha garota. Uma bijuteria barata. O brinco solitário combina com o mar de inverno ao nosso redor. Ela perde o fôlego ao segurá-lo. As lágrimas logo vêm, mas não posso vê-las

I... um... couldn't sleep." She swallowed.... When Amelia saw his eyes soften, she was surprised when he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips. It was a warm delectable kiss, a kiss that took her breath away... As he gazed into her eyes, Rick said softly. "If you think you can fall into my bed and get away with not being kissed, you're sadly mistaken, lady.

That one’s yours and that one’s mine.” Like we’re cars. And I don’t feel like I’ve ever been one of the good cars. No one’s ever seen me and said, “I get that one!” They’re more like, “I get that one? Um, okay.” Or even, “I get that one? You owe me.” It’s so sad to think that people are incurring debt based on my appearance. I’d hate to hurt someone’s credit score. So

Deacon met my glare with an impish grin. “Anyway, did you celebrate Valentine’s Day when you were slumming with the mortals?” I blinked. “Not really. Why?” Aiden snorted and then disappeared into one of the rooms. “Follow me,” Deacon said. “You’re going to love this. I just know it.” I followed him down the dimly-lit corridor that was sparsely decorated. We passed several closed doors and a spiral staircase. Deacon went through an archway and stopped, reaching along the wall. Light flooded the room. It was a typical sunroom, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, wicker furniture, and colorful plants. Deacon stopped by a small potted plant sitting on a ceramic coffee table. It looked like a miniature pine tree that was missing several limbs. Half the needles were scattered in and around the pot. One red Christmas bulb hung from the very top branch, causing the tree to tilt to the right. “What do you think?” Deacon asked. “Um… well, that’s a really different Christmas tree, but I’m not sure what that has to do with Valentine’s Day.” “It’s sad,” Aiden said, strolling into the room. “It’s actually embarrassing to look at. What kind of tree is it, Deacon?” He beamed. “It’s called a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Deacon digs this thing out every year. The pine isn’t even real. And he leaves it up from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s Day. Which thank the gods is the day after tomorrow. That means he’ll be taking it down.” I ran my fingers over the plastic needles. “I’ve seen the cartoon.” Deacon sprayed something from an aerosol can. “It’s my MHT tree.” “MHT tree?” I questioned. “Mortal Holiday Tree,” Deacon explained, and smiled. “It covers the three major holidays. During Thanksgiving it gets a brown bulb, a green one for Christmas, and a red one for Valentine’s Day.” “What about New Year’s Eve?” He lowered his chin. “Now, is that really a holiday?” “The mortals think so.” I folded my arms. “But they’re wrong. The New Year is during the summer solstice,” Deacon said. “Their math is completely off, like most of their customs. For example, did you know that Valentine’s Day wasn’t actually about love until Geoffrey Chaucer did his whole courtly love thing in the High Middle Ages?” “You guys are so weird.” I grinned at the brothers. “That we are,” Aiden replied. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.” “Hey Alex,” Deacon called. “We’re making cookies tomorrow, since it’s Valentine’s Eve.” Making cookies on Valentine’s Eve? I didn’t even know if there was such a thing as Valentine’s Eve. I laughed as I followed Aiden out of the room. “You two really are opposites.” “I’m cooler!” Deacon yelled from his Mortal Holiday Tree room

I’m surprised you even remember that day. You were so into Kavinsky, I don’t think you even noticed who else was there.” I push him in the shoulder. “I was not ‘so into Kavinsky’!” “Yes you were. You kept your eyes on that bottle the whole game, like this.” John picks up the bottle and lasers his eyes at it. “Waiting for your moment.” I’m bright red, I know I am. “Oh, be quiet.” Laughing, he says, “Like a hawk on its prey.” “Shut up!” Now I’m laughing too. “How do you even remember that?” “Because I was doing the same thing,” he says. “You were staring at Peter too?” I say it like a joke, to tease, because this is fun. For the first time in days I’m having fun. He looks right at me, navy-blue eyes sure and steady, and my breath catches in my chest. “No. I was looking at you.” There’s a humming in my ears, and it’s the sound of my heart beating in triple measure. In memory, everything seems to happen to music. One of my favorite lines from The Glass Menagerie. If I close my eyes I can almost hear it, that day in John Ambrose McClaren’s basement. Years from now, when I look back on this moment, what music will I hear then? His eyes hold mine, and I feel a flutter that starts in my throat and moves across my collarbone and chest. “I like you, Lara Jean. I liked you then and I like you even more now. I know you and Kavinsky just broke up, and you’re still sad, but I just want to make it unequivocally clear.” “Um…okay,” I whisper. His words--they come clearly; they don’t miss in either direction. Not even a trace of a stutter. Just--unequivocally clear.

I didn’t know my dad in person and I never got to say goodbye to him at his funeral and I thought it would be nice to say a few words now that I sort of feel I know him a bit better.’ She gave a nervous smile, and pushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘So. Will … Dad. When I first found out you were my real father, I’ll be honest, I was a bit freaked out. I’d hoped my real dad was going to be this wise, handsome man, who would want to teach me stuff and protect me and take me on trips to show me amazing places that he loved. And what I actually got was an angry man in a wheelchair who just, you know, killed himself. But because of Lou, and your family, over the last few months I’ve come to understand you a bit better. ‘I’ll always be sad and maybe even a bit angry that I never got to meet you, but now I want to say thank you too. “. You gave me a lot, without knowing it. I think I’m like you in good ways – and probably a few not-so-good ways. You gave me blue eyes and my hair colour and the fact that I think Marmite is revolting and the ability to do black ski runs and … Well, apparently you also gave me a certain amount of moodiness – that’s other people’s opinion, by the way. Not mine.’ ‘But mostly you gave me a family I didn’t know I had. And that’s cool. Because, to be honest, it wasn’t going that well before they all turned up.’ Her smile wavered. ‘ So, um, Will … Dad, I’m not going to go on and on because speeches are boring and also that baby is going to start wailing any minute, which will totally harsh the mood. But I just wanted to say thank you, from your daughter, and that I … love you and I’ll always miss you, and I hope if you’re looking down, and you can see me, you’re glad. That I exist. Because me being here sort of means you’re still here, doesn’t it?’ Lily’s voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze slid towards Camilla, who gave a small nod.

Your lip looks better, Kate. Um…." He lifted his hands as if to rake them through his hair, stopping just before he ruined a look that must have taken beaucoup product to achieve. "Hiya, Harvey. Sad about the guv, eh? I mean Lord… I mean, him. The fact is, before we begin…." "Are you off your meds? Sit down," Kate barked. "Yes, I appreciate the invitation, it's lovely to be here, but the fact is—" "Deepal!" A woman called from the front parlor. "I won't be hidden out here! It's undignified!" "… I brought my mum," Paul concluded. "When I told her I was popping by the guv's—I mean, Lord—I mean, his place, she wouldn't take no for an answer." "You're sacked," Tony said. "Too late. Mum," Paul said, turning to intercept Sharada in the doorway, "Of course you've met, um, er, Tony, and Kate. This is Mrs. Snell, who used to be his secretary, and that's Harvey, the manservant. Like Alfred to Batman." "Deepal, I write romances. I know what a manservant is." Evading her

I’m sorry, Rosie,” Silas says when he sees the sadness in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to brush the look away, but Silas isn’t easily deterred. He hesitates, then leans on the counter beside me, moving slowly as if he needs verification that each move is acceptable, wanted. “Hey,” he says, resting two fingers on my arm. It starts as a friendly gesture. I press my lips together as he slides his palm up my arm and around his shoulders. Silas paused, and though I’m not certain, I think he realizes that the touch is far more friendly as well—a thought that makes me dizzy but practically forces me to move my own hand to the small of his back. I close my eyes and inhale, and I feel Silas’s breath on my forehead, hear his relaxed heartbeats. His lips are so close to me, I could easily tilt my head back and kiss him if I were braver. It’s hard to not sigh, like the exhausted breath is building up in my chest and I’m holding it back, though more than anything I want to release it, to truly hold myself against him— Scarlett’s shower cuts off. Silas snatches his arm away and I lean back up, head swirling from the quick change. “Um . . . right,” Silas says, looking startled. He looks at me. “Okay, back to studying Potentials, wolves, important stuff . . .” He shakes his head as if he’s casting away a mental fog. I bite my lip. I want to get out of here—I need to get out of here, or the thumping desire for Silas is going to consume me. There’s no way Scarlett won’t figure it out if I can’t escape and get my mind off him. It’s just for a little while—I can go get groceries or something. Silas will help her research. We can’t keep paying for Chinese food. I meet Silas’s eyes, dashes of sky color in the monotone apartment. “I’ll be back,” I say, then dart for the door. “Wait!” he whispers sharply. He lunges toward the couch and tosses me the belt with my knives on it. “Just in case.” I catch it with one hand and swing it around my waist. Silas gives me a sly smile—does he know the affect that smile has on me?

I can't figure you out," she said. "What do you want?" "What I want does not matter." He said it mechanically, if that description could ever fit a Mage, the words coming out as if they had been drilled into him. Remembering some of the harsher harassment she had endured in her Mechanics Guild apprenticeship, Mari wondered what things had been like for this Mage. What had been done to make him seem so inhuman? "Why can't you just act like everyone else?" He gave her an inscrutable look. "I am not like everyone else." For some reason that sounded sad to her. "I ask your pardon, Mage." The formal words almost stuck in her parched throat, but Mari forced them out, seeing real surprise flashing for a moment in the Mage's eyes in response. "I'm a Mechanic, but I'm not closed-minded." Which has gotten me in trouble already more times than I can count. "Thank you for your warning." The Mage shook his head. "Thank...you," he repeated, the words sounding almost rusty as they came out, an intentness again showing in his eyes. "Thank you," he repeated in a murmur to himself, a hint of understanding appearing in his voice. "I...remember. Asha." "Asha?" "Long ago. I do not remember what to say." He gave her a look in which no feeling could be seen. "What do I say?" "Um...you say...you're welcome," Mari replied, feeling oddly anguished by the Mage's reactions. "Yes." He inclined his head toward her. "You...are welcome, Master Mechanic Mari.

It takes some getting used to,' Mr. Forkle said. 'But what you're seeing is a visual representation of each other's moods.' 'So that means if I do this...' Keefe tickled Sophie's neck. 'GAH--everything just went supersonic!' Fitz said. Sophie snatched Keefe's wrist as he reached to tickle her again. 'Don't. You. Dare.' 'Whoa, now everything's red and ripply,' Fitz said. 'Is that because she's angry?' 'Precisely, Mr. Vacker. Every time her emotions shift, the patterns and colors will change. And with practice, you'll learn to interpret what you see.' 'Okay, but...can't they just say, "Hey, I'm feeling this?"' Keefe asked. 'People aren't always honest about their feelings--even with themselves,' Mr. Forkle told him. 'Plus, many telepathic missions involve stealth and secrecy. So for this exercise I'm going to need both of you to forget everything around you. Let the world drop away, leaving only you two.' Keefe sighed. 'Just tell them to stare into each other's eyes and they'll be good.' 'None of that, Mr. Sencen. From this moment on, you have one job and one job only: to judge their translations of the various emotions I'll be triggering.' 'Triggering how?' Sophie asked. 'You'll see soon enough. And you'll go first, Miss Foster. For this to work, Mr. Vacker, it's crucial that you not react externally. No yelling or thrashing or screaming or--' 'Uhhh, what are you going to do to me?' Fitz asked. 'Nothing you won't survive. Consider it an exercise in self-control. And try not to listen to his thoughts, Miss Foster. Study only the changes in his emotional center and make your deduction. We begin now.' Sophie closed her eyes and focus on the colors weaving around Fitz's mind. She was about to ask if she was missing something when the pattern exploded into a swirl of pale blue tendrils. The color felt to bright to be sad, but also too wild to be peaceful. 'Tension?' she guessed. 'Kinda close,' Keefe told her. The laughter in his voice made her wonder what had happened to poor Fitz. She tried to think of other emotions as his mind turned electric blue. 'Shock?' she guessed. 'That counts,' Keefe said. 'Though the best answer would've been "surprise."' 'Is that an emotion?' she asked. 'Indeed it is,' Mr. Forkle said. 'One of the most common emotions you'll experience as you navigate someone's mind--hence why I chose it as our starting point.' 'Can I talk now?' Fitz asked. 'Because that was seriously disgusting!' Sophie opened her eyes and tried not to laugh when she saw red fruit smashed all over Fitz's face. He wiped his cheeks on his sleeves, but that only smeared the pulp. 'I think I'm going to like this assignment,' Keefe said. 'What else can we fling at Fitz?' 'Nothing for the moment,' Mr. Forkle told him. 'It's his turn to interpret. Everyone close your eyes. And remember, no cues of any kind, Miss Foster.' Sophie counted the seconds, bracing for the worst--and when nothing chaned, she opened her eyes and found Mr. Forkle with his finger over his lips in a 'shhh' sign. 'Um...confusion,' Fitz guessed. 'That works,' Keefe said. 'It started as anticipation, but then it shifted.' 'Very good,' Mr. Forkle said. 'And well done, Mr. Sencen. I wasn't sure you'd recognize confusion. It's one of the more challenging emotions for Empaths.' 'Maybe on other people,' Keefe said. 'But on Foster it's easy. Why are her emotions so much stronger?' 'Honestly, I'm not sure,' Mr. Forkle admitted. 'I suspect it stems from the combination of her inflicting ability and her human upbringing. But it was one of the surprises of her development. Much like her teleporting. Okay, Miss Foster, it's your turn to guess again.' She closed her eyes and watched as the lines of color in Fitz's mind blossomed to a snowflake of purple. 'Pride?' she guessed. Keefe laughed. 'Wow, add more fail points to Sophitz.' 'Quiet,' Mr. Forkle told him.

joke around—nothing serious—as I work to get my leg back to where it was. Two weeks later, I’m in an ankle-to-hip leg brace and hobbling around on crutches. The brace can’t come off for another six weeks, so my parents lend me their townhouse in New York City and Lucien hires me an assistant to help me out around the house. Some guy named Trevor. He’s okay, but I don’t give him much to do. I want to regain my independence as fast as I can and get back out there for Planet X. Yuri, my editor, is griping that he needs me back and I’m more than happy to oblige. But I still need to recuperate, and I’m bored as hell cooped up in the townhouse. Some buddies of mine from PX stop by and we head out to a brunch place on Amsterdam Street my assistant sometimes orders from. Deacon, Logan, Polly, Jonesy and I take a table in Annabelle’s Bistro, and settle in for a good two hours, running our waitress ragged. She’s a cute little brunette doing her best to stay cheerful for us while we give her a hard time with endless coffee refills, loud laughter, swearing, and general obnoxiousness. Her nametag says Charlotte, and Deacon calls her “Sweet Charlotte” and ogles and teases her, sometimes inappropriately. She has pretty eyes, I muse, but otherwise pay her no mind. I have my leg up on a chair in the corner, leaning back, as if I haven’t a care in the world. And I don’t. I’m going to make a full recovery and pick up my life right where I left off. Finally, a manager with a severe hairdo and too much makeup, politely, yet pointedly, inquires if there’s anything else we need, and we take the hint. We gather our shit and Deacon picks up the tab. We file out, through the maze of tables, and I’m last, hobbling slowly on crutches. I’m halfway out when I realize I left my Yankees baseball cap on the table. I return to get it and find the waitress staring at the check with tears in her eyes. She snaps the black leather book shut when she sees me and hurriedly turns away. “Forget something?” she asks with false cheer and a shaky smile. “My hat,” I say. She’s short and I’m tall. I tower over her. “Did Deacon leave a shitty tip? He does that.” “Oh no, no, I mean…it’s fine,” she says, turning away to wipe her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just…um, kind of a rough month. You know how it is.” She glances me up and down in my expensive jeans and designer shirt. “Or maybe you don’t.” The waitress realizes what she said, and another round of apologies bursts out of her as she begins stacking our dirty dishes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Really. I have this bad habit…blurting. I don’t know why I said that. Anyway, um…” I laugh, and fish into my back pocket for my wallet. “Don’t worry about it. And take this. For your trouble.” I offer her forty dollars and her eyes widen. Up close, her eyes are even prettier—large and luminous, but sad too. A blush turns her skin scarlet “Oh, no, I couldn’t. No, please. It’s fine, really.” She bustles even faster now, not looking at me. I shrug and drop the twenties on the table. “I hope your month improves.” She stops and stares at the money, at war with herself. “Okay. Thank you,” she says finally, her voice cracking. She takes the money and stuffs it into her apron. I feel sorta bad, poor girl. “Have a nice day, Charlotte,” I say, and start to hobble away. She calls after me, “I hope your leg gets better soon.” That was big of her, considering what ginormous bastards we’d been to her all morning. Or maybe she’s just doing her job. I wave a hand to her without looking back, and leave Annabelle’s. Time heals me. I go back to work. To Planet X. To the world and all its thrills and beauty. I don’t go back to my parents’ townhouse; hell I’m hardly in NYC anymore. I don’t go back to Annabelle’s and I never see—or think about—that cute waitress with the sad eyes ever again. “Fucking hell,” I whisper as the machine reads the last line of

As árvores nas margens, cobertas de neve, as raparigas de boina de lã e de mãos medidas no regalo, a música que de tão fogosa aquecia o ambiente, tudo isso pertence aos momentos bué construíram a mesma minha vida, pois que mais é uma vida do que o reportório de momentos? É injusta a Natureza, que priva parte das crianças de um mundo de Inverno branco, de rios gelados em que se dança, para o substituir por chuvas monótonas, por humidade que, agressiva e hostil, nos penetra no corpo. (...) Apetecia-me chorar, não por causa da dor que passou depressa, mas por me sentir o invadida por uma tristeza singular. Era como se alguma coisa de muito belo tivesse desaparecido da minha existência ou como se alguém querido se tivesse despedido para sempre.

Jonathan presented Larry with a product plan that was a manifestation of the gate-based approach at its finest. There were milestones and approvals, priorities, and a two-year plan of what products Google would release and when. It was a masterpiece of textbook thinking. All that remained was for him to receive a rousing round of applause and a pat on the back. Sadly, this was not to be: Larry hated it. “Have you ever seen a scheduled plan that the team beat?” he asked. Um, no. “Have your teams ever delivered better products than what was in the plan?” No again. “Then what’s the point of the plan? It’s holding us back. There must be a better way. Just go talk to the engineers.

Um, people.” It wasn’t hard to get their attention. They gathered around. Even the littlest ones toned down their giggling, at least a bit. “First of all, thanks to Albert and his helpers for this meal. Let’s give it up for the true Mac Daddy.” A round of hearty applause and some laughter, and Albert waved sheepishly. He frowned a little too, obviously conflicted about the use of the “Mac” prefix in a way that was not approved in the McDonald’s manual. “And we have to mention Lana and Dahra, because without them, there would be a lot fewer of us here.” Now the applause was almost reverential. “Our first Thanksgiving in the FAYZ,” Sam said when the applause died down. “Hope it’s our last,” someone shouted. “Yeah. You got that right,” Sam agreed. “But we’re here. We’re here in this place we never wanted to be. And we’re scared. And I’m not going to lie and tell you that from here on, it will all be easy. It won’t be. It will be hard. And we’ll be scared some more, I guess. And sad. And lonely. Some terrible things have happened. Some terrible things…” For a moment, he lost his way. But then he stood up straighter again. “But, still, we are grateful, and we give thanks to God, if you believe in Him, or to fate, or to just ourselves, all of us here.” “To you, Sam,” someone shouted. “No, no, no.” He waved that off. “No. We give thanks to the nineteen kids who are buried right there.” He pointed at the six rows of three, plus the one who started a seventh row. Neat hand-painted wooden tombstones bore the names of Bette and too many others. “And we give thanks to the heroes who are standing around here right now eating turkey. Too many names to mention, and they’d all just be embarrassed, anyway, but we all know them.” There was a wave of loud, sustained applause, and many faces turned toward Edilio and Dekka, Taylor and Brianna, and some toward Quinn. “We all hope this will end. We all hope we’ll soon be back in the world with people we love. But right now, we’re here. We’re in the FAYZ. And what we’re going to do is work together, and look out for each other, and help each other.” People nodded, some high-fived. “Most of us are from Perdido Beach. Some are from Coates. Some of us are…well, a little strange.” A few titters. “And some of us are not. But we’re all here now, we’re all in it together. We’re going to survive. If this is our world now…I mean, it is our world now. It is our world. So, let’s make it a good one.” He stepped down in silence. Then someone started clapping rhythmically and saying, “Sam, Sam, Sam.” Others joined in, and soon every person in the plaza, even some of the prees, was chanting his name.

A vida é repleta de tristezas: pouco importa o que fazemos, no final todos vamos morrer; cada um de nós está preso à solidão de um corpo independente; o tempo passa e o que passou nunca voltará. A dor é a nossa primeira experiência de desamparo no mundo, e ela nunca nos deixa.

Um, we’ll ask your mom. Okay, bunny?” The classic answer he used so often. “Bunny?!” she squealed. “I’m not a bunny!” In spite of her words she jumped to her feet. He waved a hand at her. “Are you sure you’re not a bunny? You just jumped up like a bunny.” Giggling, she circled the little wooden table they sat at and shoved a tiny fist into his shoulder. Chad pretended to be wounded, falling from the pint-sized chair to the floor, moaning in pain. Mercy did not live up to her name as she tackled him while he was down, tickling him in the sides at an especially sensitive spot she’d found weeks ago. It had been another wrestling session, but in her defense, she was only protecting herself from her own tickling attack. Laughing hard, trying to get away from her sharp little fingers, Chad rolled across the room, being impaled by Mega-bloks in his back. He finally cried uncle and Mercy fell across him, her hands in the air in victory. “You’re going to give me a complex, little girl.” “What’s a complex?” she asked. Chad rolled his eyes, wondering how he got himself into these situations. “It’s when you make somebody worry about something.” She blinked and her pretty green eyes turned sad. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have an ̓omplex. I love you.” Chad stilled, all of the events swirling through the past nine months slowed to focus on this one second. “I love you too, bunny. Bunches. Think your mom has dinner ready yet? Maybe we should go down and cheer her on, you know, to make her cook faster.” Once again, Mercy’s mood lightened. “Yes, let’s do that.” Bouncing

If you ever had a choice between light and dark, what would you pick?' she asked me. 'Um...light means good, right? So good, of course,' I answered confidently. The hologram smiled. 'That's what they all say. What's funny is that they never seem to stick to that decision. Let's hope you are different.' Her smile this time was equal parts sad and hopeful. 'You said...there are others like me?' I tried not to sound too hopeful. She nodded. 'How many others?' She hesitated before answering. 'About...two hundered thousand.' I went slack jawed. There went my hopes of being different and special.

At some point I must have fallen asleep on the couch I’d been sharing with Chase because an explosion on the TV jerked me awake. “It’s just the movie,” he whispered in my direction and ran his fingers over my cheek, “don’t move yet Princess.” “Don’t move? Why?” “I’m almost done, give me another minute or two.” I heard his hand moving back and forth across the paper slowly and waited until he kneeled down in front of the couch so his face was directly in front of mine. My breath caught and his electric blue eyes glanced down to my barely parted lips. His tongue absently wetted his lips and his teeth lightly bit down on his bottom one as his gaze roamed my face. “Why couldn’t I move?” I managed to ask when he started closing the distance between us. He abruptly stopped and blinked a few times, “Oh, um. Well … here. Just don’t freak out, okay? I wasn’t trying to be creepy.” “You’re not supposed to tell someone not to freak out, those words alone cause them to freak out.” Chase smirked, “Okay, well then don’t hit me or use your pressure point training on me again.” Before I could roll my eyes at him, he brought his sketch pad up in front of me and my jaw dropped. I felt my cheeks burn and he took that the wrong way. Snatching the pad of paper back up, he cursed softly. “I knew it was creepy.” “Chase,” I breathed and shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts, “that wasn’t creepy. Can I see it again?” When he didn’t make an attempt to move I reached my arm toward the book, “Please.” He handed it over with a sigh and looked at me with a sad smile, “I’m sorry, but you looked too perfect. I couldn’t let that opportunity pass.” My stupid blush came back with force when he said that and I focused at his drawing. It was amazing, somewhat embarrassing, but remarkable none the less. With the shading and the detail he’d captured of my upper body and face, it almost looked like a black and white photo. It was perfect. From my chest, throat and slightly open mouth to the way my hair fell around my face and my eyelashes rested against my cheeks, it was one hundred percent me. He even had my hand clutching the pillow under my head that was resting on his leg, as well as the blanket that had been pulled up to the swell of my breasts. Goose bumps covered my body as I realized he’d spent however long staring at, and replicating, every part of me while I’d been completely unaware. He was wrong, it wasn’t creepy, it was beautiful and strangely intimate. “Chase, it–” I cleared my throat and tried again, “It’s incredible.” Incredible didn’t cover it. “Yeah?” I looked up into his eyes and smiled, “Yeah.” We stayed there staring at each other, my mind and heart completely torn in two. One half desperately wanted to act on the feelings his drawing had stirred up in me, and the other was screaming at me to sit up and scoot away from him. Before I could try to make a decision, another series of explosions came from the TV and we both jolted away from each other. My

Slowly, carefully, she threaded her arms around his neck and hugged him. Under her touch, his muscles were rigid, bunched, braced. But then it was like he melted, and his arms came around her in return. For a long moment, he held on tight, like she was his anchor. And then he pulled back enough to rest his forehead on her shoulder, the pain that had rolled off of him moments before replaced by a heavy weariness. She stroked the back of his head and neck, soft caresses meant to comfort. She loved holding this big man in her arms, loved knowing that maybe she wasn’t the only one in need of some comfort and protection and reassurance. “Know what’ll make you feel better?” she said after a little while. “You?” Her heart literally panged in her chest at the sweetness of that single word. She kissed the side of his head, his super short hair tickling her lips. “Besides me.” Reaching out with her hand, she grabbed the milk-shake glass and her spoon. Easy sat up, an eyebrow arched as he looked between her and the ice cream. She scooped some onto the spoon and held it out to him. “Trust me.” Skepticism plain on his face, he ate what she offered. Jenna couldn’t keep from grinning at his lack of reaction. “You clearly need more. Here.” He swallowed the second spoonful, too, but still wasn’t looking particularly better. “This is a very serious case,” she said playfully. “Better make it a double this time.” The spoon nearly overflowed. A smile played around the corners of Easy’s lips, and it filled her chest with a warm pressure. He ate it just before it dripped, humor creeping into his dark eyes. “See? It’s working. I knew it.” This time he stole the spoon right out of her fingers. “Problem is, you aren’t administering this medicine the proper way,” he said as he filled the spoon himself. Jenna grinned again, happy to see lightness returning to his expression. “I’m not?” “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “This is what will really help.” He held the spoon up to her lips. “How will me taking it—” “No questioning. Just obeying.” There was that cocked eyebrow again. “Oh, is that how it is?” she asked, smirking. When he just stared at her, she gave in and ate the ice cream. Next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. Avoiding the cut on her lip, Easy’s cool tongue slowly snaked over her lips and stroked at her tongue. He grasped the back of her head as he kissed and nibbled at her. The rich flavor of the chocolate combined with another taste that was all Easy and made her moan in appreciation. His grip tightened, his tongue stroked deeper, and a throaty groan spilled from his lips. One more soft press of his lips against hers, and he pulled away. Jenna was nearly panting, and very definitely wanting more. “You’re right,” she said, “that is much more effective.” He gave a rare, open smile, and it made her happy to see it after how sad he’d seemed a few minutes before. “Told ya,” he said with a wink. She nodded. “But, you know, that could’ve been a fluke. Just to be sure it really worked, maybe you should, um, give me another dose?” Easy looked at her a long moment, then leaned in and scooped another spoonful from her nearly empty glass. He held it out to her, making her heart flutter in anticipation. When she tilted her head toward the spoon, he yanked it away and ate the ice cream himself. “No fair,” Jenna sputtered, reaching for the spoon. “That is not what the doctor prescribed.” Holding the spoon above his head put it out of Jenna’s reach, even with them sitting on the bed. She pushed to her knees, grabbed hold of his shoulder, and lunged for it. Laughing, he banded an arm around her lower back and held her in place, easily avoiding her grabs. Jenna couldn’t stop laughing as they wrestled for the spoon. It was stupid and silly and childish . . . and exactly what she needed. And it seemed he did, too. It was perfect.

Do you know my name?” “I do.” “Why don’t you ever use it?” He bit down on the inside of his cheek and looked away from me as he thought about what to say. “I stole you away, I didn’t meet you. When you meet someone, if they want you to know their name, they give it to you. It’s like a privilege, and you didn’t give me that privilege.” “I named you,” I admitted softly. He jerked his head back to look at me again, and his brow scrunched together. “What?” “Uh, well, I named you. I was always thinking of you as him or he, and I eventually got tired of it.” When I didn’t offer anything more, he leaned forward and put a hand out, palm up. “Well . . . ? What’s the name you gave me?” “Taylor.” In my head, it’d been easy to think of him as Taylor, but now that it was out there, a blush was creeping up my neck and over my cheeks. He barked out a loud laugh and leaned back. “Oh God, not you too? That’s not the first time I’ve gotten that.” I’d been stunned by his laugh, but then joined in with him at his admission. “Well! You look just like him!” “Thanks . . . I guess?” “It’s a compliment, trust me.” His dark eyes met and held mine, and I looked away momentarily to break the connection. When I looked back at him, I cleared my throat and offered a small smile. “Um, my name’s Rachel.” “I know,” he whispered roughly. “And yours?” He seemed to think for a few seconds before flashing me a sad smile. “You can call me Taylor.” My first reaction was disappointment before I realized the danger for him in this situation. He was a criminal, and I could already give a very detailed description to an FBI sketch artist. Knowing his real name would just add to his likelihood of being caught when this was all over. If it was ever over. Biting back the disappointment, I smiled and offered him a hand. He took it carefully, making sure not to touch my nails. “I would say it’s nice, but that probably isn’t the right word. It’s . . . very interesting to meet you, Taylor.” “I’m glad you decided to ‘meet’ me, Rachel.” “Me too.

Wyn eal gedreas. Isso é parte de outro poema que às vezes ouço ser cantado no meu castelo. É um poema triste, e portanto um poema verdadeiro. Wyrd bið ful ãræd, diz ele. O destino é inexorável. E wyn eal gedreas. Toda alegria morreu.

É um poema triste, e portanto um poema verdadeiro. Wyrd bið ful ãræd, diz ele. O destino é inexorável. E wyn eal gedreas. Toda alegria morreu.

Rapunzel, I'm not anything heroic or wonderful or whatever you thought," he said sadly. "I'm a sneak thief mostly out for my own good. The rest of it's a lie. My name isn't even Flynn Rider." "Um, what?" Of all the many things she thought he might say, this was not one of them. "My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert. At least, that was what was on record at the orphanage." There might have been a glint from inside a guard's helmet at that, as if he couldn't help sniggering a little. Rapunzel's jaw actually fell open. "Eugene?" she asked. "Yes." "And doesn't Fitz mean--" "Yes, it does," he interrupted in annoyance. "But who knows if that's really my family name, or a real name, or whatever. I think of myself as Flynn Rider. Daring hero, escape artist, adventurer extraordinaire... Eugene is someone who wastes away in an orphanage, who nobody wants. Eugene eats porridge once or twice a day, maybe, and wears the old clothes that bigger kids grew out of a generation ago." "I like Eugene," Rapunzel protested, patting his hand. "I like it better than Flynn. It sounds more... real. Like who you really are." "Thanks," he muttered. "No, really! Eugene doesn't abandon his friends. Eugene makes snarky remarks... and then hangs around witchy goat farms to see how he can help. Eugene pauses his wild, adventurous life to make sure the people around him get their happy endings. Eugene gives crowns back to their rightful owners." "Eugene winds up drained of his blood in a castle ruled by a demonic she-beast," Flynn said, looking up to gauge his captors' possibly violent response. They didn't move. "Flynn Rider is somewhere off riding into the sunset--" "Without his princess," Rapunzel interrupted, hands on hips. Flynn smiled sadly at her.

I was already familiar with James's famous dictum that “we weep' not because we are sad; we are sad because we weep.” This formula appealed to me aesthetically —because of its paradoxic nature, in the first place, and because of the idea that a proper display of details usually associated with an emotion can arouse the emotion itself.

She curls tightly to me kissing me on the lips and cheeks, her body skin to skin to mine, she’s kind of- like- a hyper puppy… you know- wet nose, big sad eyes, giving you lots of unwanted wet kisses, and can’t sit in one place for too long. Now she is pulling on my necklace, the one I am always wearing has my dad’s wedding ring hanging from it-a thin silver chain and the gold band hanging from it, a gift dad gives me- saying- ‘He loves me more than mom, that I am the love of his life.’ Yet sis tugs gently to get my full attention. I ask here- ‘Why are you not wearing your undies?’ And she baby- talks without missing a beat- ‘Be- because you don’t at night so-o why should I’s.’ I knew not too long from now she would be running around the house stark-naked like always, saying it’s because I sleep this way. I am sure mom will say I am a bad role model, but yet there are far worse things she has done, things that mom and dad never need to know about, things that I can even remember right now. If she wants to be in my bad nude, will- I guess that’s okay…? She is just trying to be like me, and that’s sweet. I have saved her butt many times when she has done bad things. I have been like a mom to her, ever since she was born if I wanted to be or not. And she has been there for me when I was a nobody. Yeah, she’s the best pain in the butt a girl can have. ‘Mommy says you have to get up soon, her hand covering her eyes as she walks my room and sees both of us.’ Her breath smells like toothpaste, as she kisses us good morning, and she stumbles over all the stuff lying on the floor and it’s not until I push sis off me that I realize how badly I’m shaking. Mom, she has one of those green face masks sped up, which is some scary-looking crap, pulls she has curlers in her hair. Yet that’s not what’s got me traumatized. ‘It’s Friday,’ I say confused. I thought we were going to the rusty anchor today? Mom said- ‘I thought you didn’t like doing that Karly that you’re too grown up to be with your mommy and Daddy and sissy… always- yes we are all going this upcoming weekend, glad to see you want to go.’ I said- ‘Oh- okay?’ Mom- ‘Karly are you feeling, okay? Are you not your usual descent and moody self? Me- ‘Yah I am a fine mom.’ I have no idea how I got home last night, or what I did or didn’t do. It’s like it never happened, yet I think it did… didn’t it? Maybe I drink too much? Mom said- ‘Um-hum- come on you two bare cuddle bugs it’s getting late.’ Then- I remember getting in the car, with the girls and the fighting it was all coming back to me, as I see my sis run into her room, leaving her nighty behind on my bed. I knew that something looked different about her when I looked her over, I am starting to remember what Ray did to her last night. Yet she seems to be taking it so well- so strange. I have no idea what happened to Jenny or Maddie or Liv, and just thinking about it makes me awful sick, pissed, and yet so worried. I put my feet on the ground, first on my fuzzy shaggy throw rug, and then I step forward feeling the hard would under my feet. The cold wood reminds me. When I was younger, I would lie on the floor all summer wishing I have some friends to spend my time with. Back then my only friend was my sis and my horse, I’m curious to do the same thing now, and reflect a bit on what the heck is going on- and also on how things have changed, I know my sis will be another half hour getting ready. And with me, all I have to do is jump in my outfit laying there on the floor. My skin feels so cold yet, yet on the inside, I feel scorching. Like- photos on Instagram, all these snapshots start scrolling, row after row in my mind. Seeing bits and pieces of what went down last night. My, I- phone starts vibrating on top of my bed until it falls off the edge hitting me square in the face making me jump two feet in the air. I reach for it and slide my finger over the cracked screen.

I… um, I don’t know.  I guess that’s not really for me to decide.” That small, sad smile returned to Jason’s lips.  “And that’s really the problem with morality, isn’t it?  Who gets to decide what’s right and what’s wrong?

What are you reading?” “A, um, historical romance series. I’m on book two.” “Is um-historical a new genre?” I joke. She looks from me to the book and seems nervous. Then she blushes. “Kendall Ross, what on earth are you—” She covers my mouth with her hand. “I found the first book at Aunt Josie’s.” I push her hand away. “So, it’s smut.

Mas HÁ umas olimpíadas da opressão a decorrer. As minorias raciais americanas - negros, hispânicos, asiáticos e judeus - apanham com a merda dos brancos, diferentes tipos de merda, mas merda de qualquer maneira. Cada um dos grupos acredita secretamente que apanha com a pior merda. Por isso, não, não existe uma Liga Unida dos Oprimidos. No entanto, todos os outros acham que são melhores do que os negros, porque, bem, não são negros.

Mom was excited to get back to the island, watching as it appeared in the distance. Her anticipation turned to dread, and she gasped, her hands on her mouth, when she saw the dock they had worked so hard on before gone. “What happened?” she asked, breaking her silence for the first time. “I’m pretty sure this was Ortho's work. He seemed to really hate villagers and destroyed every village he came across,” Dad said with a frown. Mom’s face softened. “I’m glad he can't do that anymore. This is so sad.” They pulled up to the island, stretching as they stepped from their boats. “We should probably fix up a shelter,” Dad said. “We’ll need a place for when it gets dark. Then I think we should strategize for this ocean monument trip we have to make.” “Oooh!” Kate said. “We should have turtle shell helmets!” Mom gasped. “Kate! Why would you do that to the poor turtles?” Kate giggled. “No Mom, baby turtles drop scute when they grow into big turtles, then you can collect it and make turtle shell helmets. They’re cool because they let you breathe underwater a bit longer. Plus, you can enchant them with...um. I forgot the name. But there’s an enchantment that helps you breathe longer, too.” “And one for mining underwater,” Jack added. “Why would you need that?” Dad asked. “Can’t you just mine like normal?” Jack shook his head. “Have you ever tried to swing a pickaxe underwater?” Dad blinked. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Sorry to dredge that up.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Mom was about to give Dad ‘The Look’ but Kate beat her to it. “No Dad, Jack already did a bunch of jokes.” “What?” Dad looked offended. “I’m supposed to do the Dad jokes!” “You are,” Jack said. “That’s why I did Jack Jokes.” Dad snorted out a laugh. “Were they punny?” Jack grinned. “Definitely. They worked great for our new villager friends when they helped us on the farm. They were real ice-breakers.” Dad laughed extra loud. “That’s it, I’m done!” Kate said. “Come on Mom, let’s go get some turtle scute.” “I’m right there with you girl. Let’s go.” Dad waved. “We’ll make sure we have shelter, and we’ll give it a nice outfit.” Dad winked. Jack cocked his head. “What does a house wear?” Dad grinned. “Address!” Jack laughed, and the girls rolled their eyes. “We’ll make sure not to build a house like a penguin though. They just igloo them together.” Kate and Mom groaned and hurried off towards the turtles. “Don’t run in front of a car!” Jack yelled. “You might get tired!” “Run faster, Mom,” Kate yelled. Dad and Jack laughed at their fleeing forms. Chapter 18 By the time Mom and Kate came back from their turtle excursion, Dad and Jack had fixed up a house

Tako čine rijetki snažni i dosljedni ljudi. Shvativši svu glupost šale kojoj su oni predmet i shvativši da su blaga umrlih veća od blaga živih te da je najbolje od svega ne postojati, tako i čine te smjesta završavaju s tom glupom šalom kojim god sredstvom: omča oko vrata, voda, nož kojim probijaju srce, vlakovi na željezničkim prugama.'' Tolstoj nije bio dovoljno pesimističan. Glupsot šale koja se zbija na naš račun ne motivira samo na samoubojstvo. Motivira i na ubojstvo - masovno ubojstvo, nakon kojega često slijedi samoubojstvo. To je puno učinkovitiji egzistencijalni protest. Koliko god se to činilo nevjerojatnim, zaključno s lipnjem 2006. u SAD-u je tijekom tisuću dvjesto i šezdeset dana bilo tisuću masovnih ubojstava (masovno ubojstvo podrazumijeva četiri ili više žrtava, ne uključujući napadača). Svi kažu: ''Ne razumijem to.'' Kako se još uvijek možemo pretvarati? Tolstoj je razumio, prije više od stotinu godina. Razumjeli su i drevni pisci biblijske priče o Kajinu i Abelu, prije više od dvadeset stoljeća. Opisali su ubojstvo kao prvi čin postedenske povijesti: i nije to bilo samo ubojstvo, nego bratoubojstvo - i ne samo ubojstvo nevine osobe, nego nekog idealnog i dobrog, ubojstvo koje je učinjeno svjesno, iz prkosa prema Stvoritelju svemira. Današnji nam ubojice na svoj način govore isto. Tko bi se usudio reći da to nije crvu jabuci? No mi ne želimo slušati zato što ta istina pogađa i nas. Čak i tako oštrouman i dubok um slavnoga ruskog autora nije vidio izlaza. Kako se onda mi ostali možemo nositi s time kada čak i netko poput Tolstoja priznaje poraz? Godinama je skrivao od sebe svoje pištolje i nije želio hodati s užetom u ruci, kako se ne bi objesio. Kako budna osoba može izbjeći da bude bijesna na svijet?

He was convinced he had lead poisoning the other day from chewing a pencil. Pencils don’t even have lead anymore.” “He like a hundred years old. He worry.” “He went to the hospital, Sasha. He didn’t even have symptoms.” “So? Mind your own business.” “Um, excuse me, it very much was my business because all his drama always happens in the middle of a big project.” Sasha ignored him. Jason shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe you’re on his side.” “There is no side. You make side. Shut up and help me choose.” “Maybe we should get him a lead-detection kit.” “I said shut up.” “You said to help!” “Yes. You not helping, you shut up.” “This is harassment.” “You are harassment.

Já estava acostumado aos amputados, às vitimas do agente laranja, aos famintos, pobres, garotos de rua de seis anos de idade que você encontra às três da madrugada gritando "Feliz ano novo! Olá! Bye-Bye!" em inglês, e depois aponta para suas bocas e faz "bum bum?". Estou ficando quase indiferente aos garotos famintos, sem pernas, sem braços, cobertos de cicatrizes, desesperançados, dormindo no chão, em triciclos, na beirada do rio. Mas não estava preparado para o homem sem camisa, com um corte de cabelo a la forma de pudim, que me detém na saída do mercado, estendendo a mão. No passado ele sofreu queimaduras e tornou-se uma figura humana quase irreconhecível, a pele transformada numa imensa cicatriz sob a coroa de cabelos pretos. Da cintura para cima (e sabe Deus até onde), a pele é uma cicatriz só; ele não tem lábios, nem nariz, nem sobrancelha. Suas orelhas são como betume, como se tivesse mergulhado e moldado num alto-forno, sendo retirado pouco antes de derreter por completo. Mexe seus dentes como uma abóbora de Halloween, mas não emite um único som através do que foi um dia, uma boca. Sinto um murro no estômago. Minha animação exuberante dos dias e horas anteriores desmorona. Fico paralisado, piscando e pensando na palavra napalm, que oprime cada batida do meu coração. De repente nada mais é divertido. Sinto vergonha. Como pude vir até esta cidade, até este país por razões tão fúteis, cheio de entusiasmo por algo tão...sem sentido, como sabores, texturas, culinária? A famíla daquele homem deve ter sido pulverizada, ele mesmo transformado num boneco desgraçado, como um modelo de cera de madame Tussaud, a pele escorrendo como vela pingando. O que estou fazendo aqui? Escrevendo um livro de merda? Sobre comida? Fazendo um programinha leve e inútil de tevê, um showzinho de bosta? A ficha caiu de uma vez e fiquei me desprezando, odiando o que faço e o fato de estar ali. Imobilizado, piscando nervosamente e suando frio, sinto que todo mundo na rua está me observando, que irradio culpa e desconforto, que qualquer passante vai associar os ferimentos daquele homem a mim e ao meu país. Dou uma espiada nos outros turistas ocidentais que vagueiam por ali com suas bermudas da Banana Republic e suas camisas pólo da Land´s End, suas confortáveis sandálias Weejun e Bierkenstock, e sinto um desejo irracional de assassiná-los. Parecem malignos, comedores de carniça. O Zippo com a inscrição pesa no meu bolso, deixou de ser engraçado, virou uma coisa tão pouco divertida quanto a cabeça encolhida de um amigo morto. Tudo o que comer terá gosto de cinzas daqui pra frente. Fodam-se os livros. Foda-se a televisão. Nem mesmo consigo dar algum dinheiro ao coitado. Tenho as mãos trêmulas, estou inutilizado, tomado pela paranoia, Volto correndo ao quarto refrigerado do New World Hotel, me enrosco na cama ainda desfeita, fico olhando para o teto com os olhos cheios de lágrimas, incapaz de digerir ou entender o que presenciei e impotente para fazer qualquer coisa a respeito. Não saio nem como nada pelas 24 horas seguintes. A equipe de tevê acha que estou tendo um colapso nervoso. Saigon...Ainda em Saigon. O que vim fazer no Vietnã?

Era mais uma carta que acabava no lixo, e não no correio. A tristeza é preguenta, ela havia escrito. Não queria pregá-la na mãe. Mesmo porque sua tristeza passava logo. Sempre passava. Ainda que deixasse seu lastro. Um sedimento no fundo de sua alma, partículas de um peso. Peso que não chegava a contaminar seu jeito leve de ser, mas tornava seu olhar mais grave e a fazia perceber o que não percebia antes, a amplitude dos problemas do mundo. Talvez fosse esse o peso do amadurecimento.

Pa otuđenosti koja posvuda vlada, osobito u ovo naše doba, samo što još nije došao kraj, što joj nije istekao rok. Jer svatko se sad nastoji što više izdvojiti, želi u sebi samom doživjeti punoću života, samo što posljedica svih tih napora nije punoća života nego tek samoubojstvo, jer umjesto potpunog razvoja svoga bića ljudi zapadaju u posvemašnju otuđenost. Svi su se u ovo naše doba podijelili na jedinice, svatko se zavlači u svoju rupu, svatko se odalečuje od svakoga, skriva se sam i ono što ima, i na kraju se sam odbija od ljudi i odbija ljude od sebe. Osamljen čovjek zgrće bogatstvo i misli: kako sam sad moćan, i kako sam zbrinut, a ne zna luđak da se, što više zgrće, to dublje uvaljuje u samoubojstvenu nemoć. Jer, navikao se uzdati u sama sebe i odvajati se kao jedinica od cjeline, navikao je dušu da ne vjeruje u ljudsku potporu, u ljude i u čovječanstvo, i samo strepi da mu ne propadne novac i prava koja je stekao. Dan-danas posvuda podrugljivi ljudski um neće da shvati da prava sigurnost pojedinca ne leži u izdvojenim osobnim naporima nego u ljudskom zajedništvu.

Just as we were passing the school, Blake slid his hand down my arm and intertwined our fingers. “Rachel, why did you finally agree to go out with me?” When I looked up, I was surprised at his somber expression. I would have expected something a little more taunting. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?” “I’d appreciate it. I’ve asked you out for . . . shit. I don’t know, nine months now? No matter what I said, your answer was always no. Until last night.” “Well . . .” I looked down at the sidewalk passing beneath our feet. “You can tell me, it’s fine. You never were one to hide your feelings. And your hate for me lately has been a little more than apparent. I’m already expecting the worst.” “I don’t hate you. I just don’t exactly like you . . . anymore.” I squinted up at him and nudged his side with the arm he still had a firm grip on. He gave a little grunt with a forced smile. “Um, Candice is always bugging me for turning you down. She said she would stop if I agreed to one date with you.” I know, I know, I could have made something up that wasn’t so harsh. But I didn’t. If I hadn’t looked back down, I probably would have missed the pause in his step. “Figures.” We walked for a few more minutes before he paused and turned to me. “I’m not going to make you go out with me.” “You aren’t. I said I’d go.” He raised an eyebrow, making it disappear under his shaggy hair. “You also told me earlier today that we weren’t going anymore. I’m just letting you know I’ll stop. All of it. Asking you all the time, what I did today. And I’ll talk to Candice.” “Blake—” “No, Rach, I should have stopped a long time ago. I’m sorry you felt pressured into it last night. I want you to want to go on a date with me. I don’t want you to go just so she’ll drop it or because you want me to quit asking. Which I will.” I couldn’t tell if he looked more embarrassed or hurt. Is it ridiculous that I want to comfort him? “I want to go.” “No, you don’t.” Okay, still somewhat true. “I didn’t . . . before.” Ugh, who am I kidding. He knows I’m lying anyway. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. You can’t exactly blame me for not wanting to go out with you.” He looked as if I’d slapped him. I hurried on before I could chicken out on the rest. “I mean, come on, Blake, you were rumored to be screwing all these students, coworkers, and faculty. And not once did you try to shut down those rumors. Add to that, the Blake I grew up with is completely gone; now you’re usually kind of a douche. Why would I want to go out with someone like that?” “Rumors are going to spread no matter what I do. The more I try to stop them, the guiltier I look. Trust me. As for you thinking I’m a douche . . .” His voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. “Try seeing it from my side. The only girl I’ve wanted for years now and can’t get out of my head no matter what I do repeatedly blows me off like I’m nothing.” Did he say years? Letting go of my hand, he turned away from me and ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” “What about drinks?” “I’m not going to make you do this, Rachel.” “Blake, why can’t you just be like this all the time? If how you were growing up, last night, and the last hour was how you always were . . . I probably wouldn’t have ever turned you down.” He huffed a sad laugh. “Yeah, well . . . obviously I’ve already fucked that up.” I watched him begin walking in the direction of the dorms and squeezed my eyes shut as I called after him, “You know, you kinda traumatized me tonight. I feel like you owe me a beer.” Peeking through my eyelashes, I saw him stop but not turn around. “And maybe dinner on Friday night?” When Blake turned to face me, his smile was wide and breathtaking.

Em jogo estaria a seguinte tese: pode um homem, psicológica e espiritualmente, viver de um modo completamente autossuficiente, sem precisar de mais ninguém?

Snacks? What kind of snacks?” I asked. “Something called chips, which are made from potatoes, and different kinds of candies.” “Oh, you’re gonna sell candy, too?” “Yeah, but totally different from the candy shop.” “I see.” “I hope you’ll come by for the grand opening.” “When is it?” “Hopefully, next week. I’ll let you know.” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll try to make it, Tes.” “Cool. Thank you. Alright, I’m going to get some more food,” he said and left. A few minutes later, Maky got on the microphone and announced that the dancing portion of the night was going to start soon. “Woohoo! It’s dancing time,” said Arthur excitedly. “You know who I’m going to ask to dance with me?” “Who?” I asked. “Autumn,” answered Pierce. “Yup! Hopefully, she’ll agree.” “What about you, Pierce? Are you gonna ask anyone to dance?” “Um, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just dance by myself or with a group of friends,” the knight answered. “Cool…” I said sadly because I felt a little bit left out. “Or you know, maybe I’ll just hang out with you.” “Naw, I’m fine. You don’t have to keep me company.” Then suddenly, music started playing from the speakers that were set up at all the four corners of the city square. “Oh, here we go! I’ll be back later,” said Arthur as he took off to find Autumn. As the music played, I looked around for Maky’s band, but they were nowhere in sight. “Hm. This music must be coming from the jukebox,” I said. “Yeah, I don’t think Maky is playing tonight,” said Pierce. “She’s not? Why not? They’re super good.” “I don’t know, Steve.” “Hm. Oh, look. People are starting to take to the dance floor.” Slowly, a couple of villagers made their way toward the center of the city square. They were nervous about being the first ones, but soon after, many others followed their lead. Before I knew it, there were a ton of villagers in the middle, jumping up and down and dancing to the music. “That looks like fun…” I said. “Yeah…” said Pierce. “You should go join them.” “N-nah. I like sitting here.” Right when Pierce said that, someone came by and grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dance floor. “Come on, Pierce, let’s show them how it’s done,” said Leila. “B-but I’m not that good!” said Pierce. I tried my best to smile and said, “Have fun…” With my fake smile on, I watched as Pierce was dragged into the middle. Leila had stolen my only company away from me, and that made me feel super left out. I sighed and thought to myself, I wish I was out of this chair already. But I knew I didn’t have a choice, so I just sat in my chair and nodded along to the music. A few minutes later, the first song ended and the next one came on. I just continued sitting there while watching my friends have fun. In the middle, I could see Arthur dancing with Autumn, Cindy dancing with Arceus, and Leila dancing with Pierce. Shortly after, someone came by to talk to me. “Hey, Steve! How ya doing?” Maky asked while breathing hard. “Maky? Why aren’t you playing tonight?” I asked. “Oh, because I wanted to dance and have fun tonight. I mean, playing my instrument is fun, too, but dancing is a different kind of fun.” “I see.” “So, what are you doing over here? You don’t want to join the fun?” “Uh, there’s not much fun to be had when I’m stuck in a wheel chair.” “Oh, that’s nonsense!” Then she ran behind my chair, tilted it slightly backwards and pushed me off toward the middle of the dance floor. “Whoa! What are you doing?!” “We’re going to dance!” “Huh?!

Forcing an entire population to accept an arbitrary and risky medical intervention is the most intrusive and demeaning action ever imposed by the United States Government, and perhaps any government. And it is based upon a lie. The Director of the CDC, Dr. Fauci, and the WHO have all had to reluctantly acknowledge that the vaccines cannot stop transmission. When Israel’s Director of Public Health addressed the FDA Advisory Panel, she left no doubt about the vaccines’ inability to stop transmission of the virus, or stop sickness, or stop death. Describing Israel’s situation as of September 17th, 2021, she said: Sixty percent of the people in severe and critical condition were, um, were immunized, doubly immunized, fully vaccinated. Forty-five percent of the people who died in this fourth wave were doubly vaccinated. Even so, three weeks later, on October 7th—just days before this book went to press—the President of the United States announced that he was ensuring healthcare workers are vaccinated, “because if you seek care at a healthcare facility, you should have the certainty that the people providing that care are protected from COVID and cannot spread it to you.” The President just told Americans that being vaccinated provides “certainty” that vaccinated people are “protected from COVID and cannot pass it to you.” Not one question was posed to the President about this stunning disconnect, about the obvious untruth—and that speech gives us a stark example of what’s going on. A televised image of an unchallenged leader mouthing untrue pronouncements to mislead and control the population—that is the world of George Orwell’s sadly prophetic novel, 1984. It