Wish Me Luck Quotes

It's better to do a dull thing with style than a dangerous thing without it.

Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,' Holly advised him. 'That was Doc's mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That's how you'll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky." "She's drunk," Joe Bell informed me. "Moderately," Holly confessed....Holly lifted her martini. "Let's wish the Doc luck, too," she said, touching her glass against mine. "Good luck: and believe me, dearest Doc -- it's better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

and getting dressed we talk about what else there might be to do, but being together solves most of it, in fact, solves all of it

girls please give your bodies and your lives to the young men who deserve them besides there is no way I would welcome the intolerable dull senseless hell you would bring me and I wish you luck in bed and out but not in mine thank you.

Wish me good luck, please,” I whisper. “On one condition,” Philemone says. “Remember, what you call luck is the meeting of opportunity and flexibility.” I smile, weakly. “Good luck,” she says. “Now go.

Without lifting his head from his own journal, he said, “Not having any luck figuring me out, then? Don’t worry, you’ll get better with practice. And, yes”—he grinned wickedly, eyes fixed on his paper—“you’ll still fancy me tomorrow no matter how much you wish otherwise. I’m unpredictable, and you adore it. Just as I cannot wrap my massive brain around the equation of you and yet adore it.

a fresh spiderweb billowing like a spinnaker across the open window and here he is the little master sailing by on a thread of milk wish me luck admiral I haven't finished anything in a long time

One day you will hear the sound of time rustling as it slips through your fingers like sand. Remember me then. I wish you luck.

If a penny can bring luck and a dime can grant a wish, how come my eleven cents hasn’t bought me what I need.

Wish me luck.” “Luck is for those with nothing else. I wish you strength and courage.

And in art class, he will discover that he's interested in boobs. Wish me luck." "Good luck." I eyed her cleavage. "not that you need it." She winked. "I know.

Fun fact: This is exactly how the Apollo 1 crew died. Wish me luck!

I am too sick to lay down the sidewalks frighten me the whole damned city frightens me, what I will become what I have become frightens me.

Sam just told me to tell you that the most important thing is to not do what you did to them on the episode.” “That won’t happen,” I replied, “because I doubt they’ll leave the keys in the car again. Wish me luck.

You may wish me luck, or curse me for a damnable pirate, but do not look for me. I will be gone to parts beyond the sea.

Edward spoke in a voice so peaceful and gentle that it made the words strangely more threatening. "I'm not going to kill you now, because it would upset Bella." "Hmph," I grumbled. Edward turned slightly to throw me a quick smile. His face was still calm. "It would bother you in the morning," he said, brushing his fingers across my cheek. The he turned back to Jacob. "But if you ever bring her back damaged again--and I don't care whose fault it is; I don't care if she merely trips, or if a meteor falls out of the sky and hits her in the head--if you return her to me in less than the perfect condition that I left her in, you will be running with three legs. Do you understand that, mongrel?" Jacob rolled his eyes. "who's going back?" I muttered Edward continued as if he hadn't heard me. "And if you ever kiss her again, I wiil break your jaw for her," he promised, his voice still gentle and velvet deadly. "What if she wants me to?" Jacob drawled, arrogant. "Hah!" I snorted. "If that's what she wants, then I won't object." Edward shrugged, untroubled. "You might want to wait for her to say it, rather than trust your interpretation of body language-but it's your face." Jacob grinned. "You wish," I grumbled. "Yes, he does," Edward murmured. "Well, if you're done rummaging through my head," Jacob said with a think edge of annoyance, "why don't you go take care of her hand?" "One more thing," Edward said slowly. "I'll be fighting for her, too. You should know that. I'm not taking anything for granted, and I'll be fighting twice as hard as you will." "Good," Jacob growled. "it's no fun beating someone who forfeits." She is mine." Edward's low voice was suddenly dark, not as composed as before, "i did't say I would fight fair." "Neither did I." "Best of luck." Jacob nodded. "Yes, may the best man win." "That sounds about right...pup.

you shoulda known the entirety of the trap, a**hole, love means eventual pain victory means eventual defeat grace means eventual slovenliness, there's no way out...you see, you understand?

Your job is to be the hardest motherfucker in your platoon," he said while pointing at me across the desk. "Do that, and everything else will fall into place." He added that I was assigned to Bravo Company, call sign Hitman, and wished me luck.

there seems to be no way out, I thought, everybody is always angry about the truth even though they claim to believe in it.

My “Best Woman” speech Good evening everyone, my name is Rosie and as you can see Alex has decided to go down the non-traditional route of asking me to be his best woman for the day. Except we all know that today that title does not belong to me. It belongs to Sally, for she is clearly his best woman. I could call myself the “best friend” but I think we all know that today that title no longer refers to me either. That title too belongs to Sally. But what doesn’t belong to Sally is a lifetime of memories of Alex the child, Alex the teenager, and Alex the almost-a-man that I’m sure he would rather forget but that I will now fill you all in on. (Hopefully they all will laugh.) I have known Alex since he was five years old. I arrived on my first day of school teary-eyed and red-nosed and a half an hour late. (I am almost sure Alex will shout out “What’s new?”) I was ordered to sit down at the back of the class beside a smelly, snotty-nosed, messy-haired little boy who had the biggest sulk on his face and who refused to look at me or talk to me. I hated this little boy. I know that he hated me too, him kicking me in the shins under the table and telling the teacher that I was copying his schoolwork was a telltale sign. We sat beside each other every day for twelve years moaning about school, moaning about girlfriends and boyfriends, wishing we were older and wiser and out of school, dreaming for a life where we wouldn’t have double maths on a Monday morning. Now Alex has that life and I’m so proud of him. I’m so happy that he’s found his best woman and his best friend in perfect little brainy and annoying Sally. I ask you all to raise your glasses and toast my best friend Alex and his new best friend, best woman, and wife, Sally, and to wish them luck and happiness and divorce in the future. To Alex and Sally!

Who the hell thought of that? Probably the same sick SOB who saw a chicken shoot an egg out of its nether region and said, “Hey, y’all, I think I’m gonna dry that up and eat it. Wish me luck. If I get sick from it, someone fetch a doctor.”’ – Sundown

I walk out of the dark and into the dark and sit down and wait.

He hopped lightly from the stairs and jogged off to join his friends. “Wish me luck!” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck,” I said automatically and then wanted to kick myself. Good luck? Have a lovely time, Mal. Hope you find a pretty Grisha, fall deeply in love, and make lots of gorgeous, disgustingly talented babies together. I sat frozen on the steps, watching them disappear down the path, still feeling the warm pressure of Mal’s hand in mine. Oh well, I thought as I got to my feet. Maybe he’ ll fall into a ditch on his way there. I

Did he just wish me good luck with getting laid?

Don’t talk to me or bother me and I won’t bother you. All right?

My dearest Rose, One of the few downsides to being awakened is that we no longer require sleep; therefore we also no longer dream. It's a shame, because if I could dream, I know I'd dream about you. I'd dream about the way you smell and how your dark hair feels like silk between my fingers. I'd dream about the smoothness of your skin and the fierceness of your lips when we kiss. Without dreams, I have to be content with my own imagination - which is almost as good. I can picture all of those things perfectly, as well as how it'll be when I take your life from this world. It's something I regret having to do, but you've made my choice inevitable. Your refusal to join me in eternal life and love leaves no other course of action, and I can't allow someone as dangerous as you to live. Besides, even if I forced your awakening, you now have so many enemies among the Strigoi that one of them would kill you. If you must die, it'll be by my hand. No one else's. Nonetheless, I wish you well today as you take your trails - not that you need any luck. If they actually making you take them, it's a waste of everyone's time. You're the best in that group, and by this evening you'll wear your promise mark. Of course, that means you'll be all that much more of a challenge when we meet again - which I'll definitely enjoy. And we will be meeting again. With graduation, you'll be turned out of the Academy, and once you're outside the wards, I'll find you. There is no place in this world you can hide from me. I'm watching. Love, Dimitri

This is my attempt to make sense of the period that followed, weeks and then months that cut loose any fixed idea I had ever had about death, about illness, about probability and luck, about good fortune and bad, about marriage and children and memory, about grief, about the ways in which people do and do not deal with the fact that life ends, about the shallowness of sanity, about life itself. I have been a writer my entire life. As a writer, even as a child, long before what I wrote began to be published, I developed a sense that meaning itself was resident in the rhythms of words and sentences and paragraphs, a technique for withholding whatever it was I thought or believed behind an increasingly impenetrable polish. The way I write is who I am, or have become, yet this is a case in which I wish I had instead of words and their rhythms a cutting room, equipped with an Avid, a digital editing system on which I could touch a key and collapse the sequence of time, show you simultaneously all the frames of memory that come to me now, let you pick the takes, the marginally different expressions, the variant readings of the same lines. This is a case in which I need more than words to find the meaning. This is a case in which I need whatever it is I think or believe to be penetrable, if only for myself.

death arrived on schedule on a Sunday afternoon, and, as always, it was easier than we thought it would be.

Wish me luck, dear.' 'I won't do that.' And when Marie looked to Anastasia for an explanation, the girl smiled and said, 'Luck is for losers. You have history on your side. You have gravity, You have authority. You are the Granddame of Death.' And then she added, 'Your Excellency.

greater men than I have failed to agree with Life.

But luck is for fools who live inside limits. And you’re a dreamer, and dreamers are worthy of anything but the ordinary. Wish for magic. Love should be nothing less than magical.

The number of calls from you on my phone is zero. The number of calls from me to you is one. When you hear the voicemail, I hope you don’t hear the desperation in the way I wish you all the luck in the world and tell you how pleased I am for you. I hope you don’t hear the way my lungs breathe ‘iloveyouineedyoupleasedontgo’ every time I draw in a breath.

We took the time to shake each other’s hands and wish each other good luck and “Hope I’ll see you later,” which is especially poignant for me because we all had that acknowledgment that this might be our last day on earth and we went to work anyway.

the libraries are filled with thousands of books of knowledge, great music sits inside the nearby radio and I am sleepy in the afternoon, I have this tomb within myself that says, ah, let the others do it, let them win, let me sleep, wisdom is in the dark

Plastic might not burn, but anyone who’s played with a balloon knows it’s great at building up static charge. Once I do that, I should be able to make a spark just by touching a metal tool. Fun fact: This is exactly how the Apollo 1 crew died. Wish me luck!

My sisters and I stand, arms around each other, laughind and wiping the tears from each others eyes. The flash of the Polaroid goes off and my family hands me the snapshot. My sisters and I watch quietly together, eager to see what develops. Ghe grey-greensurface changes to the bright colors of our three images, sharpening and deepening all at once. And although we don't speak, I know we all see it: Together we look like our mother. Her same eyes, her same mouth, open in suprise to see, her long-cherished wish.

He wished me luk. I hope I have luk. I got my rabits foot and my luky penny and my horshoe. Dr Strauss said dont be so superstishus Charlie. This is sience. I dont know what sience is but they all keep saying it so maybe its something that helps you have good luk.

if the rest of the world could see you today their laughter would bring the sun to its knees and even the flowers would leap from the ground like bulldogs and chase you away to where you belong wherever that is, and who cares where it is as long as it’s somewhere away from here.

love means eventual pain victory means eventual defeat

Me: Gotta go. Baby crying. Hope: Good luck. Carin: Don’t wish her good luck. It’s not a sporting event. Hope: :P What’s the worst response to I <3 you? Carin: Silence and then, “I wish I felt the same.” Hope: I’m thinking “Why?” Carin: How about “That’s nice.” Hope: Brutal. Me: I’m done here.

If you cannot understand my argument, and declare "It's Greek to me", you are quoting Shakespeare; if you claim to be more sinned against than sinning, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you recall your salad days, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you act more in sorrow than in anger; if your wish is farther to the thought; if your lost property has vanished into thin air, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you have ever refused to budge an inch or suffered from green-eyed jealousy, if you have played fast and loose, if you have been tongue-tied, a tower of strength, hoodwinked or in a pickle, if you have knitted your brows, made a virtue of necessity, insisted on fair play, slept not one wink, stood on ceremony, danced attendance (on your lord and master), laughed yourself into stitches, had short shrift, cold comfort or too much of a good thing, if you have seen better days or lived in a fool's paradise -why, be that as it may, the more fool you , for it is a foregone conclusion that you are (as good luck would have it) quoting Shakespeare; if you think it is early days and clear out bag and baggage, if you think it is high time and that that is the long and short of it, if you believe that the game is up and that truth will out even if it involves your own flesh and blood, if you lie low till the crack of doom because you suspect foul play, if you have your teeth set on edge (at one fell swoop) without rhyme or reason, then - to give the devil his due - if the truth were known (for surely you have a tongue in your head) you are quoting Shakespeare; even if you bid me good riddance and send me packing, if you wish I was dead as a door-nail, if you think I am an eyesore, a laughing stock, the devil incarnate, a stony-hearted villain, bloody-minded or a blinking idiot, then - by Jove! O Lord! Tut tut! For goodness' sake! What the dickens! But me no buts! - it is all one to me, for you are quoting Shakespeare.

You once wished me good luck for the night, and now, I want you to have good luck for your entire life

Well-Spirit,” she said conversationally, “since I’ve had such bad luck in finding the kind of husband I always thought I wanted, I’m leaving it up to you. No requirements, no conditions. What I wish for is…the right man for me. I’m prepared to be open-minded.

Lots of people perish on the highways. All those faces should be preserved, engagements kept, promises upheld. Impossible. I walked out instantly. Fleeing the scene of a crime. That kind of game can destroy you. Anyway, I've never known who I was. I authorize my biographer to simply call me "a man," and I wish him luck. I've been unable to lengthen my stride, my breath, or my sentences. He won't understand the first thing about this story. Neither do I. We're even.

He stared back at me so blatantly I wanted to smack him. “I know. Like I said, that… was never my intention. It was an accident.” My mouth dropped open. “Did you slip and fall on my bed? Because I don’t understand how you’ve accidentally ended up there.” Red stained the tips of his cheeks. “I check the outside, and then I check the inside just to be sure. Hybrids can get into your house, Katy, as you already know. So could Daedalus if they wanted.” What would he have done if Daemon had been there? Then it struck me and I felt sick all over again. “How long do you watch at night?” He shrugged. “A couple of hours.” So he’d have known if Daemon had come over most of the time, and the rest was just sheer dumb luck. Part of me wished he’d tried it just once when Daemon was there. He wouldn’t be walking right for months. There was a good chance he may leave this stairwell with a limp. Blake seemed to sense where my mind went. “After I checked inside your house, I… I don’t know what happened. You have bad dreams.” I wondered why. I had perverts sleeping in the bed with me.

Dear Miss Bird, The Lady of North Farm had asked us to send you this map to Briery Swamp Lake, just in case. She thought you might be having trouble finding it on your own, and she is expecting you to be prompt. We are very sorry for the danger you will endure, but we eagerly await your arrival should you survive it, as we are in great need of your help. The Lady joins me in sending you good luck and best wishes. Sincerely, Ms. H. Kari Kagaki T. E. A. Travel

So you're really going to the dance?" I nodded as I sipped from the mug. "Alone?" "Not technically.There should be other people there too." He raised his eyebrows. "Did my sullen daughter just make a joke?" I smiled as he gave a chuckle. "You always used to make jokes when you were nervous," he said. His smile disappeared and he put a hand on my arm. "Are you nervous?" He knew me better than I thought. "A little." "Then why are you doing? I mean, won't most everyone there have dates?" He cleared his throat. "Because Tommy and I have a mean game of Uno planned." I hugged him. "Thanks,Dad. Wish me luck.

Because I kissed you? Seriously? You only like me because I’m a good kisser? That’s it. We’re not doing this. I’m not letting you risk your life just because you can’t think with your upstairs brain.” “No, you twit.” Ryan laughed. “Because you kissed me that day. I expected the ice queen and got a funny, go-with-the-flow girl that didn’t care what anyone thought about her. A girl willing to stir up gossip just so that I could win a date with someone else. “You didn’t have to help me. In fact, you probably should have been insulted, but you weren’t. You kissed me, you smiled, and then you wished me good luck. No one’s ever surprised me like that. I couldn’t figure out why you did it, and I just had to get to know you after that.” I had no idea that stupid kiss had that kind of effect on him. Charged him up like a battery, sure, but do all that? All this time I really thought it was just the superkissing that kept him coming back. I looked down at my lunch, feeling a little ashamed of my lack of faith in him, but Ryan couldn’t stop there. Oh, no, not Ryan Miller. “After that day, every time I was with you I got brief glimpses of the real Jamie, the one who is dying to break out, and she was this fun, relaxed, smart, funny, caring girl. Finding out the truth about you only made you that much more incredible. You’re so strong. You’ve gone through so much, you’re going through so much, but you never stop trying. You’re amazing.” I was surprised when I felt Ryan’s hand lift my chin up. I didn’t want to look at him, I knew what would happen to my heart if I did, but I couldn’t stop myself. I craved him too much. When we made eye contact, his face lit up and he whispered, “I love you, Jamie Baker.” It came out of nowhere, and it stole the breath from me, leaving me speechless. Ryan stared at me, just waiting for some kind of reaction, and then I was the one who broke the no-kissing rule. It wasn’t my fault. He totally cheated! Like anyone could resist Ryan Miller when he’s touching your face and saying he loves you? I threw myself at him so fast that I startled him for a change, and he was the one who had to pull me off him when his hair started to stick up. “Sorry,” I breathed as he pulled away. “Don’t be sorry,” he teased. “Just stop.” “Sorry,” I said again when I noticed that his leg was now bouncing under the table. “Yeah. Looks like I don’t get to sleep through economics today.” “On the bright side, Coach could make you run laps all practice long and you’d be fine.

In the middle of a conversation, someone says to me out of the blue: "I wish you luck." I am astonished; but later I realize that these words connect up with his thoughts about me. And now they do not strike me as meaningless any more.

I remember how I would eye with envy all the kids in our neighborhood, in my school, who had a little brother or sister. How bewildered I was by the way some of them treated each other, oblivious to their own good luck. They acted like wild dogs. Pinching, hitting, pushing, betraying one another any way they could think of. Laughing about it too. They wouldn’t speak to one another. I didn’t understand. Me, I spent most of my early years craving a sibling. What I really wished I had was a twin, someone who’d cried next to me in the crib, slept beside me, fed from Mother’s breast with me. Someone to love helplessly and totally, and in whose face I could always find myself.

I kept thinking I wouldn't make it to Friday night. That something would happen before then to mess with my luck, something like a nuclear bomb going off so there was nowhere for us to meet. "Pretty harsh," Leo said when I called him to come get me because she'd left me in the gutter with a broken nose. She never even called to check she hadn't killed me. A date like that makes a guy wish they would drop the bomb. Right over his house.

Mr. Ramirez looked at Sean and me one last time and smiled. “Good luck with your jogging.” No. He didn’t just wish Sean and I happy jogging.

He turned to Isobel. ‘How about you, Frau Hitler?

Once I was satisfied I knew it, I handed it to Adrian and shot him a hopeful look. “Wish me luck,” I said. “You make your own luck,” he replied.

The love of my life just went into labour! I’m heading home. Wish me luck!

Or maybe Robert merely stumbled into something that worked for him, unsure what he wanted until he had it. Some people are lucky like that. Me, I've always gone after what I wanted with everything in me. Others fall into happiness. Sometimes I wish I was like them. I'm sure sometimes they wish they were like me.

I don't know about some of these other people, particularly the ministers who served my uncle." "Can't you get rid of them?" Kaddar shook his head. "The country's already in turmoil. I need to keep a few of the same faces around, at least until I get their measure." "It doesn't sound like much fun. I wish you luck with it." "I'll need luck," Kaddar took her hand. "Daine, I found my uncle's papers. He was going to have me arrested and charged with conspiring against him— which means he planned to have me killed. I owe you my life. I know this will sound trite, but I mean it: whatever you want that I can give, even to half of my kingdom, all you need do is ask." Daine gave him a skeptical look. "Your ministers wouldn't like the half-kingdom part." He grinned. "Actually, they want to arrest you for crimes against the state.

I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings! My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end, and I stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on all sides in the dust. The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say `What hast thou to give to me?' Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then from my wallet I slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee. But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poor heap. I bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to give thee my all.

Still, it was up to her to lure her victim to the rocky shore of loss by appealing to his vanity and challenging his manly pride.She smiled at herself in the mirror. "It isn't perfect, but 'twill have to do." "Och,miss! Ye look as pretty as a princess." Mary opened the door and stood to one side. "Careful going down the stairs; yer pa pried up a board in the third step." "On the steps? Someone could get injured." "So he's hopin'." Sophia frowned. "I'll have Angus fix it. I want MacLean to hate the house, not die in it." "Men never think,miss. 'Tis a sad fact 'o life." "Tell me about it," Sophia muttered. "Wish me luck. I've heard a lot about MacLean,none of it good.

At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends! The sky is flushed with the dawn and my path lies beautiful. Ask not what I have with me to take there. I start on my journey with empty hands and expectant heart. I shall put on my wedding garland. Mine is not the red-brown dress of the traveller, and though there are dangers on the way I have no fear in my mind. The evening star will come out when my voyage is done and the plaintive notes of the twilight melodies be struck up from the King’s gateway.

If people don’t change their minds, there’s no hope for the human race.

the world is full of shipping clerks who have read the Harvard Classics

If only he knew the truth about the twisted relationship between luck and me, he wouldn’t have wasted that wish on me.   August

But you got her back . . .” Karas sits straighter and a wry grin stretches over his face. “Of course. I’m not a fucking idiot.” “How?” “I tracked her down and begged her to forgive me for being such a fucking moron, and I made her dreams and goals and wishes the center of my world. I made her the center of my world. If you told me the sun doesn’t rise and set over the curves of my wife’s perfect ass, I’d call you a goddamned liar. It doesn’t matter what anyone says or does, or what business deal is on the table. It all comes second to her.

... It's a tradition my great-grandfather started almost a hundred years ago, after my father was born. He gave my father fifty newly minted silver dollars and explained that each time something really amazing happened to him, he had to return one of the dollars to the universe so that someone else could wish on it." I smile, recalling how Patrick had once told me a story of his grandfather standing on the Brooklyn Bridge in 1936 and throwing a silver dollar into the water after his beloved Yankees won the World Series. They won it for the next three years too, and his grandfather always believed that it was his coins - good luck returned to the universe - that kept their streak alive... ... My father always used to tell me that if you keep the coins, you throw things out of balance... It's all about passing the luck on and thanking the world for whatever good things have happened to you.

Witcher,’ Three Jackdaws suddenly said, ‘I want to ask you a question.’ ‘Ask it.’ ‘Why don’t you turn back?’ The Witcher looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘Do you really want to know?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ Three Jackdaws said, turning his face towards Geralt. ‘I’m riding with them because I’m a servile golem. Because I’m a wisp of oakum blown by the wind along the highway. Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. I’m riding with them for the same reason I rode with you to the log drivers’ inn. Because it’s all the same to me. I don’t have a goal to head towards. I don’t have a destination at the end of the road.’ Three Jackdaws cleared his throat. ‘There’s a destination at the end of every road. Everybody has one. Even you, although you like to think you’re somehow different.’ ‘Now I’ll ask you a question.’ ‘Ask it.’ ‘Do you have a destination at the end of the road?’ ‘I do.’ ‘Lucky for you.’ ‘It is not a matter of luck, Geralt. It is a matter of what you believe in and what you serve. No one ought to know that better than… than a witcher.’ ‘I keep hearing about goals today,’ Geralt sighed. ‘Niedamir’s aim is to seize Malleore. Eyck of Denesle’s calling is to protect people from dragons. Dorregaray feels obligated to something quite the opposite. Yennefer, by virtue of certain changes which her body was subjected to, cannot fulfil her wishes and is terribly undecided. Dammit, only the Reavers and the dwarves don’t feel a calling, and simply want to line their pockets. Perhaps that’s why I’m so drawn to them?’ ‘You aren’t drawn to them, Geralt of Rivia. I’m neither blind nor deaf. It wasn’t at the sound of their name you pulled out that pouch. But I surmise…’ ‘There’s no need to surmise,’ the Witcher said, without anger. ‘I apologise.’ ‘There’s no need to apologise.

Please allow me to offer you three pieces of advice: One: Be bold. Never miss an opportunity to let your brilliance shine and dazzle. Take that chance. Accept the challenge, or if the challenge doesn’t arise, make your own challenges. Two: Don’t settle for mediocrity. Find a dream and pursue it. Allow every decision you make to bring you closer in achieving that dream. And three: Have fun. Take time to play, because if you’re not having a good tear-squirting belly laugh, chances are you’re doing it wrong. I will not wish you good luck. I don’t believe luck to be a necessary ingredient for success. Instead, I wish you the wisdom to make good decisions. I’m sure you will be fabulous. Grace

We have to get a crew together to meet up after school today.” “Ouch,” Finn said. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” They looked out across the cafeteria, where hundreds of their peers sat and ate, just waiting to be tapped for after-school labor. “I guess I should get started,” Megan said. “What about Doug?” Finn asked. “It’s just a gut instinct, but I don’t think he’s going to be much help,” Megan replied, walking backward. “Wish me luck.” “Good luck,” Finn said with a smile.

At least she was good at archaeology, she mused, even if she was a dismal failure as a woman in Tate’s eyes. “She’s been broody ever since we got here,” Leta said with pursed lips as she glanced from Tate to Cecily. “You two had a blowup, huh?” she asked, pretending innocence. Tate drew in a short breath. “She poured crab bisque on me in front of television cameras.” Cecily drew herself up to her full height. “Pity it wasn’t flaming shish kebab!” she returned fiercely. Leta moved between them. “The Sioux wars are over,” she announced. “That’s what you think,” Cecily muttered, glaring around her at the tall man. Tate’s dark eyes began to twinkle. He’d missed her in his life. Even in a temper, she was refreshing, invigorating. She averted her eyes to the large grass circle outlined by thick corded string. All around it were make-shift shelters on poles, some with canvas tops, with bales of hay to make seats for spectators. The first competition of the day was over and the winners were being announced. A woman-only dance came next, and Leta grimaced as she glanced from one warring face to the other. If she left, there was no telling what might happen. “That’s me,” she said reluctantly, adjusting the number on her back. “Got to run. Wish me luck.” “You know I do,” Cecily said, smiling at her. “Don’t disgrace us,” Tate added with laughter in his eyes. Leta made a face at him, but smiled. “No fighting,” she said, shaking a finger at them as she went to join the other competitors. Tate’s granitelike face had softened as he watched his mother. Whatever his faults, he was a good son.

One of the first shrinks I went to after Cass died told me that the brain has a hardwired need to find correlations, to make sense of nonsensical data by making connections between unrelated things. Humans have evolved a universal tendency to seek patterns in random information, hence the existence of fortune-tellers and dream interpreters and people who see the face of Jesus in a piece of toast. But the cold, hard truth is that there are no connections between anything. Life—all of existence—is totally random. Your lucky lottery numbers aren’t really lucky, because there’s no such thing as luck. The black cat that crosses your path isn’t a bad omen, it’s just a cat out for a walk. An eclipse doesn’t mean that the gods are angry, just as a bus narrowly missing you as you cross the street doesn’t mean there’s a guardian angel looking out for you. There are no gods. There are no angels. Superstitions aren’t real, and no amount of wishing, praying, or rationalizing can change the fact that life is just one long sequence of random events that ultimately have no meaning. I really hated that shrink.

I wish you the best of luck,” Grey said politely. “And I do hope that the gentleman Tom saw in the custody of the press gang was Mr. Gormley. However—if he was, does this not rather obviate your conclusion that he was in possession of incriminating information regarding the perpetrator?” Jones gave him a glassy look, and Tom Byrd looked reproving. “Now, me lord, you know you oughtn’t talk like that at this hour of the morning. You got to pardon his lordship, sir,” he said apologetically to Jones. “His father—the duke, you know—had him schooled in logic. He can’t really help it, like.” (Haunted Soldier)

I had a counter impulse to walk out of the bar and away from the Hacienda and her. She was trouble looking for somebody to happen to. And succeeding. I raised my drink and said with false cheer: 'Luck to the gold drinkers.' She sipped at hers.'You didn't say what kind of luck, good or bad. Not that it matters, people don't get their wishes. Wishing-wells are to drown in. But I mustn't go on like that. I'm always pitying myself, and that's neurotic.' She made a visible effort, and focused her attention on me: 'Speaking of luck, you don't as if you had too much luck in your life. Some of the kicks you say you go for were kicks in the head, I bet'.

La mala racha" Mientras dura la mala racha pierdo todo. Se me caen las cosas de los bolsillos y de la memoria: pierdo llaves. lapiceras, dinero, documentos, nombres, caras, palabras. Yo no se si será gualicho de alguien que me quiere mal y me piensa peor, o pura casualidad, pero a veces el bajón demora en irse y yo ando de pérdida en pérdida, pierdo lo que encuentro, no encuentro lo que busco, y siento mucho miedo de que se me caiga la vida en alguna distracción. "When Luck Runs Out” During streaks of bad luck, I lose everything. Things fall out of my pockets and my memory: I lose keys, pens, money, documents, names, faces, words. I don’t know whether someone wishes me harm and has put the evil eye on me or whether it’s pure happenstance, but sometimes this slump just won’t end and I lose one thing after another. I lose what I find, I can’t find what I’m looking for, and I’m quite afraid of losing life through some little hole in my pocket.” Eduardo Galeano: El libro de los abrazos (The Book of Embraces)

If you need to reach me, or send me anything I'll hopefully have access to email, but who knows how alert I'll be...Please don't ask too many questions about what the logistics look like, or where and when I'll be where and when- we just don't know that right now and will not for a little while. FOR INSTANCE: Good message: Wish Max well! No need to reply! Bad message: When is Max going to the bathroom, and in what city -- I'd like to bring my schnauzer to visit him; he's a good luck healing massage schnauzer from Ireland. Is Max going to die? How often will Max die? Can he attend my event in four months? I love all of you very much, and am extremely grateful for your support.

Sometimes it feels like if I wish for it hard enough, it might just come true. But I know that’s not the way it works. Life doesn’t bend to anyone’s will. And it doesn’t run on credit either. Just because the world stole something from me doesn’t mean it owes me anything. And just because I’ve stockpiled a whole lot of bad luck doesn’t mean I’m due anything good.

Do you think I’m going to take her back? Do you think I’m still in love with her?” She shrugs with one shoulder. “Amanda,” I say, grappling for the words. When I don’t say anything else, she slowly turns her head to look at me. Fearful. Hopeful. “I told her it was too late,” I admit. “I told her I didn’t love her anymore, because I don’t. That ship sailed a long time ago. And I told her I wished her the best of luck but the truth was, I’ve met someone else.” I give her a faint smile, aware of everything riding on this. “You.” “Me?” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean it as a work partner. I didn’t mean it as someone I’m casually sleeping with. I meant in a completely jumping the gun, getting ahead of myself, answering for you when I shouldn’t, I want you to be my girlfriend kind of way. She doesn’t have my affection, my future or my heart. You do, Amanda. You do.

Happiness found me alone one day and took me by the hand. He showed me how the sun gave out its warmth across the land. Sadness found me content and smiling upward at the sun. He talked of droughts and blindness and what burning rays had done. Happiness found me alone again and pointed to the sky. He showed me how the storms created rainbows way up high. Sadness found me intrigued and took me to the rainbow’s end. He showed me how it disappeared to ne’er return again. Happiness found me alone and taught me how to sing a song. He sang a dozen melodies as I chirped right along. Sadness found me singing out and covered up his ears. He said the noise was deafening, and wished he couldn’t hear. Happiness found me alone and gave me seven coins of gold. He showed me many fancy things that merchants often sold. Sadness found me admiring the pretty things I’d bought. He pointed out my empty purse and money I had not. Happiness found me alone and helped me talk to someone new. He called the boy my friend and said that I was his friend too. Sadness found me together with my kind, attentive friend. He whispered of betrayal and how broken hearts don’t mend. Happiness found me alone and held me tight in his embrace. He whispered kindness in my ear and kissed me on the face. Sadness found me with Happiness but before he spoke at all, I told him he’d have better luck at talking to the wall.

What did you think when I first told you about the animals I found?” He seemed confused. It obviously wasn’t what he’d expected. “Violet, I was seven years old. I thought it was badass. I think I was probably even jealous.” She made a face at him. “Didn’t you think it was creepy? Or that I was weird?” “Yeah,” he agreed enthusiastically. “That’s why I was so jealous. I wanted to be the one finding dead bodies. You were like an animal detective or something. You were only weird ‘cause you were a girl.” He grinned. “But I learned to overlook that since you always took me on such cool adventures.” Violet released a breath, smiling. She knew he was telling the truth, which only made it funnier to hear him saying the words out loud. Of course, what little boy didn’t want to go scavenging through the woods and digging in the dirt? She tried again. “Did you ever tell anyone? Does your mom know?” He lifted her hand to his mouth and rubbed her knuckles across his lower lip, his gaze locked with hers. “No,” he promised. “I swore I wouldn’t, not even her. I think she knows something, or at least she thinks you have the worst luck ever, since you found all those dead girls.” He lowered his voice. “She was really worried about you after the shooting last year. You’re like a daughter to her.” He leaned close. “Of course, that makes it kind of creepy when I do things like this.” He kissed her. It was intimate. Not soft or sweet this time, it was deep and passionate, stealing Violet’s breath. She laid her hand against his chest, savoring the feel of his heartbeat beneath her palm, and then traced her fingertips up to his neck, into his hair. He pulled her over the console that separated them, dragging her onto his lap. He ran his hands up her back restlessly, drawing her as close as he could. It was nearly impossible for her to pull herself away. “Wait,” she insisted breathlessly. “Please, wait.” She had her hands braced against his shoulders, struggling more against herself than him. His glazed eyes teased her. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to say no. I’m the girl, right?” She sighed heavily, leaning her head against his shoulder and trying to recapture her runaway thoughts. She still wanted to talk. She wanted the other things, too, but she needed to sort through her thoughts first. “Sorry, it’s just…I have a lot of…” She shrugged against him. His damp T-shirt was warm and practically paper-thin, tempting her to touch him. She ran her finger down the length of his stomach. She knew it wasn’t fair to tease him, but she couldn’t help herself. He was too enticing. “…I have some stuff I need to work through.” It was the best she could do for an explanation. He caught her hand before she’d reached his waistline, and he held it tightly in his grip. “I’m trying to be patient, Violet, I really am. If there’s something you want to tell me…Well, I just wish you’d trust me.” “I’ll get there,” she explained. “I’ll figure it all out. I’m just a little confused right now.” He let out a shaky breath and then he kissed the top of her head, still not releasing her hand. “So, when you do, we’ll pick up where we left off.” She nodded against him. She thought she would keep talking; she still had so many doubts about what she should, and shouldn’t, be doing. But instead she just stayed there, curled up on his lap, absorbing him, taking relief from his touch…and strength from his presence.

Well, good luck,’ the Vietnam verbal tic...It was as though people couldn’t stop themselves from saying it, even when they actually meant to express the opposite wish, like, ‘Die, motherfucker.’ Usually it was only an uninhabited passage of dead language, sometimes it came out five times in a sentence, like punctuation, often it was spoken flat side up to telegraph the belief that there wasn’t any way out; tough shit, sin loi, smack it, good luck. Sometimes, though, it was said with such feeling and tenderness that it could crack your mask, that much love where there was so much war. Me too, every day, compulsively, good luck: to friends in the press corps going out on operations, to grunts I’d meet at firebases and airstrips, to the wounded, the dead and all the Vietnamese I ever saw getting fucked over by us and each other, less often but most passionately to myself, and though I meant it every time I said it, it was meaningless. It was like telling someone going out in a storm not to get any on him, it was the same as saying, ‘Gee, I hope you don’t get killed or wounded or see anything that drives you insane.’ You could make all the ritual moves, carry your lucky piece, wear your magic jungle hat, kiss your thumb knuckle smooth as stones under running water, the Inscrutable Immutable was still out there, and you kept on or not at its pitiless discretion. All you could say that wasn’t fundamentally lame was something like, ‘He who bites it this day is safe from the next,’ and that was exactly what nobody wanted to hear.

— Gwen has a lot of friends. They are there in the halls and in her classes. They are there on her Facebook page. And they are all there at her house for the party that night. Everyone in the family and many of my friends have chipped in with decorations, so it’s like every age I’ve already been is represented—construction paper cutouts and crayon drawings alongside a supercut of the past year playing in a loop on the TV screen. Friends laughing. Friends in costumes. Friends singing. Gwen at the center of it all. I work hard to keep track of who’s who, but I can barely keep up. April (age four) hangs by my side and provides a good diversion, especially because a lot of my friends have to introduce themselves to her and explain who they are. Then the moment comes when the lights are turned off and a cake is carried in, its eighteen candles (“One for good luck!”) flickering to show me all the friendly faces who’ve gathered to celebrate with me. “Make a wish!” Gwen’s mother calls out, and I want to wish for word from Rhiannon and I know I should wish for Moses’s

I asked myself, What is true about a person? Would I change in the same way the river changes color but still be the same person? And then I saw the curtains blowing wildly, and outside the rain was falling harder, causing everyone to scurry and shout. I smiled. And then I realized it was the first time I could see the power of the wind. I couldn't see the wind itself, but I could see it carried the water that filled the rivers and shaped the countryside. It caused me to yelp and dance. I wiped my eyes and looked in the mirror. I was surprised at what I saw. I had on a beautiful red dress, but what I saw was even more valuable. I was strong. I was pure. I had genuine thoughts inside that no one could see, that no one could ever take away from me. I was like the wind. I threw my head back and smiled proudly to myself. And then I draped the large embroidered red scarf over my face and covered those thoughts up. But underneath the scarf I still knew who I was. I made a promise to myself. I would always remember my parent's wishes, but I would never forget myself

So, that’s it, I guess,” Ava said. “I’m officially out of your life.” “No.” I shook my head. “Unfortunately, you’re still in my sight.” “Would it kill you to wish me the best? To at least tell me good luck?” “Seeing as though you’re going back to prison, I guess that would be appropriate.” I shrugged. “Good luck. The authorities are outside waiting for you, so take all the time you need. There’s even a vending machine down the hall if you want to taste freedom one last time…Although, since you’ll be locked up with plenty of women, I’m sure eating pu**y after the lights go out will taste just as good.

At about the end of the eighteen minutes and twenty miles, I said: “But suppose I don't find anything before election day?” The Boss said, “To hell with election day. I can deliver Masters prepaid, special handling. But if it takes ten years, you find it.” We clocked off five miles more, and I said, “But suppose there isn't anything to find.” And the Boss said, “There is always something.” And I said, “Maybe not on the Judge.” And he said, “Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.” Two miles more, and he said, “And make it stick.” And that was all a good while ago. And Masters is dead now, as dead as a mackerel, but the Boss was right and he went to the Senate. And Callahan is not dead but he has wished he were, no doubt, for he used up his luck a long time back and being dead was not part of it. And Adam Stanton is dead now, too, who used to go fishing with me and who lay on the sand in the hot sunshine with me and with Anne Stanton. And Judge Irwin is dead, who leaned toward me among the stems of the tall gray marsh grass, in the gray damp wintry dawn, and said, “You ought to have led that duck more, Jack. You got to lead a duck, son.” And the Boss is dead, who said to me, “And make it stick.” Little Jackie made it stick, all right.

At about the end of the eighteen minutes and twenty miles, I said: “But suppose I don't find anything before election day?” The Boss said, “To hell with election day. I can deliver Masters prepaid, special handling. But if it takes ten years, you find it.” We clocked off five miles more, and I said, “But suppose there isn't anything to find.” And the Boss said, “There is always something.” And I said, "“Maybe not on the Judge.” And he said, “Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.” Two miles more, and he said, “And make it stick.” And that was all a good while ago. And Masters is dead now, as dead as a mackerel, but the Boss was right and he went to the Senate. And Callahan is not dead but he has wished he were, no doubt, for he used up his luck a long time back and being dead was not part of it. And Adam Stanton is dead now, too, who used to go fishing with me and who lay on the sand in the hot sunshine with me and with Anne Stanton. And Judge Irwin is dead, who leaned toward me among the stems of the tall gray marsh grass, in the gray damp wintry dawn, and said, “You ought to have led that duck more, Jack. You got to lead a duck, son.” And the Boss is dead, who said to me, “And make it stick.” Little Jackie made it stick, all right.

Sharpshooters Yeomanry Museum who, with his fellow trustees, have allowed me to use a number of their photographs in this book. I wish them the best of luck as they establish their regimental museum at Hever Castle. I would also like to thank the staff at the Air and Army historical branches who have also been particularly helpful in allowing me to access and use their crown copyrighted images. I would particularly like to single out Jo Bandy and Bob Evans in the Army Historical Branch and Mary Hudson in the Air Historical Branch. I feel I have been blessed in finding an excellent publisher in Helion. Duncan Rogers and his team have been helpful and enthusiastic about the book and made generous allowances for photos, diagrams and maps. I should add that George

Have you ever been too old, too young, too big, too small, too smart, too dumb? Have you ever been too fat, too thin, too shy, too loud, too slow to win? Have you ever been too scared to try, too small to play, too young to die? Have you ever been too weak to fight, too little yet, or not quite right? Have you ever been too dark, too light, too black, too brown, too red, too white? Have you ever been put off ’til last, the odd man out, the jerk they sassed? Have you ever been the one black sheep, the naughty child, the nerdy geek? Have you ever been the butt of jokes, the timid soul, the oddest folk? Have you ever been left out of fun, forgotten when the day is done? Have you ever been afraid to lose? Afraid to try? Afraid to choose? Have you ever been too rich, too poor, too venturesome, or just a bore? Have you ever had no clue at all? Nowhere to go? No one to call? Have you ever been without a friend? Have you ever wished the day would end? Have you ever had the biggest nose, the longest arms, the funny toes? Have you ever had the flattest chest? Have you ever had the biggest breasts? Have you ever prayed your luck would change? Have you ever felt your life was strange? Have you ever wished for something more, or something less than what you were? If you have ever felt this way, you're one of us I’m here to say. We've all been there a time or two because we're human, me and you. We've all felt different in some way because we are, and that’s okay. We've all been hurt; we've all been scarred. That's life. And frankly, life is hard.

driving through the park I notice men and women playing golf driving in their powered carts over billiard table lawns, they are my age but their bodies are fat their hair grey their faces waffle batter, and I remember being startled by my own face scarred, and mean as red ants looking at me from a department store mirror and the eyes mad mad mad I drive on and start singing making up the sound a war chant and there is the sun and the sun says, good, I know you, and the steering wheel is humorous and the dashboard laughs, see, the whole sky knows I have not lied to anything even death will have exits like a dark theatre. I stop at a stop sign and as fire burns the trees and the people and the city I know that there will be a place to go and a way to go and nothing need ever be lost.

What are ye doing, lass?” His voice was so soft and close in the darkness, it made her shiver. She forgot all about the hard floor. “I always imagined that once I got married, I’d finally know what it was like to spend the night in a man’s arms. Will you hold me, so I can feel what that’s like? I won’t ask for more than that. Just hold me.” He rolled to face her and touched her cheek. “Ah, lass,” he sighed. “How can I deny you when you ask so sweetly? If ’tis holding ye want, holding you shall get. But the floor is no place for you and your bairn. Up in the bed with you.” “It’s no place for a married man, either,” she said, smiling at her small victory. He sighed again, a sound heavy with sentiment she could only guess at. She climbed under the blankets and held them up for him, but he was taking his sweet time. “Are you coming?” “Aye, lass. Just donning my plaid.” She bit back a huff of frustration. She determined to enjoy what little affection he would give her and didn’t want to push her luck by asking for more. Her hormones would have to learn patience; this was going to be a painfully slow seduction. When Darcy slipped into bed, bare-chested, but wrapped in layers of wool from the waist down, she cuddled into his open arms. All her frustration drained away as he gathered her in and the heat of his chest turned her into a melty puddle of contentment. She nestled her nose into the tuft of hair between his mounded pectorals and inhaled his scent of saddle leather and faint, masculine musk. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes rolled back in her head with bliss.

so long.” His words fell quickly, as if he was trying to force them out before he could change his mind. “I just want you to know, in case we are separated, that I think you are extraordinary.” “Zus—” He held up a hand to stop her, his voice deepening. “Perhaps you still love Aleksander. But I—I wish my own heart was not so broken, Yona, because if it was whole, I think I would fight for you. I would tell you that I refuse to let you go, that I will not let you disappear into that forest without me ever again. But I don’t think I am capable of that, of all that comes with those kinds of feelings. And perhaps you don’t want to hear these things anyhow, so I will simply tell you good luck. And I wanted you to know, in case we do not see each other again, that I think you are far more special than you seem to see.

They got to the classroom she and Jay shared this period, but it wasn’t Grady’s class. Instead of walking on, Grady paused. “Violet, can I talk to you for a minute?” His deep voice surprised her again. “Yeah, okay,” Violet agreed, curious about what he might have to say to her. Jay stopped and waited too, but when Grady didn’t say anything, it became clear that he’d meant he wanted to talk to her . . . alone. Jay suddenly seemed uncomfortable and tried to excuse himself as casually as he could. “I’ll see you inside,” he finally said to Violet. She nodded to him as he left. Violet was a little worried that the bell was going to ring and she’d be tardy again, but her curiosity had kicked up a notch when she realized that Grady didn’t want Jay to hear what he had to say, and that far outweighed her concern for late slips. When they were alone, and Grady didn’t start talking right away, Violet prompted him. “What’s going on?” She watched him swallow, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down along the length of his throat. It was strange to see her old guy friends in this new light. He’d always been a good-looking kid, but now he looked like a man . . . even though he still acted like a boy. He shifted back and forth, and if she had taken the time to think about it, she would have realized that he was nervous. But she misread his discomfort altogether. She thought that, like her, he was worried about being late. “Do you want to talk after school? I could meet you in the parking lot.” “No. No. Now’s good.” He ran his hand through his hair in a discouraged gesture. He took a deep breath, but his voice was still shaking when he spoke. “I . . . I was wondering . . .” He looked Violet right in the eye now, and suddenly she felt very nervous about where this might be going. She was desperately wishing she hadn’t let Jay leave her here alone. “I was wondering if you’re planning to go to Homecoming,” Grady finally blurted out. She stood there, looking at him, feeling trapped by the question and not sure what she was going to say. The bell rang, and both of them jumped. Violet was grateful for the excuse, and she clung to it like a life preserver. Her eyes were wide, and she pointed to the door behind her. “I gotta . . . can we . . .” She pointed again, and she knew she looked and sounded like an idiot, incapable of coherent speech. “Can we talk after school?” Grady seemed relieved to have been let off the hook for the moment. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll talk to you after school.” He left without saying good-bye, and Violet, thankful herself, tried to slip into her classroom unnoticed. But she had no such luck. The teacher marked her tardy, and everyone in class watched as she made her way to her seat beside Jay’s. Her face felt flushed and hot. “What was that all about?” Jay asked in a loud whisper. She still felt like her head was reeling. She had no idea what she was going to say to Grady when school was out. “I think Grady just asked me to Homecoming,” she announced to Jay. He looked at her suspiciously. “The game?” Violet cocked her head to the side and gave him a look that told him to be serious. “No, I’m pretty sure he meant the dance,” Violet clarified, exasperated by the obtuse question. Jay frowned at her. “What did you say?” “I didn’t say anything. The bell rang and I told him we’d have to talk later.” The teacher glanced their way, and they pretended not to be talking to each other.

VIII 'Farewell to barn and stack and tree, Farewell to Severn shore. Terence, look your last at me, For I come home no more. 'The sun burns on the half-mown hill, By now the blood is dried; And Maurice amongst the hay lies still And my knife is in his side. 'My mother thinks us long away; 'Tis time the field were mown. She had two sons at rising day, To-night she'll be alone. 'And here's a bloody hand to shake, And oh, man, here's good-bye; We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake, My blood hands and I. 'I wish you strength to bring you pride, And a love to keep you clean, And I wish you luck, come Lammastide, At racing on the green. 'Long for me the rick will wait, And long will wait the fold, And long will stand the empty plate, And dinner will be cold.' IX On moonlit heath and lonesome bank The sheep beside me graze; And yon the gallows used to clank Fast by the four cross ways. A careless shepherd once would keep The flocks by moonlight there, And high amongst the glimmering sheep The dead man stood on air. They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail: The whistles blow forlorn. And trains all night groan on the rail To men that die at morn. There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night, Or wakes, as may betide, A better lad, if things went right, Than most that sleep outside. And naked to the hangman's noose The morning clocks will ring A neck God made for other use Than strangling in a string. And sharp the link of life will snap, And dead on air will stand Heels that held up as straight a chap As treads upon the land. So here I'll watch the night and wait To see the morning shine, When he will hear the stroke of eight And not the stroke of nine; And wish my friend as sound a sleep As lads' I did not know, That shepherded the moonlit sheep A hundred years ago.

Sophie thinks you were offering her a less than honorable proposition before we came to collect her, and modified your proposal only when her station became apparent.” Windham took a casual sip of his drink while Vim’s brain fumbled for a coherent thought. “She thinks what ?” “She thinks you offered to set her up as your mistress and changed your tune, so to speak, when it became apparent you were both titled. I know she is in error in this regard.” Vim cocked his head. “How could you know such a thing?” “Because if you propositioned my sister with such an arrangement, it’s your skull I’d be using that splitting ax on.” “If Sophie thinks this, then she is mistaken.” Windham remained silent, reinforcing Vim’s sense the man was shrewd in the extreme. “You will please disabuse her of her error.” Windham shook his head slowly, right to left, left to right. “It isn’t my error, and it isn’t Sophie’s error. She’s nothing if not bright, and you were probably nothing if not cautious in offering your suit. The situation calls for derring-do, old sport. Bended knee, flowers, tremolo in the strings, that sort of thing.” He gestured as if stroking a bow over a violin, a lyrical, dramatic rendering that ought to have looked foolish but was instead casually beautiful. “Tremolo in the strings?” “To match the trembling of her heart. A fellow learns to listen for these things.” Windham set his mug down with a thump and speared Vim with a look. “I’m off to do battle with the treble register. Wish me luck, because failure on my part will be apparent every Sunday between now and Judgment Day.” “Windham, for God’s sake, you don’t just accuse a man of such a miscalculation and then saunter off to twist piano wires.” Much less make references to failure being eternally apparent. “Rather thought I was twisting your heart strings. Must be losing my touch.” Vim

I know that we all think we're immortal, we're supposed to feel that way, we're graduating. The future is and should be bright, but, like our brief four years in high school, what makes life valuable is that it doesn't last forever, what makes it precious is that it ends. I know that now more than ever. And I say it today of all days to remind us that time is luck. So don't waste it living someone else's life, make yours count for something. Fight for what matters to you, no matter what. Because even if you fall short, what better way is there to live? It's easy to feel hopeful on a beautiful day like today, but there will be dark days ahead of us too, and there'll be days where you feel all alone, and that's when hope is needed most. Keep it alive. No matter how buried it gets, or lost you feel, you must promise me, that you will hold on to hope and keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish for you, is to become hope. People need that. I know it feels like we're saying goodbye, but we will carry a piece of each other into everything that we do next, to remind us of who we are, and of who we're meant to be. I've had a great four years with you, and I'll miss you all very much. Gwen Stacy, Spiderman 2 (2014).

His lordship preserved his control over himself with a strong effort. After a moment of inward struggle, he said: ‘Drawing the bustle with a vengeance, weren’t you? No, don’t cry! It might have been worse. But what possessed you, you little simpleton, to throw good money after bad? For I know very well you went a second night to that curst hell! Had you no more sense than to allow yourself to be plucked again? Good God! is gaming in your blood?’ ‘Oh, no, no, I am sure it is not, for I was never more uncomfortable in my life! Indeed, I wish I had not gone back, but I did it for the best, Sherry, and truly I thought you would have told me to if I could but have asked you!’ ‘Thought I – thought I – ?’ gasped his lordship. ‘Have you gone mad, Hero?’ ‘But, Sherry, you told me yourself, when your uncle Prosper had been teasing you, that the only thing to be done was to continue playing, because a run of bad luck could not last for ever, and –’ She broke off, alarmed by the expression on his face. ‘Oh, what have I said?’ she cried. ‘It’s what I have said!’ replied Sherry. ‘No, no, don’t look like that, Kitten! It’s all my curst fault! Only I never dreamed you’d pay the least heed – Lord, I might have known, though! Kitten, don’t listen to me when I talk such nonsense!

I wish you would, because I’m not sure how long I can put up with this.” “I’ll bet you can put up with it a little longer,” I said brightly, desperate to get out from under the heavy subject. “How much do you love college in New York?” He grinned. “I love college in New York. I love just being in the city. I love my classes. I love the hospital. I wish I weren’t there at two in the morning because I also love sleep, but I do love the hospital. I love Manohar and Brian. In a manly love kind of way, of course.” “Of course,” I said, the corners of my mouth stretched tight, trying not to laugh. “You get along great with everybody. Because that’s what you do.” “Because that’s what I do,” he agreed. “Do you love college in New York?” I sighed, a big puff of white air. “I do love college in New York. Lately I’ve been so busy with work and homework that I might as well be in Iowa, but I remember loving college in New York a month ago. I’m afraid it may be coming to a close, though.” He leaned nearer. “Seriously.” “If I got that internship,” I said, “I could hold on. Otherwise I’m in trouble. I wanted so badly to start my publishing career in the publishing mecca. But maybe that’s not possible for me now. I can write anywhere, I guess.” I laughed. He didn’t laugh. “What will you do, then?” “I might try California,” I said. “It’s almost as expensive as New York, though. And it’s tainted in my mind because my mother tried it with the worst of luck.” Hunter’s movement toward me was so sudden that I instinctively shrank back. Then I realized he was reaching for my hand. He took it in his warm hand again, rubbing my palm with his calloused thumb. His voice was smooth like a song as he said, “I would not love college in New York if you weren’t there.” Suddenly I was flushing hot in the freezing night. “You wouldn’t?” I whispered. “No. When I said I love it, I listed all these things I love about it. I left you out.” He let my hand go and touched his finger to my lips. “I love you.” I started stupidly at him. Was he joking again, reciting another line from my story? I didn’t remember writing this. He leaned in and kissed me. I didn’t respond for a few seconds. My mind lagged behind what my body was feeling. “Say it,” he whispered against my lips. “I know this is hard for you. Tell me.” “I love you.” Hearing my own words, I gasped at the rush of emotion. He put his hands on either side of my jaw and took my mouth with his. My mind still chattered that something was wrong with this picture. My body stopped caring. I grabbed fistfuls of his sweater and pulled him closer.

So I got lucky. But then again, it took me many hundreds of rejections to manage to find that luck. I am sure there is a lesson n that somewhere. Someone had taken a punt and had faith in me. I wouldn’t let them down, and I would be eternally grateful to them for giving me that chance to shine. Once DLE were on board, a few other companies joined them. It’s funny how, once one person backs you, somehow other people feel more comfortable doing the same. I guess most people don’t like to trailblaze. So before I knew it, suddenly, from nothing, I had the required funds for a place on the team. (In fact I was about £600 short, but Dad helped me out on that one, and refused to hear anything about ever being paid back. Great man.) The dream of an attempt on Everest was now about to become a reality. So many people over the years have asked me how to get sponsorship, but there is only one magic ingredient. Action. You just have to keep going. Then keep going some more. Our dreams are just wishes, if we never follow them through with action. And in life, you have got to be able to light your own fire. The reality of planning big expeditions is often tedious and frustrating. There is no glamour in yet another potential sponsor’s rejection letter, and I have often felt my own internal fire flickering close to snuff point. Action is what keeps it alight.

It is one of the great beauties of our system, that a working-man may raise himself into the power and position of a master by his own exertions and behaviour; that, in fact, every one who rules himself to decency and sobriety of conduct, and attention to his duties, comes over to our ranks; it may not be always as a master, but as an over-looker, a cashier, a book-keeper, a clerk, one on the side of authority and order.' 'You consider all who are unsuccessful in raising themselves in the world, from whatever cause, as your enemies, then, if I under-stand you rightly,' said Margaret' in a clear, cold voice. 'As their own enemies, certainly,' said he, quickly, not a little piqued by the haughty disapproval her form of expression and tone of speaking implied. But, in a moment, his straightforward honesty made him feel that his words were but a poor and quibbling answer to what she had said; and, be she as scornful as she liked, it was a duty he owed to himself to explain, as truly as he could, what he did mean. Yet it was very difficult to separate her interpretation, and keep it distinct from his meaning. He could best have illustrated what he wanted to say by telling them something of his own life; but was it not too personal a subject to speak about to strangers? Still, it was the simple straightforward way of explaining his meaning; so, putting aside the touch of shyness that brought a momentary flush of colour into his dark cheek, he said: 'I am not speaking without book. Sixteen years ago, my father died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school, and had to become a man (as well as I could) in a few days. I had such a mother as few are blest with; a woman of strong power, and firm resolve. We went into a small country town, where living was cheaper than in Milton, and where I got employment in a draper's shop (a capital place, by the way, for obtaining a knowledge of goods). Week by week our income came to fifteen shillings, out of which three people had to be kept. My mother managed so that I put by three out of these fifteen shillings regularly. This made the beginning; this taught me self-denial. Now that I am able to afford my mother such comforts as her age, rather than her own wish, requires, I thank her silently on each occasion for the early training she gave me. Now when I feel that in my own case it is no good luck, nor merit, nor talent,—but simply the habits of life which taught me to despise indulgences not thoroughly earned,—indeed, never to think twice about them,—I believe that this suffering, which Miss Hale says is impressed on the countenances of the people of Milton, is but the natural punishment of dishonestly-enjoyed pleasure, at some former period of their lives. I do not look on self-indulgent, sensual people as worthy of my hatred; I simply look upon them with contempt for their poorness of character.

You never talk to the pitcher when…” He shook his head. “You just never talk to the pitcher when--” “I just wanted to congratulate him on a good game--” “It’s not over ’til it’s over,” Chase said. “You jinxed me,” Jason said, crouching down in the corner, pressing his palms against his forehead, like he’d been struck with a migraine headache. “You don’t really believe that superstitious--” His head came up so fast, and his stare was so hard that I stopped. He did believe. He really did believe. And judging by the way the other guys were looking at me, they all believed. I backed away, not knowing what to say. I’d just felt sorry for him because he was being ignored. The guy at bat struck out, and Brandon was next. Bird had her fingers crossed while clutching the wire of the fence. “I think I just made a big mistake,” I said, my voice low. “Yeah, I heard you. According to Brandon, you’re never supposed to use the term no-hitter in the dugout.” “Well, I wasn’t technically in the dugout.” “But your words traveled into the dugout. Close enough.” “Great. You don’t really think I jinxed them, do you?” Brandon struck out, the first time he’d struck out since playing for the Rattlers. When he walked by and glared at me, I found myself wishing Harry Potter was real, sitting in the stands, and could turn me into a rabbit’s foot. I didn’t really believe in bad luck. I believed we made our own luck, but I also understood the power of positive or negative thinking. If you think you’ll lose, you’ll lose. The next inning, when six batters in a row got base hits off Jason, the coach put in a relief pitcher. By that time, even people in the stands were looking at me like it was my fault. Someone suggested I sit behind the dugout of the visiting team.

And whatever you do, do not break the mirror.” Without looking away from Mari, Bowe asked, “Why no’?” This seemed an ideal solution to him. Jillian murmured, “The shock could . . . it could kill her.” No’ ideal. “I want to be alone with her,” Bowe said. She nodded. “We’re going to the binding ceremony. Good luck, Bowen.” After they closed the door, Bowe could still hear Mari’s father say, “Jill, why are you so confident in MacRieve?” “Because he won’t ever rest until he has her back with him,” she replied before they descended the stairs. Alone with Mari, Bowe said, “Lass, we’re about to take a break from the mirror for a bit. How am I to marry you in front of all those witches in an eerie, embarrassing ceremony if you will no’ look away?” No reaction. He put his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, closing his eyes with pleasure just to be close to her once more. “Doona wish to turn from your glass? Verra well. Then ask it some questions while you’re here. Ask it how much your Lykae’s missed you.” Had she blinked? At her other ear, he murmured, “Ask it who Bowe loves.” Her lips parted. Her body seemed to begin thrumming, as if she was struggling with everything she had in her to be free. “Aye, that’s right. Ask it who’s the only one Bowe’s ever been in love with.” He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze in the mirror. “And the last question we’re goin’ tae have before you come away with me . . . ask it how damned good our lives are goin’ tae be together, just as soon as you turn tae kiss me.” Her brows drew together, and her stiff posture tightened, then relaxed. Her eyelids slid closed. “There now, that’s it, beautiful girl,” he asked, easing her face toward him. Behind her, he pressed the mirror until it flipped over, revealing the back of the frame. “Now, kiss me, witch.

The blinking message light on the phone screamed at us when we walked into the bedroom of our suite. Marlboro Man audibly exhaled, clearly wishing the world--and his brother and the grain markets and the uncertainties of agriculture--would leave us alone already. I wish they’d leave us alone, too. In light of the recent developments, though, Marlboro Man picked up the phone and dialed Tim to get an update. I excused myself to the bathroom to freshen up and put on a champagne satin negligee in an effort to thwart the external forces that were trying to rob me of my husband’s attention. I brushed my teeth and spritzed myself with Jil Sander perfume before opening the door to the bedroom, where I would seduce my Marlboro Man away from his worries. I knew I could win if only I applied myself. He was just getting off the phone when I entered the room. “Dammit,” I heard him mumble as he plopped down onto the enormous king-size bed. Oh no. Jil Sander had her work cut out for her. I climbed on the bed and lay beside him, resting my head on his arm. He draped his arm across my waist. I draped my leg around his. He sighed. “The markets are totally in the shitter.” I didn’t know the details, but I did know the shitter wasn’t a good place. I wanted to throw out the usual platitudes. Don’t worry about it, try not to think about it, we’ll figure it out, everything will be okay. But I didn’t know enough about it. I knew he and his brother owned a lot of land. I knew they worked hard to pay for it. I knew they weren’t lawyers or physicians by profession and didn’t have a whole separate income to supplement their ranching operation. As full-time ranchers, their livelihoods were completely reliant on so many things outside of their control--weather, market fluctuations, supply, demand, luck. I knew they weren’t home free in terms of finances--Marlboro Man and I had talked about it. But I didn’t understand enough about the ramifications of this current wrinkle to reassure him that everything would be okay, businesswise. And he probably didn’t want me to. So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I assured my new husband everything would be okay between us by leaning over, turning off the lamp, and letting the love between us--which had zero to do with markets or grains--take over.