X Lover Quotes

If you and I really, truly wanted to change the world, we'd invent more words that started with x.

This place is just too frickin precious," the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. "Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.

But who knew the words, when said by the right person, by a boy who raises your temperature, move heat like nothing else? Shoot a shock of warmth from your curls to your toes?

I am many things,” he said. “Man, monster, lover.

When he put the old-fashioned mechanical toy on her palm, she stopped breathing. It was a tiny representation of an atom, complete with colored ball bearings standing in for neutrons, protons, and on the outside, arranged on arcs of fine wire, electrons. Turning the key on the side made the electrons move, what she’d thought were ball bearings actually finely crafted spheres of glass that sparked with color. A brilliant, thoughtful, wonderful gift for a physics major. “Why magnesium?” she asked, identifying the atomic number of the light metal. His hand on her jaw, his mouth on her own. “Because it’s beautifully explosive, just like my X.

One who has not only the four S's, which are required in every good lover, but even the whole alphabet; as for example... Agreeable, Bountiful, Constant, Dutiful, Easy, Faithful, Gallant, Honorable, Ingenious, Kind, Loyal, Mild, Noble, Officious, Prudent, Quiet, Rich, Secret, True, Valiant, Wise; the X indeed, is too harsh a letter to agree with him, but he is Young and Zealous.

In the letters he sends to his friend, Werther recounts both the events of his life and the effects of his passion; but it is literature which governs the mixture. For if I keep a journal, we may doubt that this journal relates, strictly speaking, to events. The events of amorous life are so trivial that they gain access to writing only by an immense effort: one grows discouraged writing what, by being written, exposes its own platitude: "I ran into X, who was with Y" "Today X didn't call me" "X was in a bad mood," etc.: who would see a story in that? The infinitesimal event exists only in its huge reverberation: Journal of my reverberations (of my wounds, my joys, my interpretations, my rationalizations, my impulses): who would understand anything in that? Only the Other could write my love story, my novel.

Mark is the one thing in this world that I love enough to write a million words about... he is the one I am obsessive about recording. I want you to love him as much as I do. I want you to see him how I see him. Yes, he has flaws and, yes, I put my blinders on when looking at those flaws... but I feel compelled to immortalize our story—his story.

I invoke the other's protection, the other's return: let the other appear, take me away, like a mother who comes looking for her child, from this worldly brilliance, from this social infatuation, let the other restore to me "the religious intimacy, the gravity" of the lover's world. (X once told me that love had protected him against worldliness: coteries, ambitions, advancements, interferences, alliances, secessions, roles, powers: love had made him into a social catastrophe, to his delight.)

She was every Cora she'd ever been: Cora X, Cora Kaufmann, Cora Carlisle. She was an orphan on a roof, a lucky girl on a train, a dearly loved daughter by chance. She was a blushing bride of seventeen, a sad and stoic wife, a loving mother, an embittered chaperone, and a daughter pushed away. She was a lover and a lewd cohabitator, a liar and a cherished friend, and aunt and a kindly grandmother, a champion of the fallen, and a late-in-coming fighter for reason over fear. Even in those final hours, quiet and rocking, arriving and departing, she knew who she was.

Reader's Digest (Reader's Digest USA) - Clip This Article on Location 56 | Added on Friday, May 16, 2014 12:06:55 AM Words of Lasting Interest Looking Out for The Lonely One teacher’s strategy to stop violence at its root BY GLENNON DOYLE MELTON  FROM MOMASTERY.COM PHOTOGRAPH BY DAN WINTERS A few weeks ago, I went into my son Chase’s class for tutoring. I’d e-mailed Chase’s teacher one evening and said, “Chase keeps telling me that this stuff you’re sending home is math—but I’m not sure I believe him. Help, please.” She e-mailed right back and said, “No problem! I can tutor Chase after school anytime.” And I said, “No, not him. Me. He gets it. Help me.” And that’s how I ended up standing at a chalkboard in an empty fifth-grade classroom while Chase’s teacher sat behind me, using a soothing voice to try to help me understand the “new way we teach long division.” Luckily for me, I didn’t have to unlearn much because I’d never really understood the “old way we taught long division.” It took me a solid hour to complete one problem, but I could tell that Chase’s teacher liked me anyway. She used to work with NASA, so obviously we have a whole lot in common. Afterward, we sat for a few minutes and talked about teaching children and what a sacred trust and responsibility it is. We agreed that subjects like math and reading are not the most important things that are learned in a classroom. We talked about shaping little hearts to become contributors to a larger community—and we discussed our mutual dream that those communities might be made up of individuals who are kind and brave above all. And then she told me this. Every Friday afternoon, she asks her students to take out a piece of paper and write down the names of four children with whom they’d like to sit the following week. The children know that these requests may or may not be honored. She also asks the students to nominate one student who they believe has been an exceptional classroom citizen that week. All ballots are privately submitted to her. And every single Friday afternoon, after the students go home, she takes out those slips of paper, places them in front of her, and studies them. She looks for patterns. Who is not getting requested by anyone else? Who can’t think of anyone to request? Who never gets noticed enough to be nominated? Who had a million friends last week and none this week? You see, Chase’s teacher is not looking for a new seating chart or “exceptional citizens.” Chase’s teacher is looking for lonely children. She’s looking for children who are struggling to connect with other children. She’s identifying the little ones who are falling through the cracks of the class’s social life. She is discovering whose gifts are going unnoticed by their peers. And she’s pinning down—right away—who’s being bullied and who is doing the bullying. As a teacher, parent, and lover of all children, I think this is the most brilliant Love Ninja strategy I have ever encountered. It’s like taking an X-ray of a classroom to see beneath the surface of things and into the hearts of students. It is like mining for gold—the gold being those children who need a little help, who need adults to step in and teach them how to make friends, how to ask others to play, how to join a group, or how to share their gifts. And it’s a bully deterrent because every teacher knows that bullying usually happens outside her eyeshot and that often kids being bullied are too intimidated to share. But, as she said, the truth comes out on those safe, private, little sheets of paper. As Chase’s teacher explained this simple, ingenious idea, I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. “How long have you been using this system?” I said. Ever since Columbine, she said. Every single Friday afternoon since Columbine. Good Lord. This brilliant woman watched Columbine knowing that all violence begins with disconnection. All

The difference between a basic orientation toward the love of learning and one toward the love of spectacle is that between two kinds of basic restlessness. The one sort, exemplified by Augustine’s own journey as he describes it, unceasingly moves past the surfaces of things to what is more real. The second flees unceasingly from object to object, all on the same level—never culminating in anything further, never achieving anything beyond the thrill of experience. It is the bare existence of a human possibility that inspires the exercise of the love of spectacle. The lovers of spectacle seek no good of the kind Malcolm X, André Weil, or Irina Ratushinskaya sought—indeed, it is the bad, the sad, and the ugly as such that hold special fascination for them. The love of learning always wants more; the love of spectacle is satisfied at the surface, like someone scratching an itch rather than trying to heal a wound.28

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He’s my family,” I say finally. “I’m not going to say that he’s like my brother, because that’s gross. But until him, I had one person to trust. And being in love, that was just one small part of it. When that part ended—and that part has way, way ended—the other parts didn’t.

Field of Night is the first in a very, very interesting series. The characters were really fleshed out, the dialogue sounded natural, and the story itself held a lot of suspense that kept me on my toes the entire time. I would definitely recommend this book to other sci-fi lovers I know.

Mr. X went over to his laptop and fired the Dell up. Sitting down next to the dried brown stain of a blood pool, he called up the Scrolls and found the relevant passage. The lines of the prophecy calmed him: There shall be one to bring the end before the master, a fighter of modern time found in the seventh of the twenty-first, and he shall be known in the numbers he bears: One more than the compass he apperceives, Though mere four points to make at his right, Three lives has he, Two scores on his fore, and with a single black eye, in one well will he be birthed and die.

Humans + alcohol x urge to kill=body count. Not what he or his business interests needed.

The elements of impulse subtle and everywhere—ask any lover. — Kevin McLellan, from “Winterberries x,” Sixth Finch (Fall 2018)

The difference between a basic orientation toward the love of learning and one toward the love of spectacle is that between two kinds of basic restlessness. The one sort, exemplified by Augustine's own journey as he describes it, unceasingly moves past the surfaces of things to what is more real. The second flees unceasingly from object to object, all on the same level—never culminating in anything further, never achieving anything beyond the thrill of experience. It is the bare existence of a human possibility that inspires the exercise of the love of spectacle. The lovers of spectacle seek no good of the kind Malcolm X, André Weil, or Irina Ratushinskaya sought—indeed, it is the bad, the sad, and the ugly as such that hold special fascination for them. The love of learning always wants more; the love of spectacle is satisfied at the surface, like someone scratching an itch rather than trying to heal a wound.

Party time Part 1 After school, we go to Maddie’s. When we were little, like freshman year and even some of the sophomore year, we would sometimes stay in her room and put on x-out and pluck out eyebrows into that fine little line, and color our hair with highlights, and order pizza, cramming down as much as we could eat. Those days are going, we can’t get fat. Now Jenny hardly eats anything, and if she does, she can hardly keep it down. I think maybe that’s what I get so lightheaded, I only eat like once a day now. Jenny back then had a little extra around the middle, and now you can see her ribs, she even has that two-defined line on her tummy that goes into her underwear. I remember sneaking around late at night in her hose stealing a cookie from the jar on the top shelf in the old wood cabinet, that is also where her mom would hide her cigarettes that Jenny loved also, and the condoms were in a trinity box on top of the fridge, I sorry but I find that hilarious. At that time, we would stretch out on one of her, old enormous worn-out couches and watch, TV or movies until we fell asleep in our nightshirts’-the TV in Maddie’s living room is like 80 inches it’s like being in a movie theater our legs tangled together under an enormous fleece blanket. Maddie and liv are always entangled more passionately than Jenny and me on the loveseat! Maddie has an ancient TV in her room from the 1990s. It sucks and is small, it’s one of those with the big back on it, and the color is green, like looking into a fish tank. It’s funny her mom and dad don’t have money blinds on the windows, yet they have a big ass TV. You can sometimes see the people in the next condo overlooking us like we can see them get busy in their room! Yet nothing beats the hot guy taking a leak in room 302, he looks to be in his late twenties. He takes the boxes off at 10 pm and we get a free show. He knows we can see him because he makes it look inflexible and you are no more personable. Jenny and we girls love to press upon the glass, and just have fun and be a little crazy, like lifting our nighties and flashing the goods. Facebook stocking gets boring quickly anymore, so some nights the webcam comes out too. After her mom and dad are asleep… I like it’s more fun to be bad! Like we all have profiles and fake names because none of us are eighteen yet. Any- how’s mine is ‘Angel Pink Wings 01’ Maddie goes by: ‘Mad kitty 69’ Jenny goes by: ‘Ms. Little Lover 14’ Liv goes by: ‘Olivia O 123’ Yet everyone knows her by Liv so that name is okay- I guess. We make good money- ‘Double Clicking the Mouse.’ You would not believe all the pervs on this cam. the site, just wanting to see us doing it. Like old guys like our PE teacher! Man- that I didn’t even think about how to turn on a computer. Just like him, I guess they need too to see more of us close up. We have our checks mailed to Jenny's college boyfriend’s PO Box. Me this is what I do and yes- I come for you all, I just put in fake blue hair dye in, and have fake long lashes, and put in my blue contacts, and you don’t even know me. And then pen in more eyebrows. Fake, fake, fake, fake FAKE! Boys don’t like it when you fake it or do, they look at me, that's why I am Bi.

Party time Part 1 After school, we go to Maddie’s. When we were little, like freshman year and even some of the sophomore year, we would sometimes stay in her room and put on x-out and pluck out eyebrows into that fine little line, and color our hair with highlights, and order pizza, cramming down as much as we could eat. Those days are going, we can’t get fat. Now Jenny hardly eats anything, and if she does, she can hardly keep it down. I think maybe that’s what I get so lightheaded, I only eat like once a day now. Jenny back then had a little extra around the middle, and now you can see her ribs, she even has that two-defined line on her tummy that goes into her underwear. I remember sneaking around late at night in her hose stealing a cookie from the jar on the top shelf in the old wood cabinet, that is also where her mom would hide her cigarettes that Jenny loved also, and the condoms were in a trinity box on top of the fridge, I sorry but I find that hilarious. At that time, we would stretch out on one of her, old enormous worn-out couches and watch, TV or movies until we fell asleep in our nightshirts’-the TV in Maddie’s living room is like 80 inches it’s like being in a movie theater our legs tangled together under an enormous fleece blanket. Maddie and liv are always entangled more passionately than Jenny and me on the loveseat! Maddie has an ancient TV in her room from the 1990s. It sucks and is small, it’s one of those with the big back on it, and the color is green, like looking into a fish tank. It’s funny her mom and dad don’t have money blinds on the windows, yet they have a big ass TV. You can sometimes see the people in the next condo overlooking us like we can see them get busy in their room! Yet nothing beats the hot guy taking a leak in room 302, he looks to be in his late twenties. He takes the boxes off at 10 pm and we get a free show. He knows we can see him because he makes it look inflexible and you are no more personable. Jenny and we girls love to press upon the glass, and just have fun and be a little crazy, like lifting our nighties and flashing the goods. Facebook stocking gets boring quickly anymore, so some nights the webcam comes out too. After her mom and dad are asleep… I like it’s more fun to be bad! Like we all have profiles and fake names because none of us are eighteen yet. Any- how’s mine is ‘Angel Pink Wings 01’ Maddie goes by: ‘Mad kitty 69’ Jenny goes by: ‘Ms. Little Lover 14’ Liv goes by: ‘Olivia O 123’ Yet everyone knows her by Liv so that name is okay- I guess. We make good money- ‘Double Clicking the Mouse.’ You would not believe all the pervs on this cam the site, just wanting to see us doing it. Like old guys like our PE teacher! Man- that I didn’t even think about how to turn on a computer. Just like him, I guess they need too to see more of us close up. We have our checks mailed to Jenny's college boyfriend’s PO Box. Me this is what I do and yes- I come for you all, I just put in fake blue hair dye in, and have fake long lashes, and put in my blue contacts, and you don’t even know me. And then pen in more eyebrows. Fake, fake, fake, fake FAKE! Boys don’t like it when you fake it or do, they look at me, that's why I am Bi.

(...) rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has taken you, and one that has not only the the four S's that they say true lovers ought to have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, Amiable, Brave, Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honorable, Illustrious, Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S's according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suite him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous for your honour.

It seemed to be a requirement that the women who wore an "X" on their costumes would eventually take a dip in the crazy pool at least once. Power intoxicated these women and made them cruel, maniacal menaces who cast aside loyalties to friends and lovers. Even when possessed by an evil entity, the implication was that a suppressed part of the heroine's soul was reveling in the rush of deviltry.

What exactly, mon frères, does p-s-e-i-z-b-e-r-g-s-l-u-n-k-SF signify within the context of my voyages through the VO-RES-MAR-GUD? A g-r-e-a-t question! Peradventure, I would surmise… exactly… refreshingly… nada. May the deities absolve, in the name of Adonalux the Eternal, the noble s-y-n-t-a-x of my… ‘novel’ Testamentos.” Emperor Baron Francis Cosmicus [The Dromernaut Odyssey Anno Domini 3193]

Slaton moved closer and reached a hand under the waist of her unzipped jacket. To anyone watching, they would appear as lovers engaged in a parting embrace. Astrid tensed visibly as his hand curled around her beltline and found the gun. He’d made her take it when they left the chalet—that X-ray image he could never have explained. He discreetly pulled the Glock clear and slid it under his own jacket. “I might need this.” She pulled back and smiled nervously. “One hour,” he repeated. She nodded and turned away, crunching over a sidewalk paved in clouded ice. Astrid turned a corner and disappeared

During World War II, rationing in Russia had made vinyl prohibitively expensive, and cheap X-ray film became the bootleg music industry’s substitute. After purchasing a used X-ray plate for a ruble or two from a medical facility, music lovers could cut the plate into a disk with scissors or a knife before having it etched with their favorite tunes. Students studying engineering, I was told, particularly excelled in this bootlegging process. But even a thawed Khrushchev regime had its standards to uphold, and in 1959 the government began a crackdown on this illicit music market. One government tactic was to flood record shops with unplayable records, many intended to damage record players. Some of these records included threatening vocals placed in the middle of a recording, which screamed at the unsuspecting listener, “You like rock and roll? Fuck you, anti-Soviet slime!” Eventually the use of bone records declined as replacement technologies, such as magnetic reel-to-reel tape, took over. But until then, bone-record makers were hunted down and sent to the Gulags. Particularly offensive to the Soviet government were bootleggers who reproduced American jazz records, music Stalin had declared a “threat to civilization.” Despite

When you're reading a book, press and hold on a character’s name or a place mentioned in the book to view the corresponding X-Ray topic. You can also tap the top of the screen to display the secondary reading toolbar, and then tap the X-Ray button. If X-Ray is not available for a book, the button will be disabled. X-Ray scans your entire book for characters, historical figures, and terms. It can also provide detailed information from Wikipedia and Shelfari, Amazon's community-powered encyclopedia for book lovers. To find out if a book has X-Ray, look for X-Ray Enabled in the Kindle Store description of the book.

The saying is  v trustworthy: If anyone aspires to  w the office of overseer, he desires a noble task. 2Therefore  x an overseer [1] must be above reproach,  y the husband of one wife, [2]  z sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable,  a hospitable,  b able to teach, 3not a drunkard, not violent but  c gentle, not quarrelsome,  d not a lover of money.

Lovers Who Uncover Where do all the lovers meet with one another, In an effort to uncover what has happened to the silent days? Despite ones on the corner, dream of something warmer A semblance of our old ways, what has happened to our handmade days? Oh no Oh no Oh nooooooooo We can pull a map out detailing the direct route Young ones grow anxious to proclaim their advances to the fray If we don't wake up and the truth never comes up You will never have our old lane, you will never have a right of way Oh no [x8] Hey-oh! Oh no [x8] Hey-oh! Oh nooooooooo Where do all the lovers meet with one another, In an effort to uncover what has happened to the silent days? Despite ones on the corner, dream of something warmer A semblance of our old ways, what has happened to our handmade days? Oh no [x4] Hey! Oh no [x4] Hey-oh! Hey-oh! And won't you show us where your heart is?

Amalgamation with the other color, produces degradation to which no lover of his country, no lover of excellence in the human character, can innocently consent,” he wrote in 1814, after he had fathered several biracial children. Like so many men who spoke out against “amalgamation” in public, and who degraded Black or biracial women’s beauty in public, Jefferson hid his actual views in the privacy of his mind and bedroom.

When I have someone to express my sexuality with, I express it with gusto. I think new levels of gusto are in the offing, because I’m finally lying with the woman I was meant to be with.” She kissed her tenderly. “The one who holds my heart.” Shelby threw her arms around Jemma’s shoulders and held on tightly. “I loved you long before I knew what love meant. Now I’m sure. Of our love. Of you. Of us.” Jemma kissed her, tears showing once more. “Now I know heaven exists.” Another sweet kiss followed quickly. “I see it in your eyes.

...This wasn’t just Kylie. This was the woman she had chosen above every other person in the world. This woman was the most important person in her universe, and she was determined to show her how true that was.

...Pouring every bit of the emotion she felt into her kiss, Blair melted into her partner until she could feel own her knees weaken. “I love you so much. It… it frightens me, but I can’t hold back.” “It frightens you?” “Yes. More than I can tell.” “Don’t be frightened,” Kylie murmured. “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart. I swear!” “I know,” Blair said. “It’s not that… it’s… oh, I don’t know what it is. I’m just scared.” “Don’t let love frighten you. It’s freeing. Trust me.” “I do. I do trust you.” “That’s what love is,” Kylie said fervently. “It’s jumping out of a plane without a parachute, but knowing with every fiber of your being that you’re safe. Your lover will protect you. No matter what. It’s blind faith, Blair. Totally blind faith.” "I’ve never… ever felt this way before,” Blair said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so frightened, Kylie. Please, please don’t hurt me.” She held on to her lover with all of her might, sobbing so hard she felt sick. “I’ll always be there for you. I’ll catch you. I promise I’ll catch you.

When Kylie was ready, Blair went into her friend’s room and lay next to her on the bed. Blair started to thread her fingers through the doctor’s soft curls, speaking to her in a soothing voice. “It’s gonna be all right. Everything will work out. We’re gonna be one small, happy family.” She kept up her ministrations, until she felt Kylie’s body relax, and then slowed down and finally stopped. Kylie was sound asleep, and Blair couldn’t resist staying right where she was. She nestled her cheek against Kylie’s back, listening to her strong, sure heartbeat and the steady intake of breath. It’s gonna be so nice when I can sleep with her, she thought. Just lying here with her calms me down. She noticed that Mackenzie was unusually calm, too, and whispered, “Mama Kylie calms you down, too, doesn’t she, Mackenzie? All we have to do now is convince her that we’re gonna love her as much as she loves us.

Kylie and Nick went to the symphony the next night, and by the time she came home, Blair was sound asleep on the sofa. The doctor gently woke her and helped her to her feet. “But I wanna stay up and talk about being a lesbian,” Blair mumbled, her words sounding comical given her tousled hair and sleep-suffused voice. “We can talk about being lesbians tomorrow.” Kylie scratched the back of Blair’s neck, knowing that a good scratch was as effective as ether. By the time they reached the bedroom, Kylie merely had to urge her onto the bed and cover her with a quilt. “That’s my girl,” Kylie said.

Blair was home when Kylie arrived the next night, and as soon as the doctor walked into the house, Blair called out, “Get changed! I brought carryouts for dinner. We’re gonna spend the whole night talking about the dangerous world of lesbianism.” “I have a feeling that someone’s not taking my concerns very seriously,” Kylie said when she walked into the kitchen. Blair gave her a hug and said, “I take you and your concerns very seriously. But I’m confident that I’ve thought of the repercussions, and I know that once I convince you of that, we’re gonna be fine.” She gave her a dazzling smile and said, “Is it okay if I’m happy about that?” “I suppose so,” Kylie said, trying but failing to look aggrieved. She wrapped her arms around Blair and playfully tossed her back and forth. “You’re so darned cute that I can barely stand it!” “Oh, you haven’t seen half of it. Just you wait. I’ll confound you with cuteness.

Pluttr’s other massive draw is “pseudonymity mode.” The company maintains that people are the most authentic with their five closest friends - and with perfect strangers. The draw of strangers has forever fueled vast anonymous forums online. But anonymity also breeds awful behavior, one-off interactions rather than budding relationships, and endless lying about traits and backgrounds. So who really knows if you’re communing with a caring priest, a fellow AIDS sufferer, or a medical expert? Or an actual acquaintance of Person X? An employee of company Y? Or a fellow closeted gay person of an age, weight, and social background that attracts you? Well, Phluttr knows. And Phluttr can attest that this is a real, well-regarded person who authentically shares your affliction, secret, or curiosity without exposing actual identities (unless both sides request it). Wrap this up in NSA-grade encryption, and there’s no better place to buy sketchy substances, seek sketch advice, cheat on lovers, or cathartically confess to the above. Phluttr has now cornered the mark in id fulfillment, rumor spreading, and confidential gut spilling - and it’s just getting started.

Amalgamation with the other color, produces degradation to which no lover of his country, no lover of excellence in the human character, can innocently consent,” he wrote in 1814, after he had fathered several biracial children. Like

I climbed under the covers and shone the flashlight on Mason's gift: a roll of something or somethings, bound in string. I unfurled it to reveal an 8x10 black-and-white photograph. The girl in the picture was me. Me in the Mystery Machine, eyes locked with the eye of Mason's camera, mouth tilted in an incredulous smirk. It was the girl from the mirror, it was the girl from the wall in McGrath's tomb, it was the girl from the moon, as far away as that. A familiar girl with a faraway look in her eye. I'd know her anywhere; I didn't know her at all. Over her eyes Mason had outlined a pair of 3-D movie glasses–a nod to Weegee's 3-D-movie lovers, no doubt, although this girl–me, I– was alone, not locked in some passionate embrace. Underneath her/my face, Mason had taped a fortune cookie message: One who admires you greatlyis hidden before your eyes. God! He almost had me. So if I was the 3-D girl with hidden eyes, did he think I was his admirer? Oh, Mr. Mad Hatter, I thought. How fearfully wrong thou art.