We're all leaving now", Blue Eyes whispered to her. "Together. Out the front door. Scream, and we'll kill you here and now. "Or later", Willow suggested nervously. "Later would be a big improvement on that idea. We could meet back here in, say, an hour, and you can exhibit your homicidal tendencies then, okay? That would be way better for us.
He glanced nervously over his shoulder with a remarkable pair of codfish eyes. 'Like a 'orrid movie I saw once in Canarsie. Bunch o' lunks set off on a cruise to nowhere, just like this, and wot do you suppose they all was?' 'What?' 'Dead.' 'How?' 'Dead as mutton, only they didn't know it.
I also believe that few people remain completely untouched by the thought that instead of the life they lead there might also be another, where all actions proceed from a very personal state of excitement. Where actions have meanings, not just causes. And where a person, to use a trivial word, is happy, and not just nervously tormenting himself.
I liked the feeling of love,' [Jonas] confessed. He glanced nervously at the speaker on the wall, reassuring himself that no one was listening. 'I wish we still had that,' he whispered. 'Of course,' he added quickly, 'I do understand that it wouldn't work very well. And that it's much better to be organized the way we are now. I can see that it was a dangerous way to live.' ...'Still,' he said slowly, almost to himself, 'I did like the light they made. And the warmth.
I wish the world could better know this country for what it really is. Not just a greedy economic giant crouching fearfully behind its walls, not just a panoplied warrior nervously fingering his weapons. What is this, is a people who gather together in thousands to give a people's government its essential vitality.
Ed Koch will never 'rest in peace.' That was not his way. He was always nervously squirming, while making others squirm as well. Comfort was not his goal. He understood that to be a proud and assertive Jew meant never being able to leave a sigh of relief and say, 'It's over, we are at peace, we can now put down our guard and relax.'
The attention given to the side of the head which has received the injury, in connection with a specific reference to the side of the body nervously affected, is in itself evidence that in this case the ancient surgeon was already beginning observations on the localization of functions in the brain.
James Henry Breasted
Refusing to let her stealthy slip away, he firmly pulled her to him, unwilling to continue this dance any longer. Although she nervously tried to resist, he could feel the pounding of her heart, and the weakness in her arms. In a soft, charming voice, he challenged, "Would it be so horrible to end this waltz, and just kiss me?
I didn't want a completely passive viewer. Art means too much to me. To be able to articulate something visually is really an important thing. I wanted to make work where the viewer wouldn't walk away; he would giggle nervously, get pulled into history, into fiction, into something totally demeaning and possibly very beautiful
Amy adored both the new look and the new person it allowed her to be. Following the photo shoot, she wore her bruises to the dry cleaner and the grocery store. Most people nervously looked away, but on the rare occasions someone would ask what happened, my sister would smile as brightly as possible, saying, 'I'm in love. Can you believe it? I'm finally, totally in love, and I feel great.
What if we promoted, like, Adidas shoes?' Percy wondered. 'Would that make Nike mad enough to show up?" Leo smiled nervously. Maybe he and Percy did share something else - a stupid sense of humour. "Yeah, I bet that would totally be against her sponsorship deal. THOSE ARE NOT THE OFFICIAL SHOES OF THE OLYMPICS! YOU WILL DIE NOW!
The heel of Montgomery's boot tapped nervously against the floor, as if he knew he was a bad liar. 'I can't say how he'll take the news at first. He can be unpredictable, but in the end he'll be glad you came.' He leaned forward, blue eyes simmering. His boot tapped faster. 'I'm glad you came.
Leo smiled nervously. Maybe he and Percy did share something else - a stupid sense of humour. 'Yeah, I bet that would totally be against her sponsorship deal. THOSE ARE NOT THE OFFICIAL SHOES OF THE OLYMPICS! YOU WILL DIE NOW!' Hazel rolled her eyes. 'You're both impossible.' Behind Leo, a thunderous voice shook the ruins: 'YOU WILL DIE NOW!
But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. Er, Percy... ?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky.
But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. Er, Percy ...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky.
You remember?' he said incredulously. 'What could you possibly remember?' he asked, staring at her, waiting for the answer. The beauty from within her soul shined brightly through her loving eyes as she looked deep into Noah's now melting eyes. 'I remember - I love you, ' she said in a soft voice, nervously biting her lip.
The wind was against them now, and Piglet's ears streamed behind him like banners as he fought his way along, and it seemed hours before he got them into the shelter of the Hundred Acre Wood and they stood up straight again, to listen, a little nervously, to the roaring of the gale among the treetops. 'Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?' 'Supposing it didn't, ' said Pooh after careful thought.
Hello." The doctor speaks softly, nervously. Mr White doesn't respond, not even the slightest change of expression. Dr Archer has been thinking. Mulling it over in his head, endlessly, driving himself more insane he thinks than any unfortunate in his care, crazy with this longing. He is afraid of spiders, he watches the clouds, he held up two fingers; he is lucid. He came to me of his own free will; he shares these terrible feelings.
John T. Fuller
A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the way of swamping boats. In a ten-foot dinghy one can get an idea of the resources of the sea in the line of waves that is not probable to the average experience, which is never at sea in a dinghy.
You can read minds, and you didn't tell me?' Link stared at me like he just found out I was the Silver Surfer. He rubbed his head nervously. 'Hey, man, all that stuff about Lena? I was yankin' your chain.' He looked away. 'Are you doin' it now? You're doin' it, aren't you? Dude, get out of my head.' He backed away from me and into the bookshelf. 'I can't read your mind, you idiot.
I hear people say they're going to write. I ask, when? They give me vague statements. Indefinite plans get dubious results. When we're concrete about our writing time, it alleviates that thin constant feeling of anxiety that writers have - we're barbecuing hot dogs, riding a bike, sailing out in the bay, shopping for shoes, even helping a sick friend, but somewhere nervously at the periphery of our perception we know we belong somewhere else - at our desk!
And I thought, eight years ago, when I began carefully charting the progress of American Gods, nervously dipping my toes into the waters of blogging, would I have imagined a future in which, instead of recording the vicissitudes of bringing a book into the world, I would be writing about not-even-interestingly missing cups of cold camomile tea? And I thought, yup. Sounds about right. Happy Eighth birthday, blog.
And so, my beloved Kermit, my dear little Hussein, at the moment America changed forever, your father was wandering an ICBM-denuded watseland, nervously monitoring his radiation level, armed only with a baseball bat, a 10mm pistol, and six rounds of ammunition, in search of a vicious gang of mohawked marauders who were 100 percent bad news and totally had to be dealth with. Trust Daddy on this one.
I yanked hard on the reins, and my horse's hooves slid on the linoleum as he skidded to a stop, nervously snorting and tossing his head at the cramped quarters he'd suddenly found himself in. The Frontman stood in the hallway between me and Ben, holding him at gunpoint, but his head was turned to stare back at me, eyes wide with surprise at seeing a teenage girl on a horse in the kitchen.
Ever since the Reformation, the case of legislation confining Catholics had been constructed primarily to protect a nervously Protestant against what was assumed to be a fifth column in its midst... Ministers believedm with some justice, that Catholics retained an attachment to their exiled co-religionists, the princes of the House of Stuart. After the Battle of Culloden had confirmed Jacobitism's insignificance, however, government attitudes towards Catholicism began perceptibly and logically to relax.
For a time he read his Neil Diamond bible by the firelight. He paused, twisting nervously at his goatee, considering the law in Deuteronomy that forbade clothes with mixed fibers. A problematic bit of Scripture. A matter that required thought. "Only the devil wants man to have a wide range of lightweight and comfortable styles to choose from, " he murmured at last, trying out a new proverb. "Although there may be no forgiveness for polyester. On this matter, Satan and the Lord are in agreement.
I have a foreboding of an America in my children's or grandchildren's time ... when awesome technological powers are in the hands of a very few, and no one representing the public interest can even grasp the issues; when the people have lost the ability to set their own agendas or knowledgeably question those in authority; when clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what's true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstitions and darkness.
The imagination doesn't crop annually like a reliable fruit tree. The writer has to gather whatever's there: sometimes too much, sometimes too little, sometimes nothing at all. And in the years of glut there is always a slatted wooden tray in some cool, dark attic, which the writer nervously visits from time to time; and yes, oh dear, while he's been hard at work downstairs, up in the attic there are puckering skins, warning spots, a sudden brown collapse and the sprouting of snowflakes. What can he do about it?
Your hair," repeated Dimitri. His eyes were wide, almost awestruck. "Your hair is beautiful." I didn't think so, not in its current state. of course, considering we were in a dark alley filled with bodies, the choices were kind of limited. "You see? You're not one of them. Strigoi don't see beauty. Only death. You found something beautiful. One thing that's beautiful." Hesitantly, nervously, he ran his fingers along the strands I'd touched earlier. "But is it enough?" "It is for now." I pressed a kiss to his forehead and helped him stand. "It is for now.
Whoa," Connor Stoll said. "Back up. Zoom in right there." "What?" Annabeth said nervously. "You see invaders?" "No, right there""Dylan's Candy Bar." Connor grinned at his brother. "Dude, it's open. And everyone is asleep. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "Connor!" Katie Gardner scolded. She sounded like her mother, Demeter. "This is serious. You are not going to loot a candy store in the middle of a war!" "Sorry," Connor muttered, but he didn't sound very ashamed.
Briefly, the nymphaeum glowed with a softer light, like a full moon. Piper smelled exotic spices and blooming roses. She heard distant music and happy voices talking and laughing. She guessed she was hearing hundreds of years of parties and celebrations that had been held at this shrine in ancient times, as if the memories had been freed along with the spirits. 'What is that?' Jason asked nervously. Piper slipped her hand into his. 'The ghosts are dancing.
It's okay, " he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it." "No, " said Ron, "I shouldn't've -" "Forget it, " Harry said. Ron grinned nervously at him. and Harry grinned back. Hermoine burst into tears. "There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered. "You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.
There is a glimmer of metal that wavers between his thighs. He turns to face me. The balls of his large gauge nipple rings catch my eye as they glint in the light of the room. But, it is the tintinabular rings below that cause my eyes to descend to his shining metallic beacon of love. I feel my jaw slightly drop open and a small puff of air escapes over my lips. I am wildly transfixed. What is that? What will he do with it? I nervously wonder without a solution. He moves toward me with the sound of pockets full of change, and I know my life will never be the same.
Ahead in the distance we could see the main gate, but there was a sea of cars, none moving, people standing, milling around, waiting nervously, perhaps fearfully, as heavily armed MPs and military working dogs searched every square inch of every vehicle, searched every bag on every person, all the while keeping a vigilant eye on the long alley we were stuck in, and on the hundreds of rooftops that overlooked that alley, wary but aware that there were people out there who would gladly hurt us again if given the chance.
Do you think the Goblin King really did it?" asked Cordelia hesitantly. All the sheep knew she was talking about George's death. Mopple quickly pulled up a tuft of grass. "Or Satan?" added Lane. "Nonsense, " Rameses snorted nervously. "Satan would never do a thing like that." several of the sheep bleated in agreement. None of them thought Satan capable of such an act. Satan was an elderly donkey who sometimes grazed in the meadow next to theirs, and uttered blood-curdling cries. his voice was truly dreadful, but otherwise he'd always struck them as harmless.
Is this Clarissa Fray?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, though not immediately identifiable. Clary twirled the phone cord nervously around her finger. "Yeees?" "Hi, I'm one of the knife-carrying hooligans you met last night in Pandemonium? I"m afraid I made a bad impression and was hoping you'd give me a chance to make it up to-" "SIMON!" Clary held the phone away from her ear as he cracked up laughing. "That is so not funny!" "Sure it is. You just don't see the humor." "Jerk." Clary sighed, leaning up against the wall.
Dawn cackles as she guides me through the all-glass porch. Thinner, paler Reina shuffles about behind Dawn, watching as I slip my boots off. Although she tries to hide her hands, her fingers flicker nervously. I place my boots neatly on the floor of the porch beside the other pairs in the shadows under the coats. Music drifts through to us from a distant room - it's the Beach Boys' California Dreamin'. Dawn looks at me and I smile - they've put the record on for me. Dawn nods along happily. 'Hear you're a surfer boy!' she says and she mimics riding a wave.
Carla H. Krueger
Well, I would tell Danny. I'd probably edit for Josh. That is if there was anything worth editing. 'Joshua Roberts, you had better get your butt on the move!' Danny hollered as he walked down the stairs. I was nervously waiting for them to leave as I pretended to watch TV in the front room. 'We're going to be late.' 'So the hair crisis is under control I see.' 'A stray hair will never win between a bottle of gel and a gay man, ' he declared with a smile. 'Joshua!' 'I'm coming. I'm coming.' I heard his sandals click on the stairs and I waited to see if the mental image matched the real one. To my non surprise it did.
Though I'm not sure, I thought I saw women dressed in black, with her head and face covered by a black veil, duck behind a tree as we approached the road and parked car. Hiding so we wouldn't see her. But I caught a glimpse, enough to reveal the rope of lustrous pearls she wore. Pearls that were there for a thin white hand to lift and nervously, out of long habit, twist and untwist into a knot. Only one women I knew did that-and she was the perfect one to wear black, and should run to hide! Forever hide! Color all her days black! Every last one!
Forgive me, madam, " he said lightly, amused, "but waiting to make love to you again is straining my nerves." She scoffed but she was quite shaken; he could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her pelisse. "How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you." "You will, " he insisted soothingly. She gaped at him. "Please continue, " he urged. "I'm aching to hear the rest." "You're as arrogant as usual." "You missed it, though." "I absolutely did not, " she asserted. He grinned. "You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one." "That's absurd." "I love you, Caroline, " he softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with such tenderness. "Move on before I decide I'm finished with this conversation, rip off your clothes, and show you how much.
Each action we take is an act of self-expression. We often think of large-scale or important deeds as being indications of our real selves, but even how we sharpen a pencil can reveal something about our feelings at that moment. Do we sharpen the pencil carefully or nervously so that it doesn't break? Do we bother to pay attention to what we're doing? How do we sharpen the same pencil when we're angry or in a hurry? Is it the same as when we're calm or unhurried? Even the smallest movement discloses something about the person executing the action because it is the person who's actually performing the deed. In other words, action doesn't happen by itself, we make it happen, and in doing so we leave traces of ourselves on the activity. The mind and body are interrelated.
What would you do if you saw something nobody else could see?' The tape gun fell out of Luke's hand, and hit the tiled hearth. He knelt to pick it up, not looking at her. 'You mean if I were the only witness to a crime, that sort of thing?' 'No. I mean, if there were other people around, but you were the only one who could see something. As if it were invisible to everyone but you.' He hesitated, still kneeling, the dented tape gun gripped in his hand. 'I know it sounds crazy, ' Clary ventured nervously, 'but... ' He turned around. His eyes, very blue behind the glasses, rested on her with a look of firm affection. 'Clary, you're an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don't. It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy-just different. There's nothing wrong with being different.
Miss Millick wondered just what had happened to Mr. Wran. He kept making the strangest remarks when she took dictation. Just this morning he had quickly turned around and asked, "Have you ever seen a ghost, Miss Millick?" And she had tittered nervously and replied, "When I was a girl there was a thing in white that used to come out of the closet in the attic bedroom when you slept there, and moan. Of course it was just my imagination. I was frightened of lots of things." And he had said, "I don't mean that traditional kind of ghost. I mean a ghost from the world today, with the soot of the factories in its face and the pounding of machinery in its soul. The kind that would haunt coal yards and slip around at night through deserted office buildings like this one. A real ghost. Not something out of books." And she hadn't known what to say. ("Smoke Ghost")
His eyes darkened in frustration. "I'm tired of waiting, Thalia. I'm not a patient person. You have to know." "What do you mean, Keal? You know I like Joss." I tried to move away again, but his hands on either side of me pinned me in. Keal's determination scared me. "You know what we share is infinitely more powerful than... that. And you feel this between us, too, " he growled. "You melt when I kiss you. You watch me when you think I'm unaware. You can't sleep unless I'm near. Tell me none of that is true." I swallowed nervously and licked my lips. "No, that's all true." "I promised your father I'd give you time, but I'm tired of waiting. Tired of watching Joss try and win your heart from me." "Keal, I don't understand. Ho is joss keeping you from me, when you and I don't think of one another that way? "Don't think-Thalia! You and I are lifemates.
There are times when I long to sweep away half the things I am expected to learn; for the overtaxed mind cannot enjoy the treasure it has secured at the greatest cost... When one reads hurriedly and nervously, having in mind written tests and examinations, one's brain becomes encumbered with a lot of bric-a-brac for which there seems to be little use. At the present time my mind is so full of heterogeneous matter that I almost despair of ever being able to put it in order. Whenever I enter the region of my mind I feel like the proverbial bull in the china shop. A thousand odds and ends of knowledge come crashing about my head like hailstones, and when I try to escape them, theme goblins and college nixies of all sorts pursue me, until I wish - oh, may I be forgiven the wicked wish! - that I might smash the idols I came to worship.
So deep is the conflict, I believe I cannot breathe for all the doubt, guilt and sorrow my sister is pushing into me as her hand presses harder upon my sore breastplate and her fingers nervously twist the rusted clasp I remember so well. She is listening to the expert medic as he mutters excuses for not knowing what's happening. She knows not what she does to me, knows not what she did. She cries into tissues my mother hands her, yet the sound of her sadness almost seems weak. I doubted her in life at times. She waged a constant battle - and, to survive it, I waged mine. Each young body tiring the other for no reason but the chance to win a pointless game - a game I told her was not necessary many times. She saw me as a competitor and wanted everything I wanted, had to have everything I had. She saw me as a threat - my own sister - and that always hurt.
Carla H. Krueger
Tame him? You can't tame a Tower rat-they're flea-bitten and vicious." "So are most men!" The girl smiled and stretched her cramped limbs. "Shall I tame one of them instead? They too make diverting pets, you know." Markham laughed nervously. "Wouldn't you rather have a dog, madam?" "Ah no-too loyal! They present no challenge." Behind the girl's steady eyes a shadow stirred. "My mother had a dog once. She used to make it jump through a burning hoop to prove its devotion to her, until she found my father did it better. He jumped through that hoop for over six years. When he finally got tired of performing for her amusement he killed her. And that's what makes men such interesting pets, Markham-you never know when they're going to turn and bite.
Auri grew serious. 'Now close your eyes and bend down so I can give you your second present.' Puzzled, I closed my eyes and bent at the waist, wondering if she had made me a hat as well. I felt her hands on either side of my face, then she gave me a tiny, delicate kiss in the middle of my forehead. Surprised, I opened my eyes. But she was already standing several steps away, her hands clasped nervously behind her back. I couldn't think of anything to say. Auri took a step forward. 'You are special to me, ' she said seriously, her face grave. 'I want you to know I will always take care of you.' She reached out tentatively and wiped at my cheeks. 'No. None of that tonight. This is your third present. If things are bad, you can come and stay with me in the Underthing. It is nice there, and you will be safe.' 'Thank you, Auri, ' I said as soon as I was able. 'You are special to me, too.' 'Of course I am, ' she said matter-of-factly. 'I am as lovely as the moon.
1. So, disturbed kids are taking guns to school and killing teachers and classmates. We better make sure kids can't get guns. 2. So, disturbed kids are taking guns to school and killing teachers and classmates. We better find out what's making these kids want to kill, fix that, and then they won't want to use guns to kill teachers and classmates. See what I did there? Which statement makes more sense? Don't bring up politics. Don't refer to statistical data. Don't nervously look at your cell phone. Just read the two statements and be honest with yourself. We can do better. We're smarter than this. WAKE UP.
Aaron B. Powell
Tiffany got up early and lit the fires. When her mother came down, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor, very hard. 'Er... aren't you supposed to do that sort of thing by magic, dear?' said her mother, who'd never really got the hang of what witchcraft was all about. 'No, Mum, I'm supposed not to, ' said Tiffany, still scrubbing. 'But can't you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?' 'The trouble is getting the magic to understand what dirt is, ' said Tiffany, scrubbing hard at a stain. 'I heard of a witch over in Escrow who got it wrong and ended up losing the entire floor and her sandals and nearly a toe.' Mrs. Aching backed away. 'I thought you just had to wave your hands about, ' she mumbled nervously. 'That works, ' said Tiffany, 'but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush.
I have a foreboding of an America in my children's or grandchildren's time - when the United States is a service and information economy; when nearly all the manufacturing industries have slipped away to other countries; when awesome technological powers are in the hands of a very few, and no one representing the public interest can even grasp the issues; when the people have lost the ability to set their own agendas or knowledgeably question those in authority; when, clutching our crystals and nervously consulting our horoscopes, our critical faculties in decline, unable to distinguish between what feels good and what's true, we slide, almost without noticing, back into superstition and darkness... The dumbing down of American is most evident in the slow decay of substantive content in the enormously influential media, the 30 second sound bites (now down to 10 seconds or less), lowest common denominator programming, credulous presentations on pseudoscience and superstition, but especially a kind of celebration of ignorance
Grover Underwood of the satyrs!" Dionysus called. Grover came forward nervously. "Oh, stop chewing your shirt, " Dionysus chided. "Honestly, I'm not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah, and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven Elders." Grover collapsed on the spot. "Oh, wonderful, " Dionysus sighed, as several naiads came forward to help Grover. "Well, when he wakes up, someone tell him that he will no longer be an outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and honors, blah, blah, blah. Now please, drag him off before he wakes up and starts groveling." "FOOOOOD, " Grover moaned, as the nature spirits carried him away. I figured he'd be okay. He would wake up as a lord of the Wild with a bunch of beautiful naiads taking care of him. Life could be worse.
Amy: Oh, typical bloke. Straight to fixing his motor. The Doctor: Well, that's the thing, Amy. I am not a typical bloke. Amy: Sorry, did I do something wrong? 'Cause I'm getting kind of mixed signals here! The Doctor: Mixed signals? How? Amy: Oh, come on. You turn up in the middle of the night, get me out of my bed in my nightie, which you then don't let me change out of for ages, and take me for a spin in your time machine? No, no, you're right, no mixed signals there. That is just a signal! Like a great, big Bat-signal in the sky. "Get your coat, love, the Doctor is in." The Doctor:... No! No! Nonononononono, it's... not like that. That's not what I'm like! Amy: Then what are you like? The Doctor: I dunno, Gandalf. Like a space Gandalf. Or that little green guy in Star Wars... [spins around, making a lightsaber sound effect] Amy: [stifles a chuckle] You really are not. You. Are. A bloke. The Doctor: I'm the Doctor. Amy: Every room you walk into, you laugh at all the men and show off to all the girls. The Doctor: Do not. Amy: What about Rory? [the Doctor snort-laughs, gesturing toward his nose] You laughed! The Doctor: No, that was just an involuntary snort... of... fondness! Amy: You are a bloke and you don't know it. [puts her arms around him] And here I am to help. The Doctor: [pushing her away] That is not why you're here. Amy: Then why am I here? The Doctor: Because! [lowers his voice] Because I can't see it anymore. Amy: See what? The Doctor: I'm 907. After a while... you just can't see it! Amy: See what? The Doctor: Everything! I look at a star and it's just a big ball of burning gas and I know how it began and I know how it ends and I was probably there both times. After a while, everything is just stuff! That's the problem. You make all of space and time your backyard and what do you have? A backyard. But you, you can see it. And when you see it, I see it. Amy: And that's the only reason you took me with you? The Doctor: There are worse reasons. Amy: [snorts] I was certainly hoping so. [pause] Does that mean I'm not the first, then? There've been others travelling with you? The Doctor: [chuckles nervously] Yeah, sure. Loads of 'em, but just friends. You know, chums, pals, mates, buddies-not mates, forget mates. Amy: And out of all those friends, how many would you say, just out of curiosity, were girls? The Doctor: [getting increasingly uncomfortable] Oh... some of them, I suppose. Must have been. Amy: "Some?" The Doctor: It's hard to tell. It's a grey area. Amy: Under half, over half? The Doctor: Probably... slightly... a little bit over? Amy: Hmm. Young? The Doctor: Everyone's young, compared to me. Amy: [chuckles] Hot? The Doctor: No, no no no no no no, none of them. Not really. Not at all. Probably not... [scratches his cheek nervously]... maybe one or two. I didn't really notice. Amy: Well, this big ol' machine must have some kind of visual records. The Doctor: Oh, god, I mean no-and anyway, they're voice-locked! Amy: [laughs] Oh, voice-locked. So I'd just have to say... "Show me all visual records of previous TARDIS inhabitants?" The Doctor: No, nonono, I mean voice-locked. I would have to say, "Show me all visual records of previous TARDIS inhabitants." Amy: Awww. Thank you. The Doctor: No, no! No! No! [The TARDIS makes some noises as pictures of past female companions flip by on the viewscreen] Amy: Ha-ha! Ooh, Gandalf! The Doctor: [to the TARDIS] Thanks. Thanks, dear. Miss out the metal dog, why don't you? Amy: Is that a leather bikini? [pictures of Leela start to flip by] The Doctor: Right! That's it. Rory. We're going to find Rory, and we're gonna find him now! Amy: He's at his stag night. The Doctor: Well, then. Let's make it a great one.
Students of public speaking continually ask, "How can I overcome self-consciousness and the fear that paralyzes me before an audience?" Did you ever notice in looking from a train window that some horses feed near the track and never even pause to look up at the thundering cars, while just ahead at the next railroad crossing a farmer's wife will be nervously trying to quiet her scared horse as the train goes by? How would you cure a horse that is afraid of cars-graze him in a back-woods lot where he would never see steam-engines or automobiles, or drive or pasture him where he would frequently see the machines? Apply horse-sense to ridding yourself of self-consciousness and fear: face an audience as frequently as you can, and you will soon stop shying. You can never attain freedom from stage-fright by reading a treatise. A book may give you excellent suggestions on how best to conduct yourself in the water, but sooner or later you must get wet, perhaps even strangle and be "half scared to death." There are a great many "wetless" bathing suits worn at the seashore, but no one ever learns to swim in them. To plunge is the only way.
THE MYTH OF THE GOOD OL BOY AND THE NICE GAL The good of boy myth and the nice gal are a kind of social conformity myth. They create a real paradox when put together with the "rugged individual" part of the Success Myth. How can I be a rugged individual, be my own man and conform at the same time? Conforming means "Don't make a wave", "Don't rock the boat". Be a nice gal or a good ol' boy. This means that we have to pretend a lot. "We are taught to be nice and polite. We are taught that these behaviors (most often lies) are better than telling the truth. Our churches, schools, and politics are rampant with teaching dishonesty (saying things we don't mean and pretending to feel ways we don't feel). We smile when we feel sad; laugh nervously when dealing with grief; laugh at jokes we don't think are funny; tell people things to be polite that we surely don't mean." - Bradshaw On: The Family
Waldo inhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling. It was at times like this that he was at his worst. His mind, while indecisive, was also capable of producing the most detailed, fantastic daydreams imaginable, and with the mysterious disappearance of his grandfather as fodder, his speculations grew even more intense and far-fetched than usual. On the other hand, the logical part of his brain, underdeveloped as it was, went almost entirely untapped in such a situation. Waldo was literally frozen into inaction by his chemical makeup, and this was apparent in the number of cigarettes he lit, the number of sighs he expelled, and the number of times his helpless fingers alternated between nervously tapping the coffee table and running through his unkempt hair. All that night, Waldo remained awake, deep in unproductive thought, routinely walking back and forth from the living room to the front porch, where he would take a seat in the old-fashioned swing and smoke heavily. The blissful suburban setting, especially on spring nights like this, when the crickets chirped so lustily, and the porch swing creaked so reassuringly in the warm breeze, was perfect for conjuring up bold new fantasies.
here is little Effie's head whose brains are made of gingerbread when the judgment day comes God will find six crumbs stooping by the coffinlid waiting for something to rise as the other somethings did- you imagine His surprise bellowing through the general noise Where is Effie who was dead? -to God in a tiny voice, i am may the first crumb said whereupon its fellow five crumbs chuckled as if they were alive and number two took up the song, might i'm called and did no wrong cried the third crumb, i am should and this is my little sister could with our big brother who is would don't punish us for we were good; and the last crumb with some shame whispered unto God, my name is must and with the others i've been Effie who isn't alive just imagine it I say God amid a monstrous din watch your step and follow me stooping by Effie's little, in (want a match or can you see?) which the six subjunctive crumbs twitch like mutilated thumbs: picture His peering biggest whey coloured face on which a frown puzzles, but I know the way- (nervously Whose eyes approve the blessed while His ears are crammed with the strenuous music of the innumerable capering damned) -staring wildly up and down the here we are now judgment day cross the threshold have no dread lift the sheet back in this way. here is little Effie's head whose brains are made of gingerbread
What are you doing?' Alecto asked in surprise, stepping back. Laughing brightly, she dragged him towards the greenhouse, the shattered glass reflecting rainbows as brilliant as a million Kodak flashcubes, glittering as they were cascaded through the breeze. 'See, don't be afraid of the glass, it can't hurt us, ' Mandy laughed, spectacularly eccentric, her eyes reflecting the fallen glass. 'I wasn't afraid of the glass, but this isn't a very secluded place that you just decided to vandalize, ' Alecto cautioned, smiling despite his words. Before Mandy could reply, she heard loud whispering in the air, behind the trees... it sounded like a group of people, all whispering in unison... 'Somebody's out there, ' she exclaimed nervously. 'Yeah, you're right, ' Alecto replied. Suddenly a sharp new vibrancy seemed to fill his eyes and he smiled coldly, taking the tree branch from Mandy and rapidly smashing in all of Mrs. Matthias' stained glass house windows with it. Blue, green, yellow, red, turquoise, purple and an array of other colors showered through the sky noisily, sounding like wind chimes and crashing waves. 'They'll go away, ' he told her, glancing up at the sky. '... Alecto, do you like me?' Mandy questioned, holding out her arms like a lopsided scarecrow as the glass fell through her dark red hair. 'Yeah, sure, ' he answered. 'Will you be my friend, then? A real friend, not just another person who feels sorry for me?' Mandy asked. '... Alright, Mandy Valems, ' Alecto agreed.
What's the big idea?" Sabrina demanded. "I declared war on you, remember?" Puck said. Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Is this another one of your stupid pranks?" Puck sniffed. "You have contaminated me with your puberty virus and you called my villainy into question." "First of all, puberty isn't a virus, " Sabrina said as she fought a tug of was with the Pegasus for her now rather damp pillow."Secondly, I'm sorry if I gave you the itty-bitty baby and boo-boo face. Do you wasnt me to give you a hug?" Puck curled his lip in anger. "Oh, now is the baby cranky. Perhaps we should put him down for a nap?" "We'll see who's laughing soon enough, " Puck said. "You see these flying horses?" "Duh!" "These horses have a very special diet, " Puck said. "For the last two days they have eaten nothing but chili dogs and prune juice." Sabrina heard a rumble coming from Puck's horse. It was so loud it drowned out the sound of its beating wings. Sabrina couldn't tell if the churn of the sound was worse for the Pegasus but it whined a bit and its eyes bulged nervously. Puck continued. "Now, chili dogs and prune juice are a hard combination on a person's belly. It can keep a human being on the toilet for a week. Imagine what would happen if I fed chili dogs and prune juice to an eight-hundred-and-fifty-pound flying horse. Oh, wait a minute! You don't have to imagine it. I did feed chili dogs and prune juice to an eight-hundred-and-fifty-pound flying horse. In fact, I fed them all the same thing!
I am an urchin, standing in the cold, elbowed aside by the glossy rich visitors in their fur coats and ostentatious jewellery, being fussed into the hotel by pompous-looking doormen. 'No problem. I'd better get home, actually Mr - Gustav. A drink is very tempting, but maybe not such a good idea after all.' I pat my pockets. 'And I'm skint.' 'Pavements not paved with gold yet, eh?' He moves on along the facade of the grand hotel to the corner, and waits. He's staring not back at me but down St James Street. I wage a little war with myself. He's a stranger, remember. The newspaper headlines, exaggerated by the time they reach the office of Jake's local rag: Country girl from the sticks raped and murdered in London by suave conman. Even Poppy would be wagging her metaphorical finger at me by now. Blaming herself for not being there, looking out for me. But we're out in public here. Lots of people around us. He's charming. He's incredibly attractive. He's got a lovely deep, well spoken voice. And he's an entrepreneur who must be bloody rich if he owns more than one house. What the hell else am I going to do with myself when everyone else is out having fun? One thing I won't tell him is that my pockets might be empty, but my bank account is full. 'One drink. Then I must get back.' He doesn't answer or protest, but with a courtly bow he crooks his elbow and escorts me down St James. We turn right and into the far more subtle splendour of Dukes Hotel. 'Dress code?' I ask nervously, wiping my feet obediently on the huge but welcoming doormat and drifting ahead of him into the smart interior where domed and glassed corridors lead here and there. The foyer smells of mulled wine and candles and entices you to succumb to its perfumed embrace.
Suddenly, the man was thrown off her. Darcy looked around, but saw nothing. She rose up on her elbows to see the man climbing to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. His four comrades were looking up to the sky nervously. A huge, dark shape descended from the sky, vanishing quickly. Along with one of her attackers. Darcy was afraid to move and be taken as well. She remained still, her chest heaving. Another shape formed out of the dark sky. She could only stare openmouthed at the dragon coming right for her. Just before he touched down, the dragon shifted, taking the form of a man-a man that left her breathless and awestruck. There was no denying she was looking at a Dragon King. He stood naked, his hands at his sides while his gaze was riveted on the men who accosted her. The shadows kept much of him out of sight, but the streetlamps shed enough light of the hard sinew of his body that she wanted to see more. His lips peeled back in a snarl as he fought the four remaining men. He moved quickly, as if it were as effortless as breathing. The men began to throw huge bubbles of magic at the Dragon King. He dodged many of them. The few that hit him barely made an impact other than to infuriate him, if his bared teeth were any indication. The man-or whatever he was-who had stopped her in the pub was struck down with lethal force by the Dragon King. Darcy almost cheered, but it got lodged in her throat when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Had she not turned right then, Darcy would never have seen the second dragon swoop from the sky and wrap its talons around another of the men before flying away, crushing him. That left just two of her attackers. They and the Dragon King circled each other on the street. 'She's ours, ' one of the red-eyed men said. The Dragon King merely raised a brow. 'Think again, Dark.' More globes of magic flew from the two Dark, but the Dragon King was too fast. He came up behind one of the Dark and ripped out his spinal column. The same instant the dragon grabbed the other. Both Dark fell lifeless to the ground a moment later. Darcy hadn't moved a muscle in the few minutes that had passed. The need that had assaulted her earlier with the Dark was now gone. But she wasn't alone. The Dragon King's gaze turned to her. Darcy watched him standing in the glow of the streetlight, completely mesmerized by the dragon tat that ran from the King's right shoulder, under his armpit, and down his side to the top of his right thigh. The dragon's head was at the front of the man's shoulder and had his mouth open as if on a roar. He was rearing with his wings up and out. It was his long tail that stopped at the King's thigh. The King glistened with sweat that made his muscles gleam in the light. Darcy had the absurd notion to run her hands all over his body, learning the feel of his hard muscles and warm skin. Her gaze traveled down his wide chest to his washboard stomach and narrow waist. Then lower...