Can I tell you something? It wasn't so bad. Not so bad at all right then, me scowling at the dirt, James in his bed, the way it always always was. Look, if that's all that happened, if his dying just meant that I would be waiting for him to say something instead of listening to him say something, it would have been fine.
Finally, Dageus finished, and she heard Gwen and Chloe say simultaneously, breathlessly, "Oh, my God." Gabby opened her eyes. Drustan had risen to his feet and was scowling, an expression mirrored by his twin. Both were glaring at Adam-whom they obviously could now see. Then at their wives, then back at Adam.
Karen Marie Moning
But I too hate long books: the better, the worse. If they're bad they merely make me pant with the effort of holding them up for a few minutes. But if they're good, I turn into a social moron for days, refusing to go out of my room, scowling and growling at interruptions, ignoring weddings and funerals, and making enemies out of friends. I still bear the scars of Middlemarch.
To hold happiness is to hold the understanding that the world passes away from us, that the petals fall and the beloved dies. No amount of mockery, no amount of fashionable scowling will keep any of us from knowing and savoring the pleasure of the sun on our faces or save us from the adult understanding that it cannot last forever.
If you get stuck, get away from your desk. Take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie, draw, listen to music, meditate, exercise; whatever you do, don't just stick there scowling at the problem. But don't make telephone calls or go to a party; if you do, other people's words will pour in where your lost words should be.
Look, ' said Cyrus, raising his knife again and pointing it at her. 'Give me one reason why we shouldn't kill your boyfriend over there. Come on. The dark scowling face is reason enough in my book.' She could have sworn she heard the sound of Lucas's eyes narrowing to slits. 'Come on, just one reason, ' Cyrus repeated, 'and it better not include the words love, eternal or soul.
In the final scene of Power, the Supreme Court justices appear as a striking abstraction: Nine scowling masks line up in a row on top of a giant podium. Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes speaks the majority opinion: 'Water power, the right to convert it into electric energy, and the electric energy thus produced constitute property belonging to the United States.
He's a love-'em-and-leave-'em kind of guy. And though he's not a Lord, he does have a curse hanging over his head. I have the book to prove it.' William growled low in his throat. 'Anya! Must you share my secrets with everyone?' He flattened his palms on the arms of his chair. 'Fine. If you can spill, I can, too. Anya's the reason the Titanic sank. She was playing chicken with the icebergs.' Scowling, Anya anchored her hands on her hips. 'William had a bronze made of his penis and placed it on his mantel.
You know, " Cecily said, "you really didn't have to throw that man through the window." "He wasn't a man, " Gabriel said, scowling. "He was an Unseelie Court faerie. One of the nasty ones." "Is that why you chased him down the street?" "He had no business showing images like that to a lady, " Gabriel muttered, though it had to be admitted that the lady in question had hardly turned a hair, and seemed more annoyed with Gabriel for his reaction than impressed by his chivalry. "And I do think it was excessive to hurl him into the canal." "He'll float." The corners of Cecily's mouth twitched. "It was very wrong.
Something's different, ' Carlos continued. 'Tonight you came in with no scowling or growling. Why the change?' Robby shrugged one shoulder. 'I'm trying to convince you I'm no' crazy. If I kept doing the same thing when it wasna working, would that no' be crazy?' 'Good point.' Carlos rinsed the bowl and placed it in the dishwasher. 'So you're trying a new strategy tonight.' Robby removed the bottled blood from the microwave and filled a glass. 'Tonight I saw an angel.' Carlos's eyes widened. 'And you're still trying to convince me you're not crazy?
I played God today And it was fun! I made animals that men had never seen So they would stop and scratch their heads Instead of scowling. I made words that men had never heard So they would stop and stare at me Instead of running. And I made love that laughed So men would giggle like children Instead of sighing. Tomorrow, perhaps, I won't be God And you will know it Because you won't see any three-headed cats Or bushes with bells on... I wish I could always play God So that lonely men could laugh!
Really, awfully, terribly, I had a sudden attack of hiccups. I was staring at the Doctor, murderously angry with him. And hiccuping... 'That's it. I'm going down there. I'm offering myself to them instead. If you're too much of a coward.' The Doctor winced at that last word. I hiccuped again. 'Amy Pond, ' he said. 'Try holding your breath.' 'I will not hold my breath! This is important! Rory is having his mind vacuumed and we're just standing here-' 'Hiccuping.' 'Yes.' We stood, glaring at each other. I hiccuped again. 'Seriously, ' said the Doctor, patiently. 'I know it's not the best time, but really, try holding your breath.' I stood there. Hiccuping and scowling at him.
Do you need help with anything?" he asked with a wicked arched brow. "Maybe with cookies for Santa." Scowling because no one was here but us, I said, "You're a bit late for that. Santa already came." He hadn't moved, but I knew better than to think he would. Flynn was a pro at filling the bubble air space that was meant to be private and personal. "And were you a good girl?" he asked. Awkwardly folding my arms over my chest, I said, "Not sure, I haven't checked. But you needn't look. We all know you are all bad." Laughing, he said, "Yeah, well, there are other things worth unwrapping." Grinding my teeth, I asked, "What, you didn't get your Ho, Ho, Ho, last night?" Tossing back another full belly laugh, he said, "You know you're kind of funny when you want to be.
John rose to his feet and apologized to Holiday. Her mom seethed. Her dad tried to talk to her seething mom. Holiday tried to touch everyone. Burnett continued to glare green daggers at John, proving how hard it was for a vampire to accept an apology. Not that she blamed him. Kill him. Kill him. She cheered the vampire on. Lucas hadn't stopped scowling at Derek and Derek hadn't stopped ignoring Lucas.
Lay your life down. Your heartbeats cannot be hoarded. Your reservoir of breaths is draining away. You have hands, blister them while you can. You have bones, make them strain-they can carry nothing in the grave. You have lungs, let them spill with laughter. With an average life expectancy of 78.2 years in the US (subtracting eight hours a day for sleep), I have around 250, 00 conscious hours remaining to me in which I could be smiling or scowling, rejoicing in my life, in this race, in this story, or moaning and complaining about my troubles. I can be giving my fingers, my back, my mind, my words, my breaths, to my wife and my children and my neighbors, or I can grasp after the vapor and the vanity for myself, dragging my feet, afraid to die and therefore afraid to live. And, like Adam, I will still die in the end.
I like words. I like fat buttery words, such as ooze, turpitude, glutinous, toady. I like solemn, angular, creaky words, such as straitlaced, cantankerous, pecunious, valedictory. I like spurious, black-is-white words, such as mortician, liquidate, tonsorial, demi-monde. I like suave 'V' words, such as Svengali, svelte, bravura, verve. I like crunchy, brittle, crackly words, such as splinter, grapple, jostle, crusty. I like sullen, crabbed, scowling words, such as skulk, glower, scabby, churl. I like Oh-Heavens, my-gracious, land's-sake words, such as tricksy, tucker, genteel, horrid. I like elegant, flowery words, such as estivate, peregrinate, elysium, halcyon. I like wormy, squirmy, mealy words, such as crawl, blubber, squeal, drip. I like sniggly, chuckling words, such as cowlick, gurgle, bubble and burp.
Where are we heading?' 'The closest wooded area to here is Kenwood Academy's estate. Good place to hide, especially at night.' 'If we're going into the woods, I definitely need to change.' I glanced back at her as we returned to the curb where the cab had dropped us off. 'Or you could just go home.' She crossed her arms and avoided my gaze, scowling. 'You're sick of me already? That must be a record.' I lifted my eyes to the heavens. Women. 'This creature tore out a woman's throat and busted her chest cavity open like a pie±ata. I don't like the thought of it being anywhere near you.' 'Did it ever occur to you that I feel the same way?' Surprise flooded over me. 'No, it... actually didn't.' 'I know I'm not as strong or as smart as you are, but that doesn't mean I can't help. We're partners, aren't we?' 'Yeah, ' I said, and couldn't stop the smile creeping across my lips. 'I guess we are.' She tossed a quick look at me and frowned. 'Quit it.' 'What?' 'I hate it when you do that.' 'You hate it when I smile?' 'No, when you make that, 'aw, she does have a heart' face. You look like a Disney prince.' I laughed. 'My bad. I'll work on that.
Okay, " Christian said with a great show at maintaining his patience. "So you can't dance. But you could at least talk to the woman." Julius frowned and avoided his gaze. "I am talking." "You aren't, " Christian insisted. "You haven't said more than a handful of words." Scowling, he admitted, "I'm practicing in my head." Christian blinked at this. "Practicing?" "Well, you don't just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, " Julius said with exasperation. "I have to approach this carefully, so I'm practicing." "In your head?" Christian clarified. "Yes." Julius nodded. "In my head." "Right... Good, good, " he nodded, and then said "but you know what would be even better?" Julius raised his eyebrows with interest. "What?" "Talking to her OUT LOUD!" Christian snapped. "Jesus Christ, Father, you're as old as the earth. You run a huge corporation, dealing with people-even women-day in day out. Surely you can string a couple of words together and manage a little conversation with the woman?
Suddenly William loomed over him, scowling, snarling and bloody, his suit dirt-stained and ripped. 'Do you know. How many strands. Of hair I lost. On my way down?' Whatever. 'Math was never my thing, but I'm gonna say you lost... a lot.' Electric-blues glittered with menace. 'You are a cruel, sadistic bastard. My hair needs TLC and you... you... Damn you! I've gutted men for less.' 'I know. I've watched you.' Paris lumbered to his feet and scanned the rocky bank they stood upon, the crimson ocean lapping and bubbling in every direction. The drawbridge was only a fifty-yard dash away. 'Don't kill the messenger, but I'm thinking you should change your dating profile to balding.' Masculine cheeks went scarlet as the big bad warrior struggled for a comeback... 'One of these days you're going to wake up, ' William finally said, 'and I will have shaved you. Everywhere.' 'Won't make a difference. Women will still want me. But you know what else? What I did to you wasn't cruel, Willy.' He offered the warrior a white-flag grin. A trick. A lie. 'This, however, is.' He grabbed William by the wrist, swung the man around and around before at last releasing him and hurling his body directly onto the bridge.
I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.' I grin at Taylor, who flushes. 'That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele, ' Taylor says matter-of-factly. 'I thought so, too.' Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. 'If you two have quite finished, I'd like a debrief.' He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I have overstepped the mark. 'Sorry, ' I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian. 'I'll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele, ' Christian says to Taylor, and I know I'm in trouble. Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door. 'Don't flirt with the staff, Anastasia, ' he scolds. I open my mouth to defend myself-then close it again, then open it. 'I wasn't flirting. I was being friendly-there is a difference.' 'Don't be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don't like it.' Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. 'I'm sorry, ' I mutter and stare down at my fingers. He hasn't made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes. 'You know how jealous I am, ' he whispers. 'You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.
Water everywhere, falling in thundering cataracts, singular drops, and draping sheets. Kellhus paused next to one of the shining braziers, peered beneath the bronze visage that loomed orange and scowling over his father, watched him lean back into absolute shadow. 'You came to the world, ' unseen lips said, 'and you saw that Men were like children.' Lines of radiance danced across the intervening waters. 'It is their nature to believe as their fathers believed, ' the darkness continued. 'To desire as they desired ... Men are like wax poured into moulds: their souls are cast by their circumstances. Why are no Fanim children born to Inrithi parents? Why are no Inrithi children born to Fanim parents? Because these truths are made, cast by the particularities of circumstance. Rear an infant among Fanim and he will become Fanim. Rear him among Inrithi and he will become Inrithi ... 'Split him in two, and he would murder himself.' Without warning, the face re-emerged, water-garbled, white save the black sockets beneath his brow. The action seemed random, as though his father merely changed posture to relieve some vagrant ache, but it was not. Everything, Kellhus knew, had been premeditated. For all the changes wrought by thirty years in the Wilderness, his father remained De»nyain ... Which meant that Kellhus stood on conditioned ground. 'But as obvious as this is, ' the blurred face continued, 'it escapes them. Because they cannot see what comes before them, they assume nothing comes before them. Nothing. They are numb to the hammers of circumstance, blind to their conditioning. What is branded into them, they think freely chosen. So they thoughtlessly cleave to their intuitions, and curse those who dare question. They make ignorance their foundation. They confuse their narrow conditioning for absolute truth.' He raised a cloth, pressed it into the pits of his eyes. When he withdrew it, two rose-coloured stains marked the pale fabric. The face slipped back into the impenetrable black. 'And yet part of them fears. For even unbelievers share the depth of their conviction. Everywhere, all about them, they see examples of their own self-deception ... 'Me!' everyone cries. 'I am chosen!' How could they not fear when they so resemble children stamping their feet in the dust? So they encircle themselves with yea-sayers, and look to the horizon for confirmation, for some higher sign that they are as central to the world as they are to themselves.' He waved his hand out, brought his palm to his bare breast. 'And they pay with the coin of their devotion.
R. Scott Bakker