I put a lot of effort in creating something fictional, yet very personal, because Shook is a defining part of me and my music: the Shook entity is much like the Batman or Superman comics characters. I like the idea that I can have this image that represents a part of me, but isn't really me, kind of like an alter ego.
Faris turned on him. "Why choose to wear black today, of all days? I know why I'm in black. Why are you? Mourning? He looked startled. "One does not wear mourning for a servant." You still don't understand, do you? He was not my servant." He regarded her anger, aghast. "What then? What else could he be? Her empty hands shook as she held them out to him. Her voice shook as she replied, "Glove to my hand." Slowly she closed her fists. "Everything.
She wandered over to the enclosed range, a rather modern-looking contraption that Cook had purchased earlier in the year. "Do you know how to work this?" she asked. "No idea. You? " Daphne shook her head. "None." She reached forward and gingerly touched the surface of the stove top. "It's not hot. " " Not even a little bit? " She shook her head. "It's rather cold, actually. " Brother and sister were silent for a few seconds . " You know," Anthony finally said, "cold milk might be quite refreshing ." " I was just thinking that very thing!
Well," Peter Van Houten said, extending his hand to me. "It is at any rate a pleasure to meet such ontologically improbable creatures." I shook his swollen hand, and then he shook hands with Augustus. I was wondering what ontologically meant. Regardless, I liked it. Augustus and I were together in the Improbable Creatures Club: us and duck-billed platypuses.
And in it all, the sensation of shaking my fists at the sky, shaking my fists high up to the sky, because that is what we do when someone dies too early, too beautiful, too undervalued by the world, or sometimes just at all - we shake our fists at the big, beautiful, indifferent sky, and the anger is righteous and strong and helpless and huge. I shook and I shook, and I put all of it into the dress.
He shook his head. 'Did you tell him he should expand the Odessa-Brody oil pipeline up to Poland?' I smiled. 'Yes. Yes, I did. You should definitely expand the pipeline. Think of all the money you could make if you sold your oil to the EU. You could build a whole new children's hospital and a research center. You'd have enough money to buy real toilets for the university so women don't have to crouch over those holes in the floor.' I shook my head. 'I'd like to see you try that in five inch heels!
Micah showed up shortly thereafter and was happy to meet our other 'brother.' He shook Adrian's hand and smiled. 'Now I see some family resemblance. I was starting to wonder if Jill was adopted, but you two kind of look like each other.' 'So does our mailman back in North Dakota, ' said Adrian. 'South, ' I corrected. Fortunately, Micah didn't seem to think there was anything weird about the slip. 'Right, ' said Adrian. He studied Micah thoughtfully. 'There's something familiar about you. Have we met?' Micah shook his head. 'I've never been to South Dakota.' I was pretty sure I heard Adrian murmur, 'That makes two of us.
I recalled that inward sensation I had experienced: for I could recall it, with all its unspeakable strangeness. I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in ME-not in the external world. I asked was it a mere nervous impression-a delusion? I could not conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration. The wondrous shock of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the foundations of Paul and Silas's prison; it had opened the doors of the soul's cell and loosed its bands-it had wakened it out of its sleep, whence it sprang trembling, listening, aghast; then vibrated thrice a cry on my startled ear, and in my quaking heart and through my spirit, which neither feared nor shook, but exulted as if in joy over the success of one effort it had been privileged to make, independent of the cumbrous body.
Charlie... have you ever kissed a girl?" I shook my head no. It was so quiet. "Not even when you were little?" I shook my head no again. And she looked very sad. She told me about the first time she was kissed. She told me that it was with one of her dad's friends. She was seven. And she told nobody about it except for Mary Elizabeth and then Patrick a year ago. And she started to cry. And she said something that I won't forget. Ever. "I know that you know that I like Craig. And I know that I told you not to think of me that way. And I know that we can't be together like that. But I want to forget all those things for a minute. Okay?" "Okay." "I want to make sure that the first person you kiss loves you. Okay?" "Okay." She was crying harder now. And I was, too, because when I hear something like that I just can't help it. "I just want to make sure of that. Okay?" "Okay." And she kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that I could never tell my friends about out loud. It was the kind of kiss that made me know that I was never so happy in my whole life.
Qadir waded out of the water next, the chestnut mare calm under his touch, and Silus raised a disgusted eyebrow. 'There's no justice. Not only the best horseman I've met in this whole bloody country, but his bloody manhood's still dragging in the water.' The Hamian shook his head and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'If you want to be truly scared, take a look at that. Why do you think I was swimming so quickly?' Both the officers looked past him, to see the impressive shape of Arminius as he waded out of the river. Silus shook his head slowly. 'Gods below ... ' The German smiled complacently as he walked past them, and Silus pointed out into the fog still wreathing the riverbank. 'Get your sword out, bugger off into the mist and get that thing covered up.
If you are eager to find the reason I became the Kvothe they tell stories about, you could look there, I suppose." Chronicler's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, exactly?" Kvothe paused for a long moment, looking down at his hands. "Do you know how many times I've been beaten over the course of my life?" Chronicler shook his head. Looking up, Kvothe grinned and tossed his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Neither do I. You'd think that sort of thing would stick in a person's mind. You'd think I would remember how many bones I've had broken. You'd think I'd remember the stitches and bandages." He shook his head. "I don't. I remember that young boy sobbing in the dark. Clear as a bell after all these years." Chronicler frowned. "You said yourself that there was nothing you could have done." "I could have, " Kvothe said seriously, "and I didn't. I made my choice and I regret it to this day. Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.
Thorne shrugged. "They're still just fantasies. They're not real. Have you ever seen a self-esteem? Can you bring me one on a plate? How about a photon? Can you bring me one of those?" Kelly shook her head. "No, but... " "And you never will, because those things don't exist. No matter how seriously people them," Thorne said. "A hundred years from now, people will look back at us and laugh. They'll say, 'You know what people used to believe? They believed in photons and electrons. Can you imagine anything so silly?' They'll have a good laugh, because by then there will be newer and better fantasies." Thorne shook his head. "And meanwhile, you feel the way the boat moves? That's the sea. That's real. You smell the salt in the air? You feel the sunlight on your skin? That's all real. You see all of us together? That's real. Life is wonderful. It's a gift to be alive, to see the sun and breathe the air. And there isn't really anything else.