The soul grows into lovely habits as easily as into ugly ones, and the moment a life begins to blossom into beautiful words and deeds, that moment a new standard of conduct is established, and your eager neighbors look to you for a continuous manifestation of the good cheer, the sympathy, the ready wit, the comradeship, or the inspiration, you once showed yourself capable of. Bear figs for a season or two, and the world outside the orchard is very unwilling you should bear thistles.

Cammie!" I'll never forget the tone of Macey's voice in that moment. "Cam," she said slowly, moving toward me, "I know how it feels to be watched every second of every day. I know what it's like to trust fewer and fewer people until it seems like you are completely alone in the world. I know you think the only things that are left in your life are the bad things. I know what you're feeling, Cam." Her hands were on my shoulders. Her blue eyes were staring into mine. "I know.

Yet Byron never made tea as you do, who fill the pot so that when you put the lid on the tea spills over. There is a brown pool on the table--it is running among your books and papers. Now you mop it up, clumsily, with your pocket-hankerchief. You then stuff your hankerchief back into your pocket--that is not Byron; that is so essentially you that if I think of you in twenty years' time, when we are both famous, gouty and intolerable, it will be by that scene: and if you are dead, I shall weep.

This is the most profound spiritual truth I know: that even when we're most sure that love can't conquer all, it seems to anyway. It goes down into the rat hole with us, in the guise of our friends, and there it swells and comforts. It gives us second winds, third winds, hundredth winds. ...your spirits don't rise until you get way down. Maybe it's because this - the mud, the bottom - is where it all rises from. ...when someone enters that valley with you, that mud, it somehow saves you again.

my phone beeped. I took it from my handbag and sawa text message from Dixie.It read: that man is sizzling HOT HOT HOT!!!!truth! I texted back.omg! his accent! his body! im in lurvi noticed!hes a bilfwtf???boss id like 2 fuk! I snorted out loud with laughter.Heller flicked his cold eyes to me.I wrote: norty girl!ooh! does he like norty asian girls? Another involuntary snort from me.“Ms Chalmers,” he warned.gotta go. my new daddys strict, I texted.spankz for u 2nite!lolz! only if im lucky! c u soon xx- heller 1

There’s the feisty bitch I know and love. Now come on, it’s time to show Jai and his prick of a dad who the head poncho is around here.” She said giggling, as I slowly let her go and took a step back.“Head poncho, don’t you mean…?” I started before she cut me off.“Shh, let’s just pretend I didn’t say that. Now shift it missy, it’s arse whooping time. Yeehaaa.” She said, making me burst out into laughter.She was right, it was time I showed them who I am.

Go to the cops then!” I shout. “But mind if I ask what you plan on telling them? Because saying two dead teenagers came to you in the middle of the night and told you something or someone is going to kill you is only going to get you locked in a cozy, padded cell.”“Well, it has to be better than spending another second with you.”“Make sure they put that on your headstone, will you? Right below ‘Here lies Benedict Bartholomew Ford. He had no friends and a really stupid name’.

He thought about this for a second. "True. But if you never really make friends, you probably don't have anyone to be your 2 a.m. Which would kind of suck.I just looked at him as he stirred his soup, carrots spinning in the liquid. "Your what?""Two a.m." He swallowed, then said, "You know. The person you can call at two a.m. and, no matter what, you can count on them. Even if they're asleep or it's cold or you need to be bailed out of jail...they'll come for you. It's, like, the highest level of friendship.

There were friends all over London who would welcome his eagerly to their homes, who would throw open their guest rooms and their fridges, eager to condole and to help. The price of all of those comfortable beds and home-cooked meals, however, would be to sit at kitchen tables, once the clean-pajamaed children were in bed, and relive the filthy final battle with Charlotte, submitting to the outraged sympathy and pity of his friends' girlfriends and wives. To this he preferred grim solitude, a Pot Noodle and a sleeping bag.

...And friends abroad must bear in mindFriends at home they leave behind.Oh, I shall be stiff and coldWhen I forget you, hearts of gold;The land where I shall mind you notIs the land where all's forgot.And if my foot returns no moreTo Teme nor Corve nor Severn shore,Luck, my lads, be with you stillBy falling stream and standing hill,By chiming tower and whispering tree,Men that made a man of me.About your work in town and farmStill you'll keep my head from harm,Still you'll help me, hands that gaveA grasp to friend me to the grave.

There are Atheists in foxholesAtheists in hurricanesThere are Atheists in all the rolesDenied by your refrainsAtheists are your fellow citizensPeople who love and laugh and cryAtheists are your relatives and friendsDon't insult them with a lieAtheists in many foxholes servedAnd some have had to dieGive Atheists the thanks deservedDon't dismiss them with a lieAtheists are all around youThey work, they help, they careAnd no matter what you think is trueAtheists are everywhereAnd no matter what you think is trueThey do not want your praye

What is the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich, exactly?” Tess asked, pursing her lips. Erin knew it was her attempt at making light of a heavy situation.“You know, just the right amount of jelly where it doesn’t squish out when you bite into it. Not so much peanut butter that you get all goopy-mouthed. Making the perfect PBJ is an art form. And it has to be fresh white bread, and the best grape jelly and creamy peanut butter on the market. No exceptions.”Tess bobbed her head. “Ah, yes. The dreaded goopy mouth.

His [Pitt's] successor as prime minister was Mr. Addington, who was a friend of Mr. Pitt, just as Mr. Pitt was a friend of Mr. Addington; but their respective friends were each other's enemies. Mr. Fox, who was Mr. Pitt's enemy (although many of his friends were Mr. Pitt's friends), had always stood uncompromisingly for peace with France and held dangerously liberal opinions; nevertheless, in 1804, Mr. Fox and Mr. Pitt got together to overthrow Mr. Pitt's friend Mr. Addington, who was pushing the war effort with insufficient vigor.

Middle school is kind of like Middle-earth. It’s a magical journey filled with elves, dwarves, hobbits, queens, kings, and a few corrupt wizards. Word to the wise: pick your traveling companions well. Ones with the courage and moral fiber to persevere. Ones who wield their lip gloss like magic wands when confronted with danger. This way, when you pass through the congested hallways rife with pernicious diversion, you achieve your desired destination—or at least your next class.-CeCee, Lucy and CeCee's How to Survive (and Thrive) in Middle School

When I arrived back at Intro to Basic Art again later that week, I thought for a moment we had a new student who didn’t know about the assigned seats. Sitting at my table was a girl in a long flowered dress, very vintage-hippie. She actually was wearing real flowers in her hair, and hardly any make up. I sat down, ready to explain to this poor lost soul that the seat was already taken, when I looked again and realized it was the same girl. I ended up not saying anything at all; I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t be rude or just plain stupid.