[b]Brent Weeks
I’m asking you to make an adult decision. Are you ready to die, maybe alone, far from home, with no one even knowing what a hero you were? I can’t even promise that your lives or your deaths will accomplish victory.[/b]
Doctors on their way to New York?
It was the kind of beauty that made you shit your pants.
Let’s post examples.
I feel a sudden, intense desire to throw a temper tantrum.
Cue the Oval Office.
It was like a child addressing a tidal wave, saying, I will not be moved—and before the words are out of his mouth, all is ocean, leaving no sign; not only no sign of the child, but no sign of his defiance, no sign that anything opposed the crushing sea in the least, no eddy, no swirl, no detritus, only simple, plain, indisputable nothingness.
Like, for example, Jared Kushner challenging the coronavirus.
Why did women always believe that talking about a problem would fix it? Some issues were corpses. Hot air made them fester and rot and spread their disease to everything else.
Better to bury it and move on.
Not counting the uberwomen of course. Remember Lyssa?
Tongues should be used to commit indiscretions, not to discuss them.
And not just for dangerous liasions. At least not anymore.