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Clockwork Angel
“You know," Gabriel said, "there was a time I thought we could be friends, Will."
"There was a time I thought I was a ferret," Will said, "but that turned out to be the opium haze. Did you know it had that effect? Because I didn't.”
Ferret
Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe
“With a horse and cart, a ferret, a dog and a gun, who could not be happy?”
Gypsy Soul
Gypsy Quotes
Gypsies
Gypsy Life
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Philosopher Bertrand Russell said, ‘Language sometimes conceals the complexity of a belief.’ Language also sometimes reveals basic truths. Through the time consuming task of writing one word after another and linking language to thought, I shall tell my sordid tale with the goal of plotting an acceptable thematic purposefulness to a life already half-lived. I will attempt to ferret out the hidden self and through an act of will alter my life course. The following chapters relate the culture that birthed me, the family that raised me, the educational system that tested me, the social affairs that shaped me, the friends and lovers that scorned me, the legal profession that rebuked me, and my personal quest to rewrite the construction of a loathsome self-image. How this scaled adventure will end, no one knows, but if any of us knew how our lives would actually unfold, how many of us would say ‘yes’ to all that is. Mahatma Gandhi said, ‘Be the change you wish to see in the world.’ My goal is to employ human free will to attempt to recast my fundamental character and develop the courage and mental equanimity to accept whatever will be – accept a largely deterministic world – while still making the most of my imitable human gifts to imbue this life sojourn with purposeful and evocative experiences of a compassionate and charitable human being.”
Language
Memoir
Writers On Thinking
Self Transformation
Self Transcendence
Memoir Writing
Essayist
Personal Essays
Writers On Writing Life
Word Power
Love in the Afternoon
“In the case of Leo, however, Beatrix assured Christopher that in spite of his sharp tongue, Leo was a caring and loyal brother. "You'll come to like him very well," she said. "But it's no surprise that you feel more comfortable around Cam- you're both foxes."
"Foxes?" Christopher had repeated, amused.
"Yes. I can always tell what kind of animal a person would be. Foxes are hunters, but they don't rely on brute strength. They're subtle and clever. Fond of outwitting others. And although they sometimes travel far, they always like to come back to a snug, safe home."
"I suppose Leo is a lion," Christopher said dryly.
"Oh, yes. Dramatic, demonstrative, and he hates being ignored. And sometimes he'll take a swipe at you. But beneath the sharp claws and the growls, he's still a cat."
"What animal are you?"
"A ferret. We can't help collecting things. When we're awake, we're very busy, but we also like to be still for long periods." She grinned at him. "And ferrets are very affectionate.”
Lion
Fox
Cam Rohan
Leo Hathaway
Beatrix And Christopher
Beatrix Hathaway
Animals And Humans
Ferret
Christopher Phelan
Married by Morning
“Everything was blurry. She needed her spectacles. And it was awfully difficult to go looking for something when you couldn't see more than two feet in front of your face. Moreover, if one of the housemaids found the spectacles in Leo's room, or God help her, in his bed, everyone would find out.
Abandoning the slipper, Dodger trotted to her and stood tall, bracing his long, slender body against her knee. He was shivering, which Beatrix had told her was normal for ferrets. A ferret's temperature lowered when he was sleeping, and shivering was his way of warming himself upon awakening. Catherine reached down to stroke him. When he tried to climb into her lap, however, she nudged him away. "I don't feel well," she told the ferret woefully, although there was nothing wrong with her physically.
Chattering in annoyance at her rejection, Dodger turned and streaked out of the room.
Catherine continued to lie with her head on the table, feeling too dreary and ashamed to move.
She had slept late. She could hear the sounds of footsteps and muffled conversation coming from the lower floors. Had Leo gone down for breakfast?
She couldn't possibly face him.
Her mind returned to those blistering minutes of the previous night. A fresh swell of desire rolled through her as she thought of the way he had kissed her, the feel of his mouth on the intimate places of her body.
She heard the ferret come back into the room again, chuckling and hopping as he did whenever he was especially pleased about something. "Go away, Dodger," she said dully.
But he persisted, coming to her side and standing tall again, his body a long cylinder. Glancing at him, Catherine saw that something was clamped carefully in his front teeth. She blinked. Slowly she reached down and took the object from him.
Her spectacles.
Amazing, how much better a small gesture of kindness could make one feel.
"Thank you," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes as she stroked his tiny head. "I do love you, you disgusting weasel."
Climbing onto her lap, Dodger flipped upside down and sighed.”
Catherine Marks
Awwwwwwwwwwww
Ferret
Dodger
Tempt Me at Twilight
“Poppy Hathaway," he whispered as if it were a magical incantation.
He had seen her from a distance on two occasions, once when she had been entering a carriage at the front of the hotel, and once at a ball held at the Rutledge. Harry hadn't attended the event, but he had watched for a few minutes from a vantage point at an upper floor balcony. Despite her fine-spun beauty and mahogany hair, he hadn't spared her a second thought.
Meeting her in person, however, had been a revelation.
Harry began to lower himself into a chair and noted the shredded velvet and clumps of stuffing left by the ferret.
A reluctant smile curved his lips as he moved to take the other chair.
Poppy. How artless she had been, chatting casually about astrolabes and Franciscan monks as she had browsed among his treasures. She had thrown out words in bright clusters, as if she were scattering confetti. She had radiated a kind of cheery astuteness that should have been annoying, but instead it have given him unexpected pleasure. There was something about her, something... it was what the French called
esprit
, a liveliness of mind and spirit. And that face... innocent and knowing, and open.
He wanted her.”
Esprit
Astuteness
Poppy And Harry
Poppy Hathaway
Harry Rutledge
Tempt Me at Twilight
“Poppy," she murmured, "no matter how Miss Marks tries to civilize me- and I do try to listen to her- I still have my own way of looking at the world. To me, people are scarcely different from animals. We're all God's creatures, aren't we? When I meet someone, I know immediately what animal they would be. When we first met Cam, for example, I knew he was a fox."
"I suppose Cam is somewhat fox-like," Poppy said, amused. "What is Merripen? A bear?"
"No, unquestionably a horse. And Amelia is a hen."
"I would say an owl."
"Yes, but don't you remember when one of our hens in Hampshire chased after a cow that had strayed too close to the nest? That's Amelia."
Poppy grinned. "You're right."
"And Win is a swan."
"Am I also a bird? A lark? A robin?"
"No, you're a rabbit."
"A
rabbit
?" Poppy made a face. "I don't like that. Why am I a rabbit?"
"Oh, rabbits are beautiful soft animals who love to be cuddled. They're very sociable, but they're happiest in pairs."
"But their timid," Poppy protested.
"Not always. They're brave enough to be companions to many other creatures. Even cats and dogs."
"Well," Poppy said in resignation, "it's better than being a hedgehog, I suppose."
"Miss Marks is a hedgehog," Beatrix said in a matter-of-fact tone that made Poppy grin.
"And you're a ferret, aren't you, Bea?"
"Yes. But I was leading to a point."
"Sorry, go on."
"I was going to say that Mr. Rutledge is a cat. A solitary hunter. With an apparent taste for rabbit.”
Hathaways
Rabbit
Cam Rohan
Catherine Marks
Beatrix Hathaway
Animals And Humans
Kev Merripen
Poppy And Harry
Harry Rutledge
Seduce Me at Sunrise
“Sleep claimed her eventually. She slept heavily, welcoming the escape. But some time later, while it was still very dark, she found herself struggling upward through layers of dreams. Someone or something was in the room. Her first thought was that it might be Beatrix's ferret, who sometimes slipped past the door to collect objects that intrigued him.
Rubbing her eyes, Win began to sit up, when there was a movement beside the bed. A large shadow crossed over her. Before bewilderment could give way to fear, she heard a familiar murmur, and felt a man's warm fingers press across her lips.
"It's me."
Her lips moved soundlessly against his hand.
"
Kev
."
Win's stomach constricted with an ache of pleasure, and her heartbeat hammered in her throat. But she was still angry with him, she was
done
with him, and if he had come here for a midnight talk, he was sadly mistaken. She started to tell him so, but to her astonishment, she felt a thick piece of cloth descend over her mouth, and then he was tying it deftly behind her head. In a few more seconds, he had bound her wrists in front of her.
Win was rigid with shock. Merripen would never do something like this. And yet it was him; she would know him if only by the touch of his hands. What did he want? What was going through his mind? His breath was faster than usual as it brushed against her hair. Now that her vision had adjusted to the darkness, she saw that his face was hard and austere.
Merripen drew the ruby ring off her finger and set it off the bedside table. Taking her head in his hands, he stared into her wide eyes. He said only two words. But they explained everything he was doing, and everything he intended to do.
"You're mine."
He picked her up easily, draping her over one powerful shoulder, and he carried her from the room.
Win closed her eyes, yielding, trembling. She pressed a few sobs against the gag covering her mouth, not of unhappiness or fear, but of wild relief. This was not an impulsive act. This was ritual. This was an ancient Romany courtship rite, and there would be nothing half-hearted about it. She was going to be kidnapped and ravished.
Finally.”
Win And Merripen
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Objective motives and subjective compulsions that incite a person to write is the decisive element in defining the writer’s unique voice. Anyone who does not understand oneself or is unwilling to ferret out their own buried, true identity and publicly unmask the hidden stranger that resides within us all will never be a person who can bridge a connection with other people who share similar thoughts, feelings, wants, and needs. Lacking critical discernment, this want-a-be writer will remain a cosseted imposter, playing a coldhearted game of charades. If a person is unwilling to peel back the craggy mask that we conceal ourselves behind and explore the seeds of inner awareness wrapped inside the enigma of doubt engulfing all people, one can still aim to be a writer of nonfiction or technical journals. Creative writing, in sharp contrast, is for the intrepid cliff dwellers, the recluses willing to mine the soft belly of their internal psychosis.”
Memoir
Writers On Writing
Writing Process
Writing Inspiration
Writing Philosophy
Writers Quotes
Writing Advice
Memoir Writing
Writers Voice
Writing Voice
Mrs Eckdorf in O'Neill's Hotel
“Morrissey was singularly small, a man in his mid-thirties who had once been compared to a ferret. He had a thin trap of a mouth and greased black hair that he perpetually attended, directing it back from his forehead with a clogged comb. He was dressed now, as invariably he was, in flannel trousers and the jacket of a blue striped suit over a blue pullover, and a shirt that was buttoned to the neck but did not have a tie in its collar.”
Description
Morrissey
Ferret
Daring to Drive: A Saudi Woman's Awakening
“I had to smuggle an early Nokia camera cell phone into the country from Bahrain in 2004. There was a large black market for these banned phones, with smugglers hiding them inside car bumpers or car door frames, while customs officials and police used ultrasound devices to ferret them out.)”
Forbidden
Saudi Arabia
Bahrain
Radical Islam
Smuggle
Camera Phone
Nokia
Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype
“(Young girls) are taught to not see, and instead to "make pretty" all manner of grotesqueries whether they are lovely or not. This training is why the youngest sister can say, "Hmmm, his beard isn't really that blue." This early training to "be nice" causes women to override their intuitions. In that sense, they are actually purposefully taught to submit to the predator. Imagine a wolf mother teaching her young to "be nice" in the face of an angry ferret or a wily diamondback rattler.”
Predator
Be Nice
Women Who Run With Wolves
Nice Girl
Make Pretty
Trouble at the Little Village School
“Tha know where thy are we' ferrets. Ya never know
where ya are we' lasses”
School
Village
Yorkshire
Phinn
Black Boy
“If I were a member of the class that rules, I would post men in all the neighborhoods of the nation, not to spy upon or club rebellious workers, not to break strikes or disrupt unions, but to ferret out those who no longer respond to the system in which they live. I would make it known that the real danger does not stem from those who seek to grab their share of wealth through force, or from those who try to defend their property through violence, for both of these groups, by their affirmative acts, support the values of the system in which they live. The millions that I would fear are those who do not dream of the prizes that the nation holds forth, for it is in them, though they may not know it, that a revolution has taken place and is biding its time to translate itself into a new and strange way of life.”
Materialism
Revolutions
Corporate America
Acquisition Culture
“Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.
"What - what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.
"Teaching," said Moody.
"Teach - Moody,
is that a student
?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
"Yep," said Moody.
"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.
"Moody, we
never
use transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"
"He might have mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly.”
Harry Potter
Transfiguration
Draco Malfoy
Mad Eye Moody
Professor Mcgonagall
Ferret
Scandal in Spring
“There was little conversation between them, just an oddly companionable silence. “What time is it?” Daisy would ask every now and then, and he would produce a pocket watch.
Mildly intrigued by the jangle of objects in his coat pocket, Daisy demanded to see what was inside it.
“You’ll be disappointed,” Swift said as he unearthed the collection of items. He dumped the lot into her lap while Daisy sorted through it all.
“You’re worse than a ferret,” she said with a grin. There was the folding knife and the fishing line, a few loose coins, a pen nib, the pair of spectacles, a little tin of soap— Bowman’s, of course— and a slip of folded waxed paper containing willowbark powder. Holding the paper between thumb and forefinger, Daisy asked, “Do you have headaches, Mr. Swift?”
“No. But your father does whenever he gets bad news. And I’m usually the one who delivers it.”
Daisy laughed and picked up a tiny silver match case from the pile in her lap. “Why matches? I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“One never knows when a fire will be needed.”
Daisy held up a paper of straight pins and raised her brows questioningly. “I use them to attach documents,” he explained. “But they’ve been useful on other occasions.”
She let a teasing note enter her voice. “Is there any emergency for which you are not prepared, Mr. Swift?”
“Miss Bowman, if I had enough pockets I could save the world.”
Save The World
Daisy And Matthew
Worse Than A Ferret
Scandal in Spring
“Children.” Westcliff’s sardonic voice caused them both to look at him blankly. He was standing from his chair and stretching underused muscles. “I’m afraid this has gone on long enough for me. You are welcome to continue playing, but I beg to take leave.”
“But who will arbitrate?” Daisy protested.
“Since no one has been keeping score for at least a half hour,” the earl said dryly, “there is no further need for my judgement.”
“Yes we have,” Daisy argued, and turned to Swift. “What is the score?”
“I don’t know.”
As their gazes held, Daisy could hardly restrain a snicker of sudden embarrassment.
Amusement glittered in Swift’s eyes. “I think you won,” he said.
“Oh, don’t condescend to me,” Daisy said. “You’re ahead. I can take a loss. It’s part of the game.”
“I’m not being condescending. It’s been point-for-point for at least…” Swift fumbled in the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a watch. “…two hours.”
“Which means that in all likelihood you preserved your early lead.”
“But you chipped away at it after the third round—”
“Oh, hell’s bells!” came Lillian’s voice from the sidelines. She sounded thoroughly aggravated, having gone into the manor for a nap and come out to find them still at the bowling green. “You’ve quarreled all afternoon like a pair of ferrets, and now you’re fighting over who won. If someone doesn’t put a stop to it, you’ll be squabbling out here ’til midnight. Daisy, you’re covered with dust and your hair is a bird’s nest. Come inside and put yourself to rights.
Now
.”
“There’s no need to shout,” Daisy replied mildly, following her sister’s retreating figure. She glanced over her shoulder at Matthew Swift…a friendlier glance than she had ever given him before, then turned and quickened her pace.
Swift began to pick up the wooden bowls.
“Leave them,” Westcliff said. “The servants will put things in order. Your time is better spent preparing yourself for supper, which will commence in approximately one hour.”
Obligingly Matthew dropped the bowls and went toward the house with Westcliff. He watched Daisy’s small, sylphlike form until she disappeared from sight.
Westcliff did not miss Matthew’s fascinated gaze.
“You have a unique approach to courtship,” he commented. “I wouldn’t have thought beating Daisy at lawn games would catch her interest, but it seems to have done the trick.”
Matthew contemplated the ground before his feet, schooling his tone into calm unconcern. “I’m not courting Miss Bowman.”
“Then it seems I misinterpreted your apparent passion for bowls.”
Matthew shot him a defensive glance. “I’ll admit, I find her entertaining. But that doesn’t mean I want to marry her.”
“The Bowman sisters are rather dangerous that way. When one of them first attracts your interest, all you know is she’s the most provoking creature you’ve ever encountered. But then you discover that as maddening as she is, you can scarcely wait until the next time you see her. Like the progression of an incurable disease, it spreads from one organ to the next. The craving begins. All other women begin to seem colorless and dull in comparison. You want her until you think you’ll go mad from it. You can’t stop thinking—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matthew interrupted, turning pale.
He was
not
about to succumb to an incurable disease. A man had choices in life. And no matter what Westcliff believed, this was nothing more than a physical urge. An unholy powerful, gut-wrenching, insanity-producing physical urge…but it could be conquered by sheer force of will.
“If you say so,” Westcliff said, sounding unconvinced.”
Daisy And Matthew
Lawn Bowls
Lillian And Marcus
Born to Fight: The True Story of Richy Crazy Horse Horsley
“At first, we both miss a few sharp bursts of wild punches and then, BANG! I catch him with a full swing left hook and he goes down like a ferret down a hole after a rabbit. When that punch landed, I broke my hand, again, and simultaneously broke his jaw. I wonder if that is an entry into the Guinness Book of records?”
Violence
Street Fighting
Street Fighter
Richy Horsley
Circles in the Stream
“The ferret sat and examined his foot "What in the world am I?" he asked, alarmed "I look like some sort of
rodent
!
”
Ferret
Ozzie
What Doesn't Kill Us Makes Us: Who We Become After Tragedy and Trauma
“In one of the notebooks he carried with him, Nietzsche wrote, "We have art lest we perish from the truth." For those leading afterlives, the unadorned facts of what's happened to them can be brutish to bear on their own terms. Contextualizing that hardship through our intellects and imaginations is a critical salve, an act of transforming our perception that can guide and color how we experience our lives. We can knead our experiences into a larger arc, providing the cohesion that helps us form new narrative identities. Or we can look deeper into our afterlives until we ferret out a way of construing them that rouses our spirits or points them toward salvation. In her essay collection
The White Album
, Joan Didion delivered a pronouncement that was a natural descendants to Nietzsche's line, an admission of how desperately we rely on the subjective fictions we construct: "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." Those stories--whether they take the form of redemption narratives, personal parables, or the pearlescent beliefs we kneel before each day like shrines offering eternal grace--can elevate our lives and serve as the vessels of private deliverance.”
Strength
Trauma
Self Growth
Narrative Therapy
Narrative Identity
“Ferrets will feed where the nuts are buried.”
Psychology
Animals
Greed
Quote Of The Day
Anthony T Hincks
The Prophet Avocatorium
Nuts
Ferrets
Not Like Other Boys
“We're gonna be the best ferret daddies!”
M M Romance
Last Lines
Closing Line
Gay Couple
Speak, Memory
“It is probably true, as some have argued, that sympathy for Leninism on the part of English and American liberal opinion in the twenties was swung by consideration of home politics. But it was also due to simple misinformation. My friend knew little of Russia’s past and this little had come to him through polluted Communist channels. When challenged to justify the bestial terror that had been sanctioned by Lenin—the torture-house, the blood-bespattered wall—Nesbit would tap the ashes out of his pipe against the fender knob, recross sinistrally his huge, heavily shod, dextrally crossed legs, and murmur something about the “Allied Blockade.” He lumped together as “Czarist elements” Russian émigrés of all hues, from peasant Socialist to White general—much as today Soviet writers wield the term “Fascist.” He never realized that had he and other foreign idealists been Russians in Russia, he and they would have been destroyed by Lenin’s regime as naturally as rabbits are by ferrets and farmers.”
Communism
Fascism
Russia
Misinformation
Lenin
Leninism
Bolshevism
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
“Todaye while travailing in the Herbe Garden, I did push aside the basil to discover a Ferret of monstrous size. It did not run nor hide as Ferrets are wont to do, but leapt upon me, throwing me backwards upon the grounde and crying with most unnatural fury, “Get out of it, baldy!” It did then bite my nose so viciously that I did bleed for several Hours. The Friar was unwillinge to believe that I had met a talking Ferret and did ask me whether I had been supping of Brother Boniface’s Turnip Wine. As my nose was still swollen and bloody I was excused Vespers.”
Harry Potter Universe
Magical History
Magizoology
Kalpa Imperial: The Greatest Empire That Never Was
“And I'd add that every good thing has its disadvantages, and the disadvantage of love is precisely that it leaves room for nothing else, not even the prudence of ferrets.”
Love
Disadvantages
Ferret
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