have you ever, for your happiness, met a woman whose harmonious voice gives to her speech the same charm that emanates from her manners? a woman who knows how to speak and to be silent, whose words are happily chosen, whose language is pure, and who concerns herself in your interests with delicacy? her raillery is caressing, her criticism never wounds; she neither discourses nor argues, but she likes to lead a discussion and stop it at the right moment. her manner is affable and smiling, her politeness never forced, her readiness to serve others never servile; she reduces the respect she claims to a soft shadow; she never wearies you, and you leave her satisfied with her and with yourself. her charming grace is conveyed to all the things with which she surrounds herself. everything about her pleases the eye; in her presence you breathe, as it were, your native air. this woman is natural. there is no effort about her; she is aiming at no effect; her feelings are shown simply, because they are true. frank herself, she does not wound the vanity of others; she accepts men as god made them; pitying the vicious, forgiving defects and absurdities, comprehending all ages, and vexed by nothing, because she has had the sense and tact to foresee all. tender and gay, she gratifies before she consoles. you love her so well that if this angel did wrong you would be ready to excuse her.
casey jones' unhappiness is obvious right from the book's first page. but it never once occurs to him that the reason he's so unhappy is that he's an asshole.
eunice was a flying demon.
1: rabbit season, duck season. who says you can't have both?
2: well, here's a toast: to rabbit season.
3: duck season.
2: i like rabbit season.
3: duck season.
4: you want a recount?
1: thinking about it.
2: load up!
if you think the harmony
is a little dark and out of key
you're correct, there's nobody there