Attorno a noi ci sono colori che prima non avevo mai notato. Il blu dei pavimenti. L’azzurro degli infissi. Il giallo ocra nelle ombre. Le sfumature viola sui soffitti, e dentro agli occhi della gente. Gli aloni verdi dei nostri destini. E le sbarre: all’improvviso sono dappertutto. Sulle porte, alle finestre, tra i nostri comuni pensieri. Il vecchio frenocomio non mi era mai sembrato tanto vivo, e presente, come da quando abbiamo ucciso il suo passato. Prima, gli echi delle sue storie erano molto più forti. Adesso, le nostre vi si sono sovrapposte. Difficile stabilire a chi appartengano le grida che si odono di notte. Mi chiedo se forse non siamo tutti connessi – noi, che restiamo, e coloro che hanno perso l’occasione per andare – nel nostro sentirci dimenticati da chi amiamo. Ma forse è solo quello che succede in ogni parte della terra. In fondo, siamo tutti prigionieri di qualcosa. Di una stanza. Di noi stessi. Non c’è peggior luogo di reclusione di un cuore abbandonato. E non c’è peggiore abbandono di quello di chi si abbandona da solo.

When we arrive on our floor we head to our rooms, politely bidding each other goodnight. Just as I am about to enter mine, I remember I have his jacket. I can use this to have just one more moment with him tonight. I knock on his door, his lips slightly open when he sees me on the other side.“You forgot your jacket.” It is still on my shoulders. I turn around to offer it up to him.“Thank you Shy,” As he says this he takes both of his hands, grabbing each shoulder of the jacket and oh so slowly pulls it off of me, grazing my bare arms and back as he pulls it off. I close my eyes taking in his touch. Each caress of his fingertips feels like one thousand little sparks. How can just the faintest touch from this man set me off like this? Please kiss me. Kiss my neck. I won’t say no. I hold my position for a second more than I should, but it feels so tortuously long. There is nothing, not another touch, not a kiss. I turn to face him again and bid him goodnight. His face looks sad, almost guilty. Every word, every touch, every action tonight was an implication. This keeps us safe from one another. It keeps me safe from him.“Goodnight Shy,” he says as if dismissing me from his presence.“Goodnight Taylor.

These mega-churches are springing up all over the country—especially in the suburbs of large cities. And they all follow the same formula: A charismatic, self-anointed pastor starts a church by holding services in a home, then in a school. He targets the young professionals, who make good salaries—although the poorer folks are welcome too, as long as they’re willing to pay their fair share. When there are enough members, the pastor proposes buying land, then buildings, then more buildings, asking the people to give sacrificially to do God’s work.The pastor uses outrageous gimmicks in the worship services to create a massive word-of-mouth campaign for the church. Everybody’s excited about going to the big show on Sundays. For the children and youth, church is like going to a theme park. And what kid wouldn’t want to do that?A local TV ministry is added. Then it goes national. Then global. Services are streamed live to the internet. A satellite campus is opened, then another, and so on. Ministries are established in foreign countries.But whose church is it? The pastor’s. Whose ministry is it? The pastor’s. What is everything built on? The pastor. It is his church. His ministry. His empire.-- Hal, the mega-church blogge

There is a distinct difference between "suspense" and "surprise," and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I'll explain what I mean. We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let's suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, "Boom!" There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware the bomb is going to explode at one o'clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions, the same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: "You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!" In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story.

A selection of quotes from The Night of Harrison Monk’s Death (Jane Hetherington's Adventures in Detection: 1)"Is this one of the more unusual cases of safe-breaking you've been asked to investigate, Mrs Hetherington?""Remember your private detective wants to be able to sleep soundly at night and in their own bed, not one supplied as her Majesty's pleasure.""It seems to be an open and shut case doesn't it? But it's not you know? How do you know if anything is what it seems?""But where is Cheung kin?""When I first set eyes on your father, he was spying on a man from between two volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.""I don't think I need say more." "On the contrary, if you want me to have any idea what you're talking about, I think you do.""Why don't you report it to the police?" "Because I stole it in the first place didn't I?""It's something of a mystery, I admit.""Vanished into thin air!""You sound so sensible Mrs Hetherington. Please help us get to the bottom of this."Ah, thought Jane – the old story."No body was found?""Shall I put the kettle on?" "Only if you fill it with whiskey.""The course of true love didn't run smoothly for me either, you know.""Life has its tragedies for sure.""… What do I want? I want money that's what I want. I want money."She was even more horrified by the words she heard next.Callum MacCallum knew what it was like to be an outsider.

Did somebody die?”“Yes,” I replied.“Who?” he asked, starting to freak out. I pulled out my notepad and asked him if he knew a Marcie Tucker. “Marcie? Hm, Marcie, it doesn't ring a bell but… Oh yeah, the temp who's filling in while my regular assistant is out, I think her name is Marcie. In fact, she was supposed to be here today. I was actually starting to worry that… Wait. Is she…”“Unfortunately yes,” I said, “Marcie was found in her apartment late last night uh… no longer alive.” My bedside manner has never been my strong suit.Dr. Taggart looked distressed and began to ramble incoherently for a minute. I let him work through it though, I figured it was his way of grieving. I wouldn't have even paid attention to it except for the fact that it was kind of goofily, ineptly… well, poignant:"Oh, uh, Oh my God. That's terrible. I uh… I hope she didn't have any family. I mean, I don't hope she didn't have any family, what I mean is, if she uh… if she didn't have any family then there would be nobody to get all bummed out about this and uh… you know, when something like this happens, you always think about the poor, heartbroken family, so uh… if she doesn't have any family then uh… the bright side would be that nobody would, you know, have to be all bummed out."Hm. I guess I never thought of it that way. Awkward wording aside, he's kind of got a point there.

मैं जानकी को आवाज़ लगाने ही वाला था कि मेरी नज़र खूँटी पर टंगे हुए कुछ कपड़ों पर पड़ी. बहुत ही सुन्दर डिज़ाइन की हरे रंग की एक चुन्नी, उसी के साथ टंगे हुए थे लम्बे-लम्बे स्कर्ट्स व ढीले-ढाले टाइप के ब्लाउज़. फिर मेरी नज़र चप्पलों और सैंडलों पर पड़ी. सारे कपड़े व चप्पलें किसी बालिग़ लड़की के ही लगते थे.जब मैंने जानकी से इस विषय में पूछा तो उसने बताया कि पिछली बार जब माँ बैतूल गयीं थीं तब वहां मज़दूर प्रधान की नाती नर्मदा से मिलीं. नर्मदा तब बीमार थी. उसका अच्छा इलाज हो सके इसलिए माँ उसे अपने साथ ही भोपाल ले आईं थीं.नर्मदा का चंचलपन, उसकी सुरीली आवाज़, उसकी सुंदरता, उसका गोरा रंग, उसकी काली आँखें, काले-घने बाल माँ को भा गए. नर्मदा की साफ़-सफाई एवं रहन-सहन देखकर माँ उसे अपनी बेटी की तरह प्यार देने लगीं.नर्मदा का संक्षिप्त परिचय सुनाकर जानकी ने मुझे आश्चर्य में डाल दिया. मैं नर्मदा के प्रति सोचने लगा. ‘नर्मदा’ – इस नाम को मैंने पहले भी कई बार सुना था. नर्मदा बेशक एक भोली-भाली लड़की थी, परन्तु वह बहुत ही सुन्दर तथा आकर्षक व्यक्तित्व की है, ऐसा मैंने सुना था.- हिंदी उपन्यास ‘नर्मदा’ से, पृष्ठ संख्या - 5