emotional

Cry For Those Who Cares For You And Not For Them Those Who Makes You Cry

Where__ Dekka?_ Astrid asked.__n the basement,_ Edilio said. __he kept going for a long time. Her and Orc and Jack. But she__ sick. Tired and sick. And she got a bad burn on one hand. That was it for her. I made her go to Dahra. Lana will_you know, when she__ done with_Man, I__ sorry,_ he said as he began crying again. __ can__ be digging graves. Someone else has to do that, okay? I can__ do that anymore.

Drake's whip hand spun Diana like a top.She cried out. That sound, her cry, pierced Caine like an arrow.Diana staggered and almost righted herself, but Drake was too quick, too ready.His second strike yanked her through the air. She flew and then fell.__atch her!_ Caine was yelling to himself. Seeing her arc as she fell. Seeing where she would hit. His hands came up, he could use his power, he could catch her, save her. But too slow.Diana fell. Her head smashed against a jutting point of rock. She made a sound like a dropped pumpkin.Caine froze.The fuel rod, forgotten, fell from the air with a shattering crash.It fell within ten feet of the mine shaft opening. It landed atop a boulder shaped like the prow of a ship.It bent, cracked, rolled off the boulder, and crashed heavily in the dirt.Drake ran straight at Caine, his whip snapping. But Jack stumbled in between them, yelling, __he uranium! The uranium!__he radiation meter in his pocket was counting clicks so fast, it became a scream.Drake piled into Jack, and the two of them went tumbling.Caine stood, staring in horror at Diana. Diana did not move. Did not move. No snarky remark. No smart-ass joke.__o!_ Caine cried.__o!__rake was up, disentangling himself with an angry curse from Jack.__iana,_ Caine sobbed.Drake didn__ rely on his whip hand now, too far away to use it before Caine could take him down. He raised his gun. The barrel shot flame and slugs, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.Inaccurate, but on full automatic, Drake had time. He swung the gun to his right and the bullets swooped toward where Caine stood like he was made of stone.Then the muzzle flash disappeared in an explosion of green-white light that turned night into day. The shaft of light missed its target. But it was close enough that the muzzle of Drake__ gun wilted and drooped and the rocks behind Drake cracked from the blast of heat.Drake dropped the gun. And now it was Drake__ turn to stare in stark amazement. __ou!__am wobbled atop the rise. Quinn caught him as he staggered.Now Caine snapped back to the present, seeing his brother, seeing the killing light.__o,_ Caine said. __o, Sam: He__ mine.__e raised a hand, and Sam went flying backward along with Quinn.__he fuel rod!_ Jack was yelling, over and over. __t__ going to kill us all. Oh, God, we may already be dead!__rake rushed at Caine. His eyes were wide with fear. Knowing he wouldn__ make it. Knowing he was not fast enough.Caine raised his hand, and the fuel rod seemed to jump off the ground.A javelin.A spear. He held it poised. Pointed straight at Drake.Caine reached with his other hand, extending the telekinetic power to hold Drake immobilized.Drake held up his human hand, a placating gesture. __aine_you don__ want to_not over some girl. She was a witch, she was__rake, unable to run, a human target. The fuel rod aimed at him like a Spartan__ spear.Caine threw the fuel rod. Tons of steel and lead and uranium.Straight at Drake.

Say that you don__ love him!_ Amarantha shrieked, and the blood on my hands became the blood of that rabbit__ecame the blood of what I had lost.But I wouldn__ say it. Because loving Tamlin was the only thing I had left, the only thing I couldn__ sacrifice.A path cleared through my red-and-black vision. I found Tamlin__ eyes__ide as he crawled toward Amarantha, watching me die, and unable to save me while his wound slowly healed, while she still gripped his power.Amarantha had never intended for me to live, never intended to let him go.__marantha, stop this,_ Tamlin begged at her feet as he clutched the gaping wound in his chest. __top. I__ sorry____ sorry for what I said about Clythia all those years ago. Please.

Brianna! Is Sam okay?_ Astrid cried.__o. Drake tore him up._ She wanted to sound tough, but the sobs came bubbling up and overtook her. __h, God, Astrid, he__ hurt so bad.__strid gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. Brianna put her arms around Astrid and sobbed into her hair.__s he going to die?_ Astrid asked, voice wobbly.__o, I don__ think so,_ Brianna said. She stood back and wiped her tears. __ gave him something for the pain. But he__ messed up, Astrid.

Don__ want no more rock,_ Orc repeated.The bleeding stopped almost immediately.__oes it hurt?_ Lana asked. __ mean the rock. I know the hole hurts.___o. It don__ hurt._ Orc slammed his fist against his opposite arm, hard enough that any human arm would have been shattered. __ barely feel it. Even Drake__ whip, when we was fighting, I barely felt it.__uddenly he was weeping. Tears rolled from human eyes onto cheeks of flesh and pebbles.__ don__ feel nothing except_ He pointed a thick stone finger at the flesh of his face.__eah,_ Lana said. Her irritation was gone. Her burden was smaller, maybe, than Orc__.

So the fact that I__ me and no one else is one of my greatest assets. Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.

Unknowingly, he prepared me to survive the rest of my days with the way he shielded himself from emotional vulnerabilities that slowly destroy the rest of us.

Selfishly, perhaps, Catti-brie had determined that the assassin was her own business. He had unnerved her, had stripped away years of training and discipline and reduced her to the quivering semblance of a frightened child. But she was a young woman now, no more a girl. She had to personally respond to that emotional humiliation, or the scars from it would haunt her to her grave, forever paralyzing her along her path to discover her true potential in life.

[Donald] Keene observed [in a book entitled The Pleasures of Japanese Literature, 1988] that the Japanese sense of beauty has long sharply differed from its Western counterpart: it has been dominated by a love of irregularity rather than symmetry, the impermanent rather than the eternal and the simple rather than the ornate. The reason owes nothing to climate or genetics, added Keene, but is the result of the actions of writers, painters and theorists, who had actively shaped the sense of beauty of their nation.Contrary to the Romantic belief that we each settle naturally on a fitting idea of beauty, it seems that our visual and emotional faculties in fact need constant external guidance to help them decide what they should take note of and appreciate. 'Culture' is the word we have assigned to the force that assists us in identifying which of our many sensations we should focus on and apportion value to.

Don__, Mom._ I begin walking toward her, but I can see the mist forming in her eyes. __o, no, no._ By the time I reach her, it__ too late. She__ bawling. If there__ one thing I can__ stand, it__ crying. Not because it makes me emotional, but because it annoys the hell out of me. And it__ awkward.

This girl is the rest of my life.

Don't cry for the dead, for the dead is deaf, dumb, blind, lame, unemotional and dead.

These raids didn't usually end in violence, but people got emotional, and emotional people did stupid things.

I've never been so sure about the rest of my life than I am in this moment. This girl is the rest of my life.

Over intellect will make you a genius, over emotions will make you a lunatic.

You can deal with an emotion based on reason, but who can control an unreasonable emotion?

I have never known anyone to win a battle waged against his emotions. When a sentiment hoists his glimmering blade into the air, the battle is lost before it has begun.