Other Half Of Your Soul Quotes

A home is not a place. It's not a country or a town or a building or possession. Home is with the other half of your soul, the person who shares in your grief and helps you carry the burden of loss. Home is with the person who throughout it all never gives up on you and brings you eternal happiness. ~ Tillie Cole

For some people, "the point of no return" begins at the very moment their souls become aware of each others' existence. ~ C. JoyBell C.

Edward glanced at me, then back at Olaf. The Greeks believed that once there were no male and female, that all souls were one. Then the souls were torn apart, male and female. The Greeks thought that when you found the other half of your soul, your soul mate, that it would be your perfect lover. But I think if you find your other half, you would be too much alike to be lovers, but you would still be soul mates. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

She shook her head. 'Look. We both know life is short, Macy. Too short to waste a single second with anyone who doesn't appreciate and value you.'
'You said the other day life was long,' I shot back. 'Which is it?'
' It's both,' she said, shrugging. 'IT all depends on how you choose to live it. It's like forever, always changing.'
'Nothing can be two opposite things at once,' I said. 'It's impossible.'
'No,' she replied, squeezing my hand,' what's impossible is that we actually think it could be anything other than that. Look, when I was in the hosptal, right after the accident, they thought I was going to die. I was really fucked up, big time.'
'Uh-huh,' Monica said, looking at her sister.
'Then,' Kristy continued, nodding at her, 'life was very short, literally. but now that I'm better it seems so long I have to squint to see even the edges of it. It's all in the view, Macy. That's what I mean about forever, too. For any one of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. You can never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count.'
Monica, lighting another cigarette, nodded. 'Mmm-hmm,' she said.
'What you have to decide,' Kristy said to me, leaning foreward, 'is how you want your life to be. If your forever was ending tomorrow, would this be how you'd want to have spent it? It seemed like it was a choice I had already made. I'd spent the last year and a half with Jason, shaping my life to fit his, doin ~ Sarah Dessen

Covey's solution is to prioritise work that is important but not urgent (the blue square in the
diagram). Though this is hard to do on any given day, it is the only way to ensure you are making
progress towards your own goals and dreams, instead of merely reacting to what other people
throw at you. And over time, the more you are dealing with important things before they become
urgent, the fewer 'urgent and important' tasks you will have to deal with.
The most obvious way to do this is to work on your own projects first every day, even if it's only
for half an hour. Whatever interruptions come along later, you will at least have the satisfaction of
having made some progress towards your own goals. ~ Mark McGuinness

Tell me, Princess Olivia... why do you have to stay in your tower?"
The soft entreaty made Livia feel as if she were melting inside. She laughed unsteadily, wishing for a moment that she dared to trust him. But the habit of independence was too strong. Shaking her head, Livia approached him, expecting him to back away from the doorway. He retreated half a step, his hands still grasping the edges of the doorway, so that she couldn't help but walk into an open-armed embrace. The bonnet ribbons slipped from her fingers.
"Mr. Shaw-" she began, making the mistake of looking up at him.
"Gideon," he whispered. "I want to know your secrets, Olivia."
A bitter half smile touched her lips. "You'll hear them sooner or later from other people."
"I want to hear them from you."
As Livia began to retreat into the glasshouse, Shaw deftly caught the little cloth belt of her walking dress. His long fingers hooked beneath the reinforced fabric.
Unable to back away from him, Livia clamped her hand over his, while a hectic blush flooded her face. She knew that he was toying with her, and that she once might have been able to manage this situation with relative ease. But not now.
When she spoke, her voice was husky. "I can't do this, Mr. Shaw."
To her amazement, he seemed to understand exactly what she meant. "You don't have to do anything," he said softly. "Just let me come closer... and stay right there..." His head bent, and he found her mouth easily. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I ate the roll, and forced down some more sparkling wine. When your eyes closed against the sun again, and I had nothing else to look at I glanced quickly at your chest, curious, really. I'd only seen chests like that in magazines. I wondered if that's how you'd got all your money ... modeling. I looked down at my stomach. I grabbed at it, seeing how much fat I could lift up in a roll.
"Don't worry," you said, one eye open again like a crocodile, watching me. "You're beautiful." You tipped your head back again "Beautiful," you murmured. "Perfect."
"You wouldn't know. You're built like some sort of supermodel." I bit my lip, wishing I hadn't complimented you like that. "Or a stripper," I added. "Prostitute."
"I wouldn't want you to think I'm repulsive," you said, half smiling.
"Too late."
You opened your other eye to squint at me. "Will you ever give me a break? ~ Lucy Christopher

Footballers today are forced to conform to a bodily aesthetic that in its rigidity and uniformity makes fashion models look as varied as snowflakes. This wasn't always so. Up until the 1980s most teams in all divisions had a couple of fat ones, a couple of little ones, at least one bandy one, one completely covered in hair, two weaklings and a chap with no neck. This was an era when you didn't need names on the backs of shirts in order to tell who's who, you could clearly identify them with your eyes half shut from the other side of the pitch. ~ Danny Baker

I sort of like your company."
"Sort of?"
"When you're not pissing me off the other half of the time, yeah. ~ Vi Keeland

Umm, Ren? We have something important we need to discuss. Meet me on the veranda at sundown, okay?"
He froze with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "A secret rendezvous? On the veranda? At sundown?" He arched an eyebrow at me. "Why, Kelsey, are you trying to seduce me?"
"Hardly," I dryly muttered.
He laughed. "Well, I'm all yours. But be gentle with me tonight, fair maiden. I'm new at this whole being human business."
Exasperated, I threw out, "I am not your fair maiden."
He ignored my comment and went back to devouring his lunch. He also took the other half of my discarded peanut butter sandwich and ate that too, commenting, "Hey! This stuff's pretty good."
Finished, I walked over to the kitchen island and began clearing away Ren's mess. When he was done eating, he stood to help me. We worked well together. It was almost like we knew what the other person was going to do before he or she did it. The kitchen was spotless in no time. Ren took off his apron and threw it into the laundry basket. Then, he came up behind me while I was putting away some glasses and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me up against him.
He smelled my hair, kissed my neck, and murmured softly in my ear, "Mmm, definitely peaches and cream, but with a hint of spice. I'll go be a tiger for a while and take a nap, and then I can save all my hours for you this evening."
I grimaced He was probably expecting a make-out session, and I was planning to break up w ~ Colleen Houck

Money is the barometer of a society's virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion–when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing–when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors–when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don't protect you against them, but protect them against you–when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice–you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot ~ Ayn Rand

We're not evenly matched." I pointed to his tie then put my hands on my hips and mimicked his stance. I hoped bravado and wine-haze would prop up my resolve. So far so good.

He glared at me, looking resentful, and his voice was steely as he asked, "What, specifically, makes you think so?"

I lifted my chin and indicated his tie again, "Your tie, Quinn. I have on nine pieces of clothing and, assuming you're wearing underwear of some sort, you have on ten. Now I can either put on my hat or you can take off your tie."

His glare morphed into a perplexed frown as I spoke but then, when I reached the end of the last sentence, his features transitioned into something like petulant yet amused understanding and most of the rigidity left his shoulders and neck.

We stared at each other, again almost for a half minute, before I broke the silence.

"Or, you could take off your jacket…?"

Quinn's mouth hooked to the side and he smoothly removed his jacket; he tossed it to the pile created by my discarded clothes. He began unfastening his cufflinks at his sleeves and the breath he released while pinning me with an irritated stare sounded relieved. ~ Penny Reid

Grey wasn't quite drunk, but he was far from sober when Rose entered his study later that evening. His heart stuttered at the sight of her, but his head…his head couldn't take any more.
"I've been drinking," he warned her, just in case his sprawled posture and missing cravat wasn't enough indication. "And I refuse to dance this ridiculous dance with you any more tonight."
"May I have a drink with you?"
He glanced up. She stood beside the sofa where he half sat, half lay. She looked like someone who'd just lost her best friend or puppy or something equally as tragic.
He sat up. "Of course." Never mind that it wasn't proper. Who the hell cared? They were well past proper. He was simply trying to hold on to sane.
She poured herself a substantial glass of sherry and took a seat on the chair nearest him. He sat quietly, nursing the remainder of whiskey in his glass while she took several sips from her own.
"Do you remember my come-out ball?" she asked after a few minutes.
"Of course." And he did. "I remember telling you that you looked lovely in pink."
She smiled. "You danced the first dance with me so I wouldn't have to dance with Papa."
"You were afraid the other girls would laugh at you if you danced with your father."
"They didn't laugh at me for dancing with you."
"No." He chuckled at took a drink. "I wager they didn't."
Rose sighed. "They thought you were so scandalous, you know. All night I had girls coming up to m ~ Kathryn Smith

You know how most people think that eggs are great sources of protein? Well, you only get about six grams from an egg, and about half of that is in the yolk and the other half is in the white. If instead you opt for a cup of lentils, you get a whopping eighteen grams of protein, plus all that fiber that makes you feel full and cleans out your body! ~ Kathy Freston

Look, Aerin, preparation is only half the challenge of winning a debate."
"And the other half?"
He had her now. "You have to choose the right side."
"Your side, you mean." She bristled.
"No, the losing side."
"What?"
"Always choose the weaker side."
"Why would I do that?" Doubt edged her voice, but now she was sitting erect, her feet flat on the floor.
"Because then you have further to go to prove your case." He eased the feet of his chair down. "In a debate, there are two sides. If both make a good argument, then the less popular side wins because that side had further to go to prove its point. Simple logistics."
"If you don't care which side wins." She frowned.
"It's a debate. It doesn't matter which side wins."
"You mean it doesn't matter to you." The tone in her voice unsettled him. Or maybe it was the fact that that her criticism disturbed him at all.
"It's a class," he said. "The point is to flesh out the different sides of an argument."
"And you don't care if the truth gets lost in the shuffle. Don't you believe in anything?! ~ Anne Osterlund

Parasites are not only incredibly diverse; they are also incredibly successful. There are parasitic stretches of DNA in your own genes, some of which are called retrotransposons. Many of the parasitic stretches were originally viruses that entered our DNA. Most of them don't do us any harm. They just copy and insert themselves in other parts of our DNA, basically replicating themselves. Sometimes they hop into other species and replicate themselves in a new host. According to one estimate, roughly one-third to one-half of all human DNA is basically parasitic. ~ Carl Zimmer

The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I'd like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I'd like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I'd like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I'd like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fête.
I'd like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I'd like your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work.
On hinges …

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I'd like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I'd like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.

I ~ John Fuller

I'm frozen in time, it's more than just you being a dyme
I see the other half of me when I look in your eyes ~ Gift Of Gab

First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised from your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or-like another I plucked and split open-being taken from the inside: a swarm of insects hollowing it. I'm too late, again, another space emptied by loss. Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill. ~ Natasha Trethewey

If my twelve-year-old self, of whom I had grown rather fond, thinking about him, were to reproach me: 'Why have you grown up such a dull dog, when I gave you such a good start? Why have you spent your time in dusty libraries, catologuing other people's books instead of writing your own? What had become of the Ram, the Bull and the Lion, the example I gave you to emulate? Where above all is the Virgin, with her shining face and curling tresses, whom I entrusted to you'- what should I say?

I should have an answer ready. 'Well, it was you who let me down, and I will tell you how. You flew too near to the sun, and you were scorched. This cindery creature is what you made me.'

To which he might reply: 'But you have had half a century to get over it! Half a century, half the twentieth century, that glorious epoch, that golden age that I bequeathed to you!'

'Has the twentieth century,' I should ask, 'done so much better than I have? When you leave this room, which I admit is dull and cheerless, and take the last bus to your home in the past, if you haven't missed it - ask yourself whether you found everything so radiant as you imagined it. Ask yourself whether it has fulfilled your hopes. You were vanquished, Colston, you were vanquished, and so was your century, your precious century that you hoped so much of. ~ L.P. Hartley

Half of the people in the world will tell you to follow your head, half will tell you to follow your heart. My advice, follow the one that isn't confused. The stronger one will eventually convince the other to fall in line. ~ Penelope Ward

That's why I'm here, I'm here for two reasons. To entertain you with stories of my life so , you know, you can find them entertaining. But then maybe compare them to your own lives and not feel so alone with the issues that you go with, go through. And think, "Wow, I'm scared of going to my first day of work, but there is a guy called Dan who actually sold an axe to a child". And the other half of it is me kind of like articulating my own profound observations on the universe, which is really just an excuse to give myself a therapy. Apparently other people enjoy watching it too wow ~ Dan Howell

It's not that you have lost touch with these people. You haven't. It's just that they have kept in such close touch with each other. When scrolling through your cell phone, you generally let their numbers be highlighted for a second, hovering, and then move along to people you have spoken to within the last month. It's not that you're a bad friend to these people. It's just that you're not a great one. They know the names of each other's coworkers and the blow-by-blow nature of each other's dramas; they go camping in the Berkshires together and have such sentences in their conversational arsenal as "you left your lip gloss in my bathroom." You have no such sentences. Your connection to your friends is half-baked and you are starting to forget their siblings' names, never mind their coworkers. But you're still in the play even if you're no longer a main character. ~ Sloane Crosley

On the platter sat the roast, half of it black, the other half bloody. A wilted sprig of parsley sat beside it, as if Mary couldn't quite allow the roast to leave her kitchen without trying to disguise it.
Silence hung over the table.
Dougal set the cover to one side and removed the covers from the other dishes: a bowl of something green that sat in an oily liquid; a thick slab of pork in the middle of a large, chipped platter; some turnips floating unappetizingly in water; and a basket of undercooked bread.
Sophia thought the turnips were a nice touch. No one liked turnips.
Dougal picked up the carving knife. "Well, my dear?" he asked pleasantly, an amused glint in his eyes. "How do you like your meat? Raw? Or burned to a charred mess? ~ Karen Hawkins

You're so hot. I'm hungry." Sloane. Food. Sloane. Food. How was he supposed to decide? Unless... "Can I have both?"
"I think you left the other half of that question in your head. ~ Charlie Cochet

When we were doing interviews for our bio, I described hearing that song for the first time to be like Sara was standing on my chest. I just felt really sad, and that was having heard all the other songs in order leading up to that one. I know that when Sara was writing these songs it was during the end of her relationship and it was someone she'd been friends with for almost ten years and been with for four years. It was just the psyche of it, when you've known someone for half your life, literally, and then have to leave them, and not necessarily because you want to but just because it's the right thing to do, and it's just not healthy and you're not good anymore, there's no growth and you have to have growth. And when I hear that song, the idea of that all happening just makes me sick to my stomach a little bit. But it's in an enjoyable way. ~ Tegan Quin

I suspect, however, that the thing that confuses you about Ian is that he's half Scot. In many ways he's more Scot than English, which accounts for what you're calling a ruthless streak. He'll do what he pleases, when he pleases, and the devil fly with the consequences. He always has. He doesn't care what anyone thinks of him or of what he does."
Pausing, Jordan glanced meaningfully at the couple who'd paused to look at a shrubbery on the front lawn. Ian was listening to Elizabeth intently, an expression of tenderness on his rugged face. "The other night, however, he cared very much what people thought of your lovely friend. In fact, I don't like to think what he might have done had anyone actually dared to openly insult her in front of him. You're right when you aren't deceived by Ian's civilized veneer. Beneath that he's a Scot, and he has a temper to go with it, though he usually keeps it in check."
"I don't think you're reassuring me," Alex said shakily.
"I should be. He's committed himself completely to her. That commitment is so deep that he even reconciled with his grandfather and then appeared with him in public, which I know was because of Elizabeth."
"What on earth makes you think that?"
"For one thing, when I saw Ian at the Blackmore he had no plans for the evening until he discovered what Elizabeth was going to do at the Willingtons'. The next I knew, he was walking into that ball with his grandfather at his side. And that, my love, is wha ~ Judith McNaught

You Mademoiselle are hardly in a position to remonstrate. The entire world has no doubt been at your feet from the cradle."
"Would you care to join them?" She was teasing but testing her powers too in a feminine display of vanity.
She was too perfect he thought, as she stood provocatively nude before him, too exotic, too tempting, too assured of her extravagant beauty. "Perhaps some other time," his gaze having shuttered slightly, the familiar sardonic half-lidded gaze of the Duc de Vec once again regarding her… ~ Susan Johnson

Belle, girl, you can't find real adventures that way. You have to go out into the world... you have to meet people..."
"You don't," she protested.
"I did when I was younger," he said gently. "That's how I met your mother. True love doesn't just fall into your lap. You have to go out and find your other half."
"But your... my... she fell out of your lap. She just kept going. ~ Liz Braswell

We should return to the docks," Miss Grey suggested. "Perhaps they will be waiting there." Sure enough, she was correct - or at least, half correct. Mr. Kent was leaning on a splintery post by the Aurora, shaking his head as we approached.

"It took you three far too long to return here," he said. "Did you not learn that universal tenet as a child? If you ever lose track of your mother, go back to the last place you shared, no other. It's not terribly complicated. ~ Tarun Shanker

Dear Madeline,
I miss you. I never got to meet you. I never heard your voice and I never saw your smile. Though I imagine it's a lot like mine. And yet I miss you so much.
Every time I see another set of twins just like us, I miss you even more. Seeing other twins, seeing the life I could have had with you, just rips another hole through my heart. I never met you, but I still feel the hole where you're supposed to be. Its' unfair. It's too hard. And it's so many things it shouldn't be.
I should be sharing a room with you. I should be telling you all the things I can't tell anyone .But it's not like that. One day we'll be together again, but until then you have left a hole in me that cannot be filled by anyone else. And I'm left missiing you.
All the love in the world
from your other half,
K ~ Emily Trunko

A couple of years ago, I read the findings of a study on the effects of divorced and separated parents talking negatively about their exes in the presence of their children. What I remember about the study most vividly is really just one thing: that it's devastating for a child to hear one parent speak ill of the other. In fact, so much so that the researchers found it was less psychologically damaging if a parent said directly to the child "You are a worthless piece of shit" than it was for a parent to say "Your mother/father is a worthless piece of shit."
I don't remember if they had any theories about why that was so, but it made sense to me. I think we all have something sturdier inside of us that rears up when we're being attacked that we simply can't call upon when someone we love is being attacked, especially if that someone is our parent, half of us-the primal other- and the person doing the attacking is the other half, the other primal other. ~ Cheryl Strayed

Carry out the republican principle of universal suffrage, or strike it from your banners and substitute 'Freedom and Power to one half of society, and Submission and Slavery to the other.' ~ Ernestine Rose

But marriage is marriage, you know. Marriage is not a love affair. A love affair is a totally different thing. A marriage is a commitment to that which you are. That person is literally your other half. And you and the other are one. A love affair isn't that. That is a relationship for pleasure, and when it gets to be unpleasurable, its off. But a marriage is a life commitment, and a life commitment means the prime concern of your life. If marriage is not the prime concern, you're not married. ~ Joseph Campbell

I believe in love at first sight. Fate, the universe, all of it. But not how you're thinking. I don't mean it in the 'our souls were split and you're my other half forever and ever' sort of way. I just think you're mean to meet some people. I think the universe nudges them into your path. Even on random Monday afternoons in July. Even at the post office. ~ Becky Albertalli

When you come together with your other half, you immediately experience a sense of wholeness and completeness. ~ Andrew Cohen

She didn't get any further because he didn't just stand there letting her aim missiles at him. He easily dodged the first one, and the second went over his head as he dived at her, pushing her back down onto the couch with himself landing on top of her. After she got her breath back from the impact, she shrieked, "Get off of me, you clumsy clod!" "My dear girl, there was nothing clumsy involved in the position you now find yourself. It was quite intentional, I do assure you." "Get off of me anyway!" "So you can resume your spat of violence? No, no. Violence is not going to be part of our relationship. I could've sworn I already mentioned that." "And what do you call squashing me like this?" "Prudence, actually." And then he paused, his eyes getting greener by the second as he stared down at her. "On the other hand, I'd also call it quite nice." Her eyes narrowed. "If you're thinking about kissing me, I wouldn't advise it," she warned. "No?" "No." He sighed. "Ah, well." But then a half grin formed as he added, "I don't always take good advice."

-Kelsey & Derek ~ Johanna Lindsey

My Dear Mrs Winter. (I had half a mind when I dipped my pen in the ink, to address you by your old natural Christian name.)
The snow lies so deep on the Northern Railway, and the Posts have been so interrupted in consequence, that your charming note arrived here only this morning...
I get the heartache again when I read your commission, written in the hand which I find now to be not in the least changed, and yet it is a great pleasure to be entrusted with it, and to have that share in your gentler remembrances which I cannot find it still my privilege to have, without a stirring of the old fancies. ... I am very very sorry you mistrusted me in not writing before your little girl was born; but I hope now you know me better you will teach her, one day, to tell her children, in times to come when they have some interest in wondering about it, that I loved her mother with the most extraordinary earnestness when I was a boy.
I have always believed since, and always shall to the last, that there never was such a faithful and devoted poor fellow as I was. Whatever of fancy, romance, energy, passion, aspiration and determination belong to me, I never have separated and never shall separate from the hard hearted little woman - you - whom it is nothing to say I would have died for, with the greatest alacrity! I never can think, and I never seem to observe, that other young people are in such desperate earnest, or set so much, so long, upon one absorbing hope. It is a mat ~ Charles Dickens

Always mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy, if possible; and when you strike and overcome him, never let up in the pursuit so long as your men have strength to follow; for an army routed, if hotly pursued, becomes panic-stricken, and can then be destroyed by half their number. The other rule is, never fight against heavy odds, if by any possible maneuvering you can hurl your own force on only a part, and that the weakest part, of your enemy and crush it. Such tactics will win every time, and a small army may thus destroy a large one in detail, and repeated victory will make it invincible. ~ Stonewall Jackson

Very few people with these abilities can find each other in all the worlds. When it happens, you know. It's a magnet affect, a sense of finding your missing half, someone who gives off what you do and draws you in like they do to you. ~ Karina Halle

In the Middle of This Century"

In the middle of this century we turned to each other
With half faces and full eyes
like an ancient Egyptian picture
And for a short while.

I stroked your hair
In the opposite direction to your journey,
We called to each other,
Like calling out the names of towns
Where nobody stops
Along the route.

Lovely is the world rising early to evil,
Lovely is the world falling asleep to sin and pity,
In the mingling of ourselves, you and I,
Lovely is the world.

The earth drinks men and their loves
Like wine,
To forget.
It can't.
And like the contours of the Judean hills,
We shall never find peace.

In the middle of this century we turned to each other,
I saw your body, throwing shade, waiting for me,
The leather straps for a long journey
Already tightening across my chest.
I spoke in praise of your mortal hips,
You spoke in praise of my passing face,
I stroked your hair in the direction of your journey,
I touched your flesh, prophet of your end,
I touched your hand which has never slept,
I touched your mouth which may yet sing.

Dust from the desert covered the table
At which we did not eat
But with my finger I wrote on it
The letters of your name. ~ Yehuda Amichai

Rankin put down his glass and stared at him coldly. "I beg your pardon?" he said. "I gather this is some more of your officious - "
Laurence paid no attention, but seized the back of his chair and heaved. Rankin fell forward, scrabbling to catch himself on the floor. Laurence took him by the scruff of his coat and dragged him up to his feet, ignoring his gasp of pain.
"Laurence, what in God's name - " Lenton said in astonishment, rising to his feet.
"Levitas is dying; Captain Rankin wishes to make his farewells," Laurence said, looking Lenton squarely in the eye and holding Rankin up by the collar and the arm. "He begs to be excused."
The other captains stared, half out of their chairs. Lenton looked at Rankin, then very deliberately sat back down. "Very good," he said, and reached for the bottle; the other captains slowly sank back down as well. ~ Naomi Novik