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Quote by Richard Blanco

“Let's raise our children together: let them ride the same school buses, learn the same history, swing in the same playgrounds, pedal their bikes down the same streets, share their same city. Then we shall see face to face. Halleluiah.”

Quote by Richard Blanco

Work

How to Love a Country

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Author

Richard Blanco
Richard Blanco

Richard Blanco is a renowned American poet born on February 15, 1968, in Puerto Rico. His poetry blends personal experience, cultural identity, and public issues, enjoying great popularity among readers. more

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“Mate.” He buries his face into my neck, and I tip my head to the side, shivering when he runs his lips over my throat. “Mine.” His words come out as a harsh growl that makes my pussy clench with need as the hard length of his cock presses against my ass. I can’t hold in my breathy moan. “Oh, bloody hell. Really?” I slide my gaze to Valen. He’s shaking his head. “Go to the car, at least. There are children. Now I have to start all over.”

“If anybody had told him five years ago that August would be the first of them to have kids, Asa would have laughed himself sick. His older brother was the most twisted and depraved of them all. He loved killing more than Asa or Avi. More than that, he loved torturing them. Reveled in it, even. And now, he had babies. Tiny human babies, who gazed up at him with huge green eyes, implicitly trusting his maniac brother to care for them. And he did.”

“Children make the best theorists, since they have not yet been educated into accepting our routine social practices as "natural," and so insist on posing to those practices the most embarrassingly general and fundamental questions, regarding them with a wondering estrangement which we adults have long forgotten. Since they do not yet grasp our social practices as inevitable, they do not see why we might not do things differently.”

“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things. The Baudelaire orphans were crying not only for their Uncle Monty, but for their own parents, and this dark and curious feeling of falling that accompanies any great loss.”

“Klaus looked, and even Violet managed to focus enough to look down where Sunny was pointing. Down the staircase, just past the next landing, was a flickering, orange glow, as if the sun was rising out of the hospital basement, and a few wisps of dark black smoke were curling up the staircase like the tentacles of some ghostly animal. It was an eerie sight that had haunted the Baudelaires in their dreams, ever since that fateful day at the beach when all their trouble began. For a moment, the three children were unable to do anything but stare down at the orange glow and the tentacles of smoke, and think about all they had lost because of what they were looking at.”