老虎机稳赢方法

“There weren鈥檛 many people in this world who would let you be vulnerable and still believe you were strong.”
― Rob Thomas, The Thousand-Dollar Tan Line

“Les livres sont indispensables. La litt茅rature est l'oxyg猫ne de l'芒me.”
― Michel Tournier

“And just like that, I鈥檝e become a
romantic. I blame Bruno Mars.”
― Ophelia London, Definitely, Maybe in Love

“I like storms. Thunder torrential rain, puddles, wet shoes. When the clouds roll in, I get filled with this giddy expectation. Everything is more beautiful in the rain. Don't ask me why. But it鈥檚 like this whole other realm of opportunity. I used to feel like a superhero, riding my bike over the dangerously slick roads, or maybe an Olympic athlete enduring rough trials to make it to the finish line. On sunny days, as a girl, I could still wake up to that thrilled feeling. You made me giddy with expectation, just like a symphonic rainstorm. You were a tempest in the sun, the thunder in a boring, cloudless sky. I remember I鈥檇 shovel in my breakfast as fast as I could, so I could go knock on your door. We鈥檇 play all day, only coming back for food and sleep. We played hide and seek, you鈥檇 push me on the swing, or we鈥檇 climb trees. Being your sidekick gave me a sense of home again. You see, when I was ten, my mom died. She had cancer, and I lost her before I really knew her. My world felt so insecure, and I was scared. You were the person that turned things right again. With you, I became courageous and free. It was like the part of me that died with my mom came back when I met you, and I didn鈥檛 hurt if I knew I had you. Then one day, out of the blue, I lost you, too. The hurt returned, and I felt sick when I saw you hating me. My rainstorm was gone, and you became cruel. There was no explanation. You were just gone. And my heart was ripped open. I missed you. I missed my mom. What was worse than losing you, was when you started to hurt me. Your words and actions made me hate coming to school. They made me uncomfortable in my own home. Everything still hurts, but I know none of it is my fault. There are a lot of words that I could use to describe you, but the only one that includes sad, angry, miserable, and pitiful is 鈥渃oward.鈥� I a year, I鈥檒l be gone, and you鈥檒l be nothing but some washout whose height of existence was in high school. You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. I loved all those things, and I loved you. But now? You鈥檙e a fucking drought. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.”
― Penelope Douglas, Bully