You ask me what I call Success -
It is, I wonder, Happiness?
It is not wealth, it is not fame,
Nor rank, nor power nor honoured name.
It is not triumph in the Arts -
Best-selling books or leading parts.
It is not plaudits of the crowd,
The flame of flags, processions proud.
The panegyrics of the Press
are but the mirage of Success.
You may have all of them, my friend,
Yet be a failure in the end.
Think you’ve had enough the last laugh
Bet you think that everything good is gone
Think you left me broken down
Think that I’d come running back
Baby, you don’t know me, ‘cause you’re dead wrong
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone
What doesn’t kill you makes you fighter” —Stronger by Kelly Clarkson
“His mouth closed over hers, hot and hungry, warming her mouth as his body warmed her body.
“Me,” Charles said, his voice dark and gravelly as if it had traveled up from the bottom of the earth, his eyes a bright gold. “You need me.”
He kissed her again, his hands roaming from her jaw down her neck and s up until his shoulders. His hips pressed forward, and he released her mouth as he slid his body up and his sex pressed forward, hard and full, against hers. She jerked involuntary, and he laughed in the same deep way that he had spoken. She growled at him, wolf to wolf.
“There you are, there you are,” he said. “Are you just going to let me do this alone?”” —Fair Game by Patricia Briggs