A Rip Through Time (A Rip Through Time #1)

by Kelley Armstrong

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

don’t know whether it’s a personality clash or simply a product of the times, where women have so little power that they wield it against one another with unnecessary vigor.

I stifle the impulse. Not my circus. Not my monkey. Not even my century.

I do not judge lives that have seen the kind of hardship I struggle to comprehend.

This world may not be hell, but it is another sort of nightmare, one where my rights and freedoms have been snatched away, and I am powerless to fight back.

The brain likes stereotypes because they are mental shortcuts. We have so much data to process in everyday life that we rely on these shortcuts far too much.

“Is nothing being done, then?” I say, waving around. “About this?” “Yes, something is being done. They are clearing the slums. You will see notices here and there. The buildings being knocked down, the people sent on their way. No reparations. No assistance. Driven out as if they were rats. For their own good. To convince them to better themselves, because all they need, obviously, is motivation.” Bitter sarcasm drips from her voice. Nothing has changed there either, then. The poor just need a kick in the ass to punt them into the middle class.

Thy name is woman, and so thou shalt not pass.

While my former public school now admits international students, I was an anomaly at the time, and some people do not like anomalies. They mistake difference for weakness. I learned how to teach them otherwise, sometimes with my grades and sometimes with my fists.