If you'd told me even a year before...that I'd wind up whispering my sins in the confessional or on my knees saying the rosary, I would've laughed myself cockeyed. More likely pastime?Pole dancer. International spy. Drug mule. Assassin. I drive under...
A little porch light from a distant farmhouse dimmed, feeling alone and unneeded until his smallest spark of illumination snuffed out entirely. The night fell as dark as it was quiet. Meanwhile, every secret eye within the vicinity―from insect to a...
It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of ligh...
She could never take an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. The weak and flaccid parity would make her nearly puke. She wants an eye for a tooth, and a life for an eye.
We may be sure that the characteristic blindness of the twentieth century - the blindness about which posterity will ask, "But how could they have thought that?" - lies where we have never suspected it... None of us can fully escape this blindness, b...
An eye for an eye is never enough. Never, never, never.
Better to be guilty in the eyes of men than in the eyes of God.
There is an underlying rhythm to all text. Sentences crashing fall like the waves of the sea, and work unconsciously on the reader. Punctuation is the music of language. As a conductor can influence the experience of the song by manipulating its rhyt...
Blue eyes say, Love me or I die; black eyes say, Love me or I kill thee.
Wine is one of the most complex of all beverages: the fruit of a soil, climate, and vintage, digested by a fungus through a process guided by the culture, vision, and skill of an individual man or woman.
i sometimes felt as if these marks on my body were a kind of code, which blossomed, then faded, like invisible ink held to a candle. But if they were a code, who held the key to it? I was sand, I was snow—written on, rewritten, smoothed over.
What fabrications they are, mothers. Scarecrows, wax dolls for us to stick pins into, crude diagrams. We deny them an existence of their own, we make them up to suit ourselves -- our own hungers, our own wishes, our own deficiencies.
In the old days, trouble was kept in the family, which is still the best place for it, not that there's ever a best place for trouble. Why stir everything up again after that many years, with all concerned tucked, like tired children, so neatly into ...
Where was the threshold, between the inner world and the outer one? We each move unthinkingly through this gateway every day, we use the passwords of grammar-- --paying for the privilege of sanity with common coin, with meanings we've agreed on.
Things exist either because they have recently come into existence or because they have qualities that made them unlikely to be destroyed in the past.
There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point… The truly adult view, by contrast, is that our life is as meaningful, as full and as wonderful as we choose to make it.
I remember my uncle and my father telling me that my mother didn't want me because I was blind. She thought being blind was a disgrace and a punishment from God. I understand that a lot of young mothers probably wouldn't know what to do in that situa...
Raleigh: [Into tape recorder, softly] Dudley suffers from a rare disorder combining symptoms of amnesia, dyslexia, and color-blindness, with a highly acute sense of hearing. Dudley Heinsbergen: [from adjoining room] I'm not color blind, am I? Raleigh...
Michael Oher: [after pushing an opponent all the way off the field] Sorry, Coach. I stopped when I heard the whistle. Coach Cotton: Where were you taking him? Michael Oher: The bus. It was time for him to go home.
Leigh Anne Touhy: Michael, I want you to have a good time but if you get a girl pregnant out of wedlock, I will crawl into the car, drive up to Oxford and cut off your penis. S.J. Tuohy: She means it.
An eye for an eye my friend.
