I will love you like the desert burns along the sun when they are together, and when you will be gone, just like every one else, I will cry for you like the snow that melts at the first hint of summer... and hoping that you'll be back I will miss you...
Soon enough his head would be swimming with tales of derring-do and high adventure, tales of beautiful maidens kissed, of evildoers shot with pistols or fought with swords, of bags of gold, of diamonds as big as the tip of your thumb, of lost cities ...
I always have this image of a woman running across a desert carrying children, trying to find water and food, not knowing when they'll get that. And her feet are slashed up from the dry, hard earth... Even when I'm uncomfortable, sometimes in pain, o...
Adjutant SS-Hauptsturmführer Otto Günsche: He is not in the bunker. Adolf Hitler: What do you mean you can't find Fegelein? Keep searching for him! I want to see Fegelein at once! If he goes AWOL, that's desertion. Treason! Bring me Fegelein! [slam...
[as they set out across the desert] Tuco: What was it you told me the last time? Ah, yes..."If you save your breath I feel a man like you can manage it." And if you won't manage it, you'll die... only slowly. *Very* slowly, old friend.
Mr. Dryden: Lawrence, only two kinds of creature get fun in the desert: Bedouins and gods, and you're neither. Take it from me, for ordinary men, it's a burning, fiery furnace. T.E. Lawrence: No, Dryden, it's going to be fun. Mr. Dryden: It is recogn...
Frankie Dunn: I'm gonna get you out of here. These doctors around here don't know squat. Otherwise, why would they be living out here in the desert? As soon as you're able to be moved, we'll find someplace where they've actually studied medicine,
Bernadette: No, I'll join this conversation on the proviso that we stop bitching about people, talking about wigs, dresses, bust sizes, penises, drugs, night clubs, and bloody Abba! Tick: Doesn't give us much to talk about then, does it?
[Lamarr's posse rides up on Bart's diversion: a single tollbooth in the middle of the desert] Taggart: *LePetomaine Thruway*? Now what'll that asshole think of next? [turns to the posse] Taggart: Has anybody got a dime? [henchmen grumble, search thei...
He keeps going, going, going on; his people groan and fall one after the other, but he keeps on going, going and in the end, perishes himself, but still remains the despot and tsar of the desert because the cross over his grave is visible to caravans...
And then the lights went low, and our song began. The song I’d been working on since I’d arrived on the island. The one that morphed into something else entirely, something I never intended it to be. But music is like that. Much like life. It tel...
Why slum it where people were burdened by yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that? By history? Here, on the Island, they had learnt how to deal with history, how to sling it carelessly on your back and stride out across the download wi...
I had always thought of home not as a house, or even a place, but a feeling of safety and acceptance, a warm light when the rest of the world was a dark, forbidding place. Whenever my family was around, wherever we were, I felt like I was home.
I wrote about the rush of love, the changing of a woman into a mother—a process that happened without conscious thought, as if the heart knew what the mind and body took time to learn. Love is the one thing that matters. That makes everything else ...
Sorrow has rushed over the world like the waters of the Deluge, and it will take time to recede. But already, there are small islands of - hope? Happiness? Something like them, at any rate.
Whales are silly once every two years. The young are called short-heads or baby blimps. Many whale romances begin in Baffin's bay and end in Procter and Gamble's factory, Staten Island.
In an age where everything and everyone is linked through networks of glass and air, no one - no business, organization, government agency, country - is an island. We need to do right by all our stakeholders, and that's how you create value for share...
I'd never forget how it felt to say those words. To be in our place. In love with you, in love with us, in love with our secret, with the island we were building, keeping out the whole wide world.
Still, though no one is an island, most are peninsulas. Our lives wouldn't make sense without personal memories pinned like butterflies against the velvet backdrop of social history.
I wonder if it will be—can be—any more beautiful than this,’ murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to whom ‘home’ must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie unde...
She cursed under her breath. Eddie watched the EBs react, the younger ones recoiling with silent gasps. "Better watch your language. There are children present. I think you're freaking them out." "Sure, I'm the one freaking them out.
