The answer to our prayer may be coming, although we may not discern its approach. A seed that is underground during winter, although hidden and seemingly dead and lost, is nevertheless taking root for a later spring and harvest.
Find a target. Know where your influence is heading towards. Find out those who will be interested in what you do and “why”. Now work hard to answer the question “why?
In India even the most mundane inquiries have a habit of ending this way. There may be two answers, there may be five, a dozen or a hundred; the only thing that is certain is that all will be different.
Just that one word—sound—sent a strong answering pulse through her body. His tongue curled around syllables that weren’t there, like a promise. This is what you’ll get, if you just let me hear.
Love always was and always will be the only real answer. Why else do you think we have been taught so much hate?
There are answers which, in turning away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to have a discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy.
To whom can I put this question (with any hopes of an answer)? Does being able to live without someone you loved mean you loved her less than you thought... ?
He answered with a smile. The darkest and most malignant I had ever seen, too strong to be voluntary. I thought. But I didn't dare turn to it, in case it wasn't there.
Are you telling me, or are you asking me?" Kathel said sarcastically. "Depends on your answer," Wharick replied. "Yes, Gwardian. It would be my honor to be your second." "Then I was telling you," Wharick told him.
I wondered if having conversations with your dog was less crazy than babbling to yourself when no one else was around. I guess it depended on whether or not the dog answered.
That guy in the corner. Never tells the truth, as a matter of principle. Why answer a question, he says, if you can tell a good story instead?
You are not Dostoevsky,' said the woman... 'You never can tell...' he answered. 'Dostoevsky is dead,' the woman said, a bit uncertainly. 'I protest!' he said with heat, 'Dostoevsky is immortal!
Live each day with an open heart. Everything you are, feel and do must come from your heart, if you are to be truly you. Believe in love and trust that you will find the answers you seek.
Are you going to answer my questions, or do I have to whack you with a stick until delicious candy surprises fall out?
I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though to be honest, my faith has made for alist of questions I definitely want answered after I'm gone.
You are the answer to every prayer I've offered. You are a song, a dream, a whisper, and I don't know how I could have lived without you for as long as I have.
She never answered. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, reaching toward him with her gaze alone, pulling him to drown in the sorrow of those depthless black pools.
She meant you have to live a story for a time.' 'And?' 'And then you can write it, in time. What have you lived?' 'Kind of a personal question for Twitterland.' 'Kind of the perfect question to answer in fiction.
The cane leaves a mark on your flesh for a few hours, a day or two. The good answers to the questions leave a mark on your brain for many years, sometimes even for life,” my father said.
Had they not been taken, she asked, to circuses when they were children? Never, he answered, as if she asked the very thing he wanted; had been longing all these days to say, how they did not go to circuses.
She started dialing his cell, then hung up and tried the landline -- maybe Margaret was a better bet to pick up; their parents' generation still felt morally obligated to answer phones.
