Cartman: [to Kyle] Don't call me fat, you fucking Jew! Mr. Garrison: Eric, did you just say the F-word? Cartman: Jew? Kyle: No, he's talking about "fuck". You can't say "fuck" in school, you fucking fat ass! Mr. Garrison: Kyle! Cartman: Why the fuck ...
He sat a long time and he thought about his life and how little of it he could ever have foreseen and he wondered for all his will and all his intent how much of it was his doing.
A man's heart does not love like a woman's, Lorelei. Logren would lay down and die if he thought his death would save your life because you are his sister, but his tongue is not so easily guided by his brother's heart.
Christian submitted to the roll of his eyes, the churn of his stomach, the break in his knees. He willingly fell out of consciousness, surrendering his heart to the blackness. She was gone. He was gone. Life on earth didn't matter anymore.
... he was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. "Damn it," he sighed. "How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!
His crucifixion is the key; His resurrection is the door... it is only by his death that we have the mandate to enter into the gates of eternal life. His doors are open always. Christ is king!
Nico studied his face – his sea-green eyes, his grin, his ruffled black hair. Somehow Percy Jackson seemed like a regular guy now, not a mythical figure. Not someone to idolize or crush on.
He was not thinking that the Christian law which he had wanted to follow all his life prescribed that he forgive and love his enemies; but the joyful feeling of love and forgiveness of his enemies filled his soul.
To secure his king's trust, his family's future, and perhaps even his own happiness, he needed to convince her he was more than a mercenary -- in fact, a man who would stand by her side.
His clothes were clean, but his mustache was dirty. He must have used it as a brush to scrub his pants. I’ll bet his coffee tastes like freedom.
He was staring hard, not at his wife and me but at his daughter watching us. In his cold pupil, in the firm twist of his lips, was reflected Madame Miyagi's orgasm reflected in her daughter's gaze.
He threw himself to his knees at the stone and tore his damning testimony from the pages of its testament. He held the only evidence of his identity in his hand and in one motion of forfeit and justice he cast it into the fire.
You may plainly perceive the traitor through his mask; he is well-known everywhere in his true colors; his rolling eyes and his honeyed tones impose only on those who do not know him.
A person whose desires and impulses are his own—are the expression of his own nature, as it has been developed and modified by his own culture—is said to have a character. One whose desires and impulses are not his own, has no character, no more ...
He who lets the world, or his own portion of it, choose his plan of life for him, has no need of any other faculty than the ape-like one of imitation. He who chooses his plan for himself, employs all his faculties.
His high spiced wares were made to sell, and they sold; and his thousands of readers could as rationally charge their delight in filth upon him, as a glutton can shift upon his cook the responsibility of his beastly excess.
You are a moron. Jackson wanted to bash the message into his head. Because obviously his brain wasn't going to be of any help in the matter. And God knew his friend that lived behind the zipper of his jeans was clueless.
His first name is Brooks, but his last name isn’t. His last name is Wrinkled, unlike his shirt (he isn’t wearing one).
Lord help her, but she was instantly drawn to his scent - a mixture of smoke and salt and mystery - as well as his strength. The pulse of his heart, the hum of blood through his veins, the aura of power and danger surrounding him.
In a pre-scientific society the best the common man can do is pin his faith on a leader and give him his support, trusting in his benevolence against the misuse of the delegated power and in his wisdom to govern justly and make war successfully.
Dad often told me, 'My job is to help my boss do his job and make him look good.' That was my dad's objective. Everything about the way he conducted himself was to communicate support for his superiors and respect for his coworkers. The way he dresse...
