I remember my fourth grade teacher reading 'Charlotte's Web' and 'Stuart Little' to us - both, of course, by E. B. White. His stories were genuinely funny, thought provoking and full of irony and charm. He didn't condescend to his readers, which was ...
If a man say, 'I love God,' and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also.
God wants to help us... He loves us... we are His children. But He will not force His help on us at any time. He sees us when we struggle and fight and complain our way through things. And I believe it breaks His heart, when all we have to do is ask ...
The stories my pupils told me were astonishing. One told how he had witnessed his cousin being shot in the back five times; another how his parents had died of AIDS. Another said that he'd probably been to more funerals than parties in his young life...
Her eyes fluttered open. She was lying in Sylvain's lap, his arms tight around her. She reached up and touched his face wonderingly. "Why are you crying?" she whispered. He didn't answer. Instead he rocked her like a baby, his face in her hair. Liste...
1045Her eyes fluttered open. She was lying in Sylvain's lap, his arms tight around her. She reached up and touched his face wonderingly. "Why are you crying?" she whispered. He didn't answer. Instead he rocked her like a baby, his face in her hair. L...
Fate had a cruel sense of humor. It had been all his fault, anyway, whatever Mick or Gillia told him. Careless preoccupation and utter stupidity. Boyhood ignorance and negligence. He was only getting what he deserved, over and over again, for the res...
The gay bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate; the willow grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud; each floweret, chilled by the night air, expands its pure petals; the gentl...
Man is a spiritual being, a soul, and at some period of his life everyone is possessed with an irresistible desire to know his relationship to the Infinite. . . . There is something within him which urges him to rise above himself, to control his env...
I want so much for my lover. At night when our beds are drawn close together I waken and see his dear yellow head on the pillow - sometimes his arm thrown over on my bed - and I kiss his hand, very softly so that it will not waken him.
Jamie Moyer was in his third year as a major league pitcher and was, by his own admission, still wide-eyed, watching everything going on around him and soaking it in. He paid particular attention to older teammates on his Chicago Cubs squad, hoping t...
People don't realize what a brilliant politician Lincoln was. Looking back, we want to ascribe a level of providence to his every decision but he was a cunning and calculating politician; from the cultivation of his image as a hayseed from Illinois, ...
Walt Kowalski: [in a rage over his responsibility for Sue's rape] You rotten fuck... [begins punching the doorframe] Walt Kowalski: You rotten fuck! [overturns his kitchen table] Walt Kowalski: *YOU ROTTEN FUCK!* [drives his fist through the plate gl...
Aman Mathur: [lying on his deathbed] Now, let me sleep! Just wake me up when you are leaving! [closing his eyes and seems to stop moving] Rohit Patel: [concerned] Aman? Aman Mathur: [opening his eyes] Not yet... idiot!
Mike: [unlocks his car] Come on, hop on in. Sulley: No way, there's a scream shortage. We're walking. Mike: No, come on, It's just-I... just... [is pulled away from his car after a struggle and locks his car again] Mike: I-I'll call ya!
The Gyro Captain: [Max starts to pull a concealed knife from under his car. The Captain puts a loaded crossbow to his neck from behind] A fellah, a QUICK fellah, might have a weapon under there. I'd have to pin his head to the panel...
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: [Quoting "Moby Dick"] And he piled upon the whale's white hump, the sum of all the rage and hate felt by his whole race. If his chest had been a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon it.
Andy Dufresne: What was his name? Heywood: What did you say? Andy Dufresne: I was just wondering if anybody knew his name. Heywood: Fuck do you care, new fish? Doesn't fuckin' matter what his name was. He's dead.
Will Munny: All right, I'm coming out. Any man I see out there, I'm gonna shoot him. Any sumbitch takes a shot at me, I'm not only gonna kill him, but I'm gonna kill his wife, all his friends, and burn his damn house down.
Nobody could like Donald Trump, surely, except his mother. No one really likes The Donald. But how can you not have respect for a guy who's been down on the floor and just keeps coming back? Nothing will keep Donald Trump down until they drive a wood...
Edward Cole: [to himself, about his relative wellness while looking in a mirror at his wan face and bald head adorned with a railroad track of baseball-like stitches from his brain surgery] My God. Somewhere, some lucky guy's having a heart attack.
