She fully expected to see a maniacal killer raising his arms with a plastic bag in his hands to suffocate her
Hi's nose was pressed to his window. “I've changed my mind, Tory. This is the perfect place to hold someone prisoner. I'm keeping this on file.
His plan in your life means his work in your hands, and you can be sure it is work he has chosen and gifted you to do.
Any fear associated with giving to God's kingdom is irrational. It's on par with a farmer who, out of fear of losing his seed, refuses to plant his fields.
The strongest soldier cannot balance long upon the blade that does divide his honor and his heart, and whatever way he falls, the cut will kill him.
Norm was lean, his short, straight black hair parted on the side, his mustache trimmed like he’d never heard of Adolf Hitler.
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
She comforted him in his darkness and gave him hope. She seemed to cherish a sincere affection for him, despite his failings. 'She saved me'.
He'd lived so long in anticipation of his own death that to contemplate his future was like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into a vertiginous rush of open sky.
Our prayers can go where we cannot...there are no borders, no prison walls, no doors that are closed to us when we pray.
I would have done whatever it took to save you.' His voice and his expression were grave. 'Even if that meant I had to spend eternity in Hell.
One of the drawbacks about adventures is that when you come to the most beautiful places you are often too anxious and hurried to appreciate them.
Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes (neatly brushed)—Gandalf came by.
Daughter," said the Hermit, "I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never met any such thing as Luck.
She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin; when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He's like a dragon, ancient and fearless.
A man far oftener appears to have a decided character from persistently following his temperament than from persistently following his principles.
Keep climbing,' he told himself. 'Cheeseburgers,' his stomach replied. 'Shut up,' he thought. 'With fries,' his stomach complained.
He looked along the line of children, exhibits A to C of his existence and heirs to the twisted throne of his corrupt genetics.
The sound of his rough voice was…comforting, like there was safety wherever he was. Well, some safety…he certainly had an awful lot of sneaky tricks up his sleeve.
He couldn't think of his robbed left eye without hate squirting into his veins from some deep poison gland he hadn't known he possessed.
... a man doesn't like to have his ego popped, especially when he prides himself on his sagacity, and then to be proved wrong by a man who claims he doesn't know anything.
