A vision flashed across Nick’s mind. It was the image of a lipstick kiss his wife left for him on the mirror that morning. It hung there like the single digit sum to the chalkboard-crammed equation of his life.
Horror was written all over his face as he began to understand that that child of his wasn’t stupid, or immune to what he had done in the past. It had greatly affected her.
He who suffers wins in politics. The martyr does not obtain the victory personally, but his group, his successors, win in the long run.
He was as obsequious as a Japanese ivy plant. Wringing his hands as if he hoped to squeeze the milk of human kindness from his fingernails, ...
The tyrant is a child of Pride Who drinks from his sickening cup Recklessness and vanity, Until from his high crest headlong He plummets to the dust of hope.
A powerful truth is that if we love the Lord, love His Word, love His people, and love one another, we won’t want to gossip.
The greatest artists express their inner self; an artist paints her rage; a writer pens his fear; a dancer expresses her sadness through movement; and a musician's loneliness echoes in his performance.
But his eyes say what he can’t. I see it, clear as day, even if she doesn’t. He’d give up his wings for her. All she’d have to do is ask.
Wanted, a man who will not lose his individuality in a crowd, a man who has the courage of his convictions, who is not afraid to say "No," though all the world say "Yes.
Jesus calls us to his rest, and meekness is His method. The meek man cares not at all who is greater than he, for he has long ago decided that the esteem of the world is not worth the effort.
Wait,” Quinn said. “There’s one more thing.” I turned around and raised an eyebrow. His eyes were wary and he lacked his usual confidence. “Go to the Winter Dance with me.
Let every man abide in the calling wherein he is called and his work will be as sacred as the work of the ministry. It is not what a man does that determines whether his work is sacred or secular, it is why he does it.
The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
He told m the best advice he could ever give me is all in this book. We need God's constant help and blessings. Both are in the pages of the Bible.
Shall we go?' he murmured, perhaps regretting his decision to show me his army of plastic cartoon figurines.
I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my eyes off his body, just the sight of his abs or arms was enough to make me want to get naked and let Carlo take over anything he wanted.
He had withdrawn solely for his own personal pleasure, only to be near to himself. No longer distracted by anything external, he basked in his own existence and found it splendid.
But in all His dealings with His creatures God has maintained the principles of righteousness by revealing sin in its true character-by demonstrating that its sure result is misery and death.
Day, the boy from the streets with nothing except the clothes on his back and the earnestness in his eyes, owns my heart. He is beauty, inside and out. He is the silver lining in a world of darkness. He is my light.
One had to know Plato personally to appreciate the love he suppressed puritanically for the music, poetry, and drama he censured in his philosophy and censored in his model communities. They moved him too deeply.
Chuck Parson did not participate in organized sports, because to do so would distract from his larger goal of his life: to one day be convicted of murder
