With a sigh she reached into her pocket and drew out a small velvet bag, which upended on the table. Two gold rings fell out, landing with a soft clink. Simon looked at them puzzled. "You want to get married?
He is in love with the land that is always over The next hill and the next, with the bird that is never, Caught, with the room beyond the looking glass. He likes the half-hid, the half-heard, the half-lit, The man in the fog, the road without an endi...
Do you not listen to our daily meetings about the state of your lands?” “Of course I don’t. They’re dead boring.” “Not everything can involve bloodshed, Annwyl.” “Can’t you come get me when there is bloodshed? Otherwise just leave m...
What more proof do you need to illustrate how America is the land of the free than the fact that the US has the highest incarceration rate in the world?
Unwittingly, I have sailed through my entire life, so far, with neither direction nor destination. I had a vague instinct to reach dry land every once in a while for supplies, but never anything more than that.
Olivia," he sighed as he held her tight against him. "I like the way you leap." For once her laughter was free and easy. "And I like the way you catch me when I land.
Thus, Marlowe posed the silent question: could aspiring Icarus be happy with a toilsome life on land managing a plough with plodding oxen having once tasted the weightless bliss of flight?
There are many things in the deep waters; and seas and lands may change. And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if w...
I'm in a foreign land, trying to explain myself, trying to make myself known. Because isn't that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood? He gets me. She gets me. Isn't that the simple magic phrase?
When we believe that God expects us to try hard to become who Jesus wants us to be, we will live in that blurry, frustrating land of Should Be rather than trust in The One Who Is.
But his mind saw nothing of all this. His mind was engaged in a warfare of the gods. His mind paced outwards over no-man's-land, over the fields of the slain, paced to the rhythm of the blood's red bugles. To be alone and evil! To be a god at bay. Wh...
I look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of my soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciate...
Beyond the fence the forest stood up spectrally in the moonlight, and through the dim stir, through the faint sounds of that lamentable courtyard, the silence of the land went home to one's very heart - its mystery, its greatness, the amazing reality...
I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land--every color, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike--all snored in the same l...
Your own forefathers killed to have and hold the land where you were born, and sought to extinguish the memories and souls of those that were slain. What of those who prayed in the mountains of Appalachia for thousands of years? That to me is an abom...
...it's appalling to remember that the entire Oxford University Library was sold for scrap in the mid-1500s. Nor was that situation unique to Oxford, as libraries were deconstructed throughout the land.
And like an epiphany just landed on my shoulder, everything feels right. A calming acceptance settles over me, and I know, that even through the twists and uncertainty of time, it's okay if my heart sometimes leads me.
The Portuguese call it saudade: a longing for something so indefinite as to be indefinable. Love affairs, miseries of life, the way things were, people already dead, those who left and the ocean that tossed them on the shores of a different land — ...
Her eyes beamed over the top of the cup like Peterbilt high beams coming over a hillcrest, full moon rising over a mountain lake with its reflected partner, 747 landing lights coming down onto a runway.
The geniuses of all ages and of all lands speak different languages but the same flame burns in them all. Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels now from being able to understand them.
Early in the 1990s, I flew alone in a dandelion-yellow, single-engine, 180-horsepower Piper Cherokee from Westchester County Airport in New York westward to the Rocky Mountains, landing and refuelling a good many times in middle-sized cities and town...
