Like blood out of a wound, a keening wail rose from the bottom of my heart and ripped through the graveyard. I lowered my face to Hadassah's shoulder and went quietly and thoroughly to pieces.
Narrow all your interests until your mind, heart, and body are focused on Jesus Christ.
This isn't going to be pretty. Rules will be broken. Friendships will be tested. And huge risks will be taken. But they're small prices to pay for true love and freedom, right?
Don't forget to pray today because God did not forget to wake you up this morning.
So. Tell me. What do you think? Which is better? To take action and perhaps make a fatal mistake - or to take no action and die slowly anyway?
And so the very thing that should make Egypt strong - the richness and diversity of her culture - serves to divide her and make her weak.
Looking back, I realized that we were being raised to be schizophrenic; an appearance of perfection was more important than genuine feelings
So at the heart of all things is the germ of their overthrow; the closer you are to the heart, the closer to the reversal. Nowhere to go but down. You reach the core and then you're blown away--
No, mi dicevo, non può essere bello un mondo dove le paure e gli entusiasmi spaventano i più, tesi come sono al risparmio di sé e dei propri sentimenti.
The revolution in Sheol I had beaten the odds. With the right reasons, at the right moment, even the most beaten and broken of people could rise up and reclaim themselves.
...there are so many books left to read. For that reason alone it is worth going on living. Books make me happy, the help me escape from reality.
Why had his mother gone to the trouble of bringing him into the world if the most exciting moment in his life was having been made lame by a bayonet?
There is little more I can add short of dissecting the man, or going into intimate details such as the modest proportions and slight southeasterly curvature of his manhood.
It is not an external enemy we dread. Our foe is shut up within ourselves. An internal warfare is daily waged by us.
Science cannot tell us a word about why music delights us, of why and how an old song can move us to tears.
On a small table beside his chair were other haphazardly stacked volumes by such poets as Emerson, Whitman, and Wallace Stevens, a dangerous crew to let into your head.
I don't spill my drinks on just any man, you know." She touched his cheek. "only dashing shark lovers with pantydropping accents.
I want you alone," he whispered, gliding a hand around her hip, "on a slow boat to China. Days together, nights... rocking on the waves.
Why was life so unfair that the one guy she felt uncontrollable chemistry with ---even when they weren't even touching ---was the only guy she had to keep her hands off?
Think of it this way," he rubbed a fist under his square jaw, "If we hadn't been on the same flight or at the same hotel, you would've had no one to spill your drinks on.
He was too smitten by his second wife and the sons she produced easily and regularly at eighteen-month intervals to bother too much about a daughter.
