@ys Quotes

Stop shining your lantern in my face." "It's such a lovely face.

Read as widely and as deeply as you can. You have to be a reader before you can be a writer.

It's terrifying, to be on the verge of finally getting what you want.

I DON’T have EX’s! I have Y’s. Like ‘Y the hell did I date you?!’ -Kevin Hart

He smiled. "I suppose I thought we'd have a madly impractical, terrifyingly modern sort of marriage. One based on love. Not to mention dangerous undertakings and hair's-breadth escapes from burning buildings, high ledges and exploding sewers." "And bickering." "Always that, yes." "Assuming I want to marry at all." "True. I know of no good way of forcing you to do anything." "And you're mad enough to think it could work - one day?" He cupped her face in his hands. His smile was so brilliant it seemed to illuminate the room. "I think it would be heaven." She trembled, then. "You have a very strange idea of heaven." "Kiss me and see.

I have never been drawn to luxury. I love the simple things; coffee shops, books, and people who try to understand.

I am madly, ridiculously, passionately in love with you. I don’t care about your past. Your race does nothing to change my feelings. I love you, you stubborn little fool. Is that clear enough for you?

Her Majesty Victoria, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith, had a lamp shade on her head. Again.

I hope these simple things are what I forever love about life, for then I will be happy no matter where I find myself.

I knew you didn't love me, but I dangerously adored you anyways.

For several moments, Mary couldn't hear anything over the violent pounding of her pulse.

He laughed, then became serious once more. "Mary............" The expression in his eyes set her heart pounding. "Yes?" Twice he began to frame a sentence, and twice his voice seemed to fail him. And she thought she understood. What could he possibly say to her now, when he was on the verge of leaving forever? Even something as simple as asking her to write to him carried a distinct sort of promis, the type of promise he was ten years and a half a world removed from being able to make. She forced a polite smile and held out her hand. "Good luck, James." Regret-and relief-flooded his eyes. he took her hand, cradling it for a long moment. "And to you." It was foolish to linger. She slid her fingers from his grasp, turned, and began to walk away in the direction of the Academy. She'd gone about thirty paces when she heard his voice. "Mary!" She spun about. "What is it?" "Stay out of wardrobes!" She laughed, shook her head, and began to walk again. She was smiling this time.

I’m so sorry. I don’t think the etiquette manuals cover this sort of situation.” He leaned in close, his lips all but grazing her neck, and inhaled. “Mmm. You smell good, too.” She nearly choked. Took a step backwards, until her back met cold stone. “Th-thank you.” “That’s better. May I kiss you?” His finger dipped into her shirt collar, stroking the tender nape of her neck. “I d-don’t th-think that’s a good idea.” “Why not? We’re alone.” His hands were at her waist. Her lungs felt tight and much too small. “Wh-what if somebody comes in?” He considered for a moment. “Well, I suppose they’ll think I fancy grubby little boys.

I wanted to say "don't leave me," but I'm so tired of begging people to stay.

He looked at her for a moment, amazed. "How did you know that? How can a servant girl like you understand so much?" Because self-absorbed man-children are common as weeds, thought Mary. But she said, "I don't know, sir. I only guessed.

...the hardest word to swallow is almost.

She hesitated for a moment longer, then tentatively placed her fingers in his. Her hand was hot and dry and so fragile-seeming that James cradled it gingerly. The next moment, she squeezed so hard his eyes widened. Fragile lady be damned. He squeezed back spitefully. "Vicious minx.

I have to remember it is not love that has hurt me; but someone who could not love me in the right way.

Are you quite certain you don't want to come up to my flat for tea and toast and scandal?

Calmly, slowly, she reached behind with her left hand and came up against — yes, fabric. Fine linen, to be precise. So far, so good: she was inside a wardrobe, after all. The only problem was that this linen was oddly warm. Body warm. Beneath the tentative pressure of her palm, it seemed to be moving... With terrifying suddenness, an ungloved hand clamped roughly over her nose and mouth. A long arm pinned her arms against her sides. She was held tightly against a hard, warm surface. "Hush," whispered a pair of lips pressed to her left ear. "If you scream, we are both lost.

I want to love like my grandmother, who loved a woman like Joseph loved Mary. Someone so imperfect, so human, brave enough to love someone who already knows God.

She tasted of coffee and day old poetry.

Have you ever loved something so much that you never had to even think about whether you did or not? That's how I love him.

It's terrifying to be on the verge of finally getting what you want.

And not one person would notice the grey parts of her until it was too late, because everyone falls for a pretty face.

I love the way you lit candles, with the insistence that I never look, just so I can open my eyes and find the light in the darkness.

the more one respects Jesus, the more one must be brokenhearted, embarrassed, furious, or some combination thereof when one considers what we Christians have done with Jesus. That’s certainly true when it comes to calling Jesus Lord, something we Christians do a lot, often without the foggiest idea of what we mean. Has he become (I shudder to ask this) less our Lord and more our Mascot?

We live by devouring those we love. How can we help it? They're the ones within closest reach.

People should love in the same way that they should write; insistently, fervently, forever.

Gen-Ys are delusional; Most people are not special—otherwise “special” wouldn’t mean anything. Even right now, most of Gen-Ys reading this are thinking, “Good point. But I actually am one of the few special ones”—and this is the problem.

'I thought you were an atheist,' Sjurd commented to hide the clench of his gut. He couldn't be stuck here while his country burned. 'Nobody's an atheist in a storm,' Celyn said absently, still frowning at the sky.

If you ever need to poison someone, do it with a bacon sandwich

When words failed I realized there was something unspeakably beautiful in not being able to put words to your happiness.

You want to be there for me but an anxiety attack is a solitary activity.

I will never ask of you the impossible, I just ask you to love me in the best way you can.

It's scary how you can be haunted by someone who is still alive.

You are enough, you are worth it, Worth every ballad, worth every word, every action.

it turns out we were some people which has been chosen by God to be happy in a different way # beggars

Too often we put the gospel of Jesus through the strainer of consumerist-capitalism and retain only the thin broth that this modern-day Caesar lets pass through.

Only the greedy and stupid attempt the White Pass. They try by the hundreds each week.

-¿No sabes qué decir? -parecía divertirse con la confusión que se reflejaba en su rostro. -Sospecho que eres tú quien trata de dejarme sin nada que decir.

Therefore, you should fall in love as often as you can. Fall in love with a thing, with a soul, with every person in your life. Fall in love with your very existence. Only then will you know you have lived.

My dearest Mary, Both my words and my conduct at our last meeting were ungentlemanly - born of haste and high emotion, rather than friendship and good judgement - and yet I cannot find it within me to apologize. I am glad I kissed you; glad to have revelled in your scent, your taste, the touch of your hands; glad, even, to have quarrelled with you because during those moments of anger, I was in your presence. Mary, you are the most singular woman I know: intelligent, brave and honest, and I crave your friendship. I confess to only the haziest notion of what I ask, having never been friends with a woman before. My friendships are male and conventional; pleasant and without distinction. But a friendship with you would be a bright, new, rare thing - if you would do me the honour. I expect that what I ask is impossible. But it is sweet to dream, Mary, and thus I tender one last, insolent, unapologetic request: write to me only if you can say yes. Yours, James

I'm starting to learn that if things are messy, or pieces don't get put back right, they are going to hurt, either way.

This is how you love: you do it in all the wrong ways, because that is the only way we know how.

Sleeping with books is a vicious affair, I do not believe it will ever stop.

I will show you all the ways in which you are easy to love.

But, darling, I need you to know, you loving me will not heal me. Please realize, I already know that. And I do not expect it to.

Your beauty will be in shades of melanin and light.

sometimes to choose and know they are more closely you have to be away

Aku ingin namun tak sempat tak sempat menanyakan kemana dia pergi saat badai musimsemi lalu,kemana dia pergi melepas dahaga ketika kemarau lalu

Water reveals the sounds of the Otherworlds, to those who know how to listen.

Manners never won any wars." "Lack of them lost a few.

PRAY FOR THE SOUL OF THE DEMOISELLE JEANNE D'Ys, WHO DIED IN HER YOUTH FOR LOVE OF PHILIP, A STRANGER. A.D. 1573." But upon the icy slab lay a woman's glove still warm and fragrant.

You’re supposed to tell me,” he blurted out as soon as he crossed the threshold the next evening, “when I’m being a selfish brat. People normally tell me!” “Did you start this conversation without me?” Emyr asked, looking puzzled.

Ira, Ys, es un Dios amenazante Que sumerge la ciudad maldita.

Love no longer becomes a feeling - it becomes a storm.

It is funny how when you have been hurt in love and you fall in love again, every reason you have for loving that person is both enough and not, all at once.

And so instead, when you write, I hope you fall in love.

He asked me once what I wanted when I died, what I wanted out of life, and I told him I just wanted more happy memories than sad ones.

Mr. Ching claims the superiority of Chinese hand-and-foot fighting, and promises ocular proof of such.

'Oh, no,' Heilyn said, sidling a little closer. 'If I was being shameless, I would have said I was like a wishbone and you needed to spread my legs to make your dreams come true.'

No, no, Watson, it is all wrong. These certainly are my ts, ys, and ms, and the capital A is very good, but what on earth induced you to obey a note with such a manifestly inaccurate q?

Oddly, I’ve never heard of a church or denomination that asked people to affirm a doctrinal statement like this: The purpose of Scripture is to equip God’s people for good works. Shouldn’t a simple statement like this be far more important than statements with words foreign to the Bible’s vocabulary about itself (inerrant, authoritative, literal, revelatory, objective, absolute, propositional, etc.)?

Attention deficit is no longer the supposed domain of Generation Y’s who were brought up on a diet of social media and new technology. A recent study revealed 65 percent of 55-64 year olds surf, text and watch television simultaneously.

At the end of the fifteenth century, the poet Thomas Hoccleve declared in The Regiment of Princes, “Allas, wher ys this worldes stabylnesse?”—a lament that appears equally in Homer or in Jeremiah in the Old Testament. Through most of human history, people have accepted the fact that their lives will shift suddenly due to wars, famines, or other disasters, and that they will have to improvise in order to survive. Our parents and grandparents were filled with anxiety in 1940, having endured the wreckage of the Great Depression and facing the looming prospect of a world war.

Each week I plot your equations dot for dot, xs against ys in all manner of algebraical relation, and every week they draw themselves as commonplace geometry, as if the world of forms were nothing but arcs and angles. God’s truth, Septimus, if there is an equation for a curve like a bell, there must be an equation for one like a bluebell, and if a bluebell, why not a rose? Do we believe nature is written in numbers? Septimus We do. Thomasina Then why do your equations only describe the shapes of manufacture? Septimus I do not know. Thomasina Armed thus, God could only make a cabinet.

What are your intentions toward my sister?” Marcus was taken aback. “Intentions?” “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Cahan snarled. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.” “If you’ll take a moment to observe,” the Roman countered, mustering patience, “you’ll notice I’m not the only man who has cast his eye upon her once or twice.

Only the fool would take trouble to verify that his sentence was composed of ten a’s, three b’s, four c’s, four d’s, forty-six e’s, sixteen f’s, four g’s, thirteen h’s, fifteen i’s, two k’s, nine l’s, four m’s, twenty-five n’s, twenty-four o’s, five p’s, sixteen r’s, forty-one s’s, thirty-seven t’s, ten u’s, eight v’s, eight w’s, four x’s, eleven y’s, twenty-seven commas, twenty-three apostrophes, seven hyphens and, last but not least, a single !” —Lee Sallows

Sir Julian, exercising his prerogatives, named the planets for boyhood heroes: Lord Kitchener, William Gladstone, Archbishop Rollo Gore, Edythe MacDevott, Rudyard Kipling, Thomas Carlyle, William Kircudbright, Samuel B. Gorsham, Sir Robert Peel, and the like. But Sir Julian was to be deprived of his privilege. He telegraphed ahead the news of his return to Maudley Space Station, together with a description of the Concourse and the names he had bestowed upon the members of this magnificent group. The list passed through the hands of an obscure young clerk, one Roger Pilgham, who rejected Sir Julian’s nominations in disgust. To each of the twenty-six planets he assigned a letter of the alphabet and hurriedly supplied new names: Alphanor, Barleycorn, Chrysanthe, Diogenes, Elfland, Fiame, Goshen, Hardacres, Image, Jezebel, Krokinole, Lyonnesse, Madagascar, Nowhere, Olliphane, Pilgham, Quinine, Raratonga, Somewhere, Tantamount, Unicorn, Valisande, Walpurgis, Xion, Ys and Zacaranda — the names derived from legend, myth, romance, his own whimsy.

To each of the twenty-six planets he assigned a letter of the alphabet and hurriedly supplied new names: Alphanor, Barleycorn, Chrysanthe, Diogenes, Elfland, Fiame, Goshen, Hardacres, Image, Jezebel, Krokinole, Lyonnesse, Madagascar, Nowhere, Olliphane, Pilgham, Quinine, Raratonga, Somewhere, Tantamount, Unicorn, Valisande, Walpurgis, Xion, Ys and Zacaranda — the names derived from legend, myth, romance, his own whimsy. Only

In linguistics, a hyponym is a word that is a more specific subset of a larger, more general word. The more general word is called a hypernym. Tequila is a hyponym of mezcal. Mezcal is the hypernym of tequila.8 In the abstract, that relationship reads like: All Xs are Ys; not all Ys are Xs. What it means here is that all tequilas are mezcal, but not all mezcals are tequila. HOPE YOU’RE NOT IN A RUSH Now, it’s true that many wines are aged for a number of years, and many of the best whiskies can be aged anywhere from six to twenty years before they’re released.

No one comes from Rome or Samarkand to see brown flowers.

It seemed as though all the vigorous instruction of the past month was evaporating before her mind’s eye. All the physical training — self-defense, disguise, fitness — seemed irrelevant here, a short flight of whitewashed steps away from her first assignment. And what sort of spy craft could she need?

Jesús, you’ve got a bad case of ‘hatin’ on yesterd’ys’. What’s done’s done, son. Ain’t no amount of wishin’ and hurtin’ and cryin’ gonna change anythin’ you did yesterd’y or any time before.

I was in a Newfoundland production of Lord of the Flies and my Piggy was a Fox. I was lord of the b’ys.

there is such pain in me. it feels bottomless. there is such sadness, it seizes me and it paralyzes me and i can’t think past it.

Reaching was a dangerous thing: it indicated longing. Longing was dangerous because it indicated need. Need was exploited, need was abused, need was someone else’s power over what they could touch.

People may want anonymity, but they do not want to be strangers.

It is simply not true that people who belong only in public space are “on the fringe.” Nor is it true that we somehow need to get them to move “closer” to get them to be committed.

+   Small groups are not necessarily the most significant way to help people grow in relationship to God and to one another. +   People connect in all four spaces, not in just one or two. +   Community happens spontaneously. +   We can facilitate environments that help people connect.

Yet the four spaces are not an assembly line for growing community.

In other words, the servants may not know the difference between wheat and weeds. The servants are told that the decision will be made at the harvest.

Many belonged to Jesus in different spaces. The Bible mentions the multitudes, a room full, a crowd of seventy, twelve apostles, the inner circle of Peter, James, and John. All experienced community with Jesus.

As Kennon Callahan so aptly states, “only you can grow you.”6

To effectively create a front porch experience, there cannot be any expectations that the group

would, should, or could move from social space into a different relational space.

Let people move themselves. Don’t insist on doing it for them.

How do we help with this dating relationship? One way may be to provide the appropriate space for dating. In days gone by, the primary space for dating was the front porch. This is because it provided a space that was far enough away from the rest of the family that the couple could get to know one another. Yet it was close enough to the family that the relationship was kept in check. It is also true that the front porch provided a space where the neighbors could see but could not interrupt. This median space was an appropriate space to date.

Kids expected adults to show up in this part of their world. Because they were comfortable with us, introductions to their friends seemed natural.

The door was locked, but that didn’t deter him. He pulled her tight against him, her back against his chest, his breath loud and moist in her ear. His arm was locked about her waist — he was surprisingly strong, despite his doughy appearance — and he fumbled her skirts again. He wanted her to struggle. He wanted her to cry, to beg, to be terrified.

build alliances with Ys and Zs. But since everyone’s identity is fluid and has multiple dimensions, each deserving of recognition, alliances will never be more than marriages of convenience. The more obsessed with personal identity campus liberals become, the less willing they become to engage in reasoned political debate. Over the past decade a new, and very revealing, locution has drifted from our universities into the media mainstream: Speaking as an X . . . This is not an anodyne phrase. It tells the listener that I am speaking from a privileged position on this matter. (One never says, Speaking as a gay Asian, I feel incompetent to judge this matter.) It sets up a wall against questions, which by definition come from a non-X perspective. And it turns the encounter into a power relation: the winner of the argument will be whoever has invoked the morally superior identity and expressed the most outrage at being questioned.

The surface causes of environmental carelessness among conservative Christians are legion, including subcontracting the evangelical mind out to right-wing politicians and greedy business interests. Too often we put the gospel of Jesus through the strainer of consumerist-capitalism and retain only the thin broth that this modern-day Caesar lets pass through. We often display a reactionary tendency to be against whatever “liberals” are for. These non-green shoots are resourced by deeper theological roots of environmental disinterest. Fortunately, other root systems are spreading beneath the surface, and signs of an environmental spring are breaking through the formerly barren soil.

I have a confession to make.121 Almost every time I tune in to religious radio or TV, I want to change my religion. I

Because I follow Jesus, then, I am bound to Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, agnostics, atheists, New Agers, everyone (even religious broadcasters, I was just reminded by a still, small voice). Not only am I bound to them in love, but I am also actually called to, in some real sense (please don’t minimize this before you qualify it), become one of them, to enter their world and be with them in it.

A generous orthodoxy is like that. It acknowledges that we’re all a mess. It sees in our worst failures the possibility of our deepest repentance and God’s opening for our most profound healing. It remembers Jesus’ parable that wherever God sows good seed, “an enemy” will sow weed seeds. It realizes that you can’t pull up the bad without uprooting the good too, and so it refrains from judging. It just rejoices wherever good seed grows.

If, for you, orthodox means finally “getting it right” or “getting it straight,” mine is a pretty disappointing, curvy orthodoxy. But if, for you, orthodoxy isn’t a list of correct doctrines, but rather the doxa in orthodoxy, which means “thinking” or “opinion,” then the lifelong pursuit of expanding thinking and deepening, broadening opinions about God sounds like a delight, a joy.

We must, therefore, never underestimate our power to be wrong when talking about God, when thinking about God, when imagining God—whether in prose or in poetry. Romano

The wise preacher of Ecclesiastes might say, “There is a time for everything—a time to be laid-back and a time to be outraged; a time to be tolerant and a time to stand up and say, ‘I’m not going to take this anymore.’” The challenge for all fighters, of course, is to be sure they find out what is now truly worth fighting against, and then to be sure they have something that is truly worth fighting for.

Community has become a buzzword in the church in recent years. Overbusy individuals hope they can cram it into their overstuffed schedules like their membership to a health and fitness club (which they never have time to use). Churches hope they can conjure it with candles, programs, or training videos. Anabaptists know that community is far more costly than that: one cannot add it to anything, rather one must begin with it in order to enter it, practice it, and preserve it. They realize that community involves proximity, and that proximity involves land, and that our ties to one another can never be separated from our ties to the land, the watershed, the local economy in which we live. They have an instinct about the deep ties between community and sexuality, community and freedom, community and economics. I suspect that Anabaptists know more than they know that they know in this regard, and I hope we all can learn from them before they forget.101