Afton Quotes

I can see the stars in your eyes from a mile away. They guide me to you just like the North Star.” Then he bent his head and kissed her – a long, sweet kiss under moonbeams that caressed them both lovingly.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistly blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; There oft, as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dreams.

I think he'll accept the gospel in the next life," Afton said. Bobbi was stunned by the response. "Afton, what do you mean?" she said. "That is the gospel.

William Afton,

When storms come, we naturally want to run. What might happen in your friendship if you learned instead to stay put when storm hit?

Being first to ask for help in a friendship takes courage and humility.

Pearl swallowed hard. “I thought you were going to stay away.” His voice sounded just as strangled as hers. “I tried.

I didn't choose him, I chose You.

Storm Sister--a friend who sticks close when storms hit her friend's life.

The entirety of my soul is at your mercy.

Just the proximity of your essence controls me. Brielle, I surrender to you. With one wave of your hand, I shall go in any direction you order.

I loved you since the night you told me your dream to have a farm. The night you escaped everyone at the Den and I found you seated in the corner, by yourself.

Afton made them.

By order of the Afton Adders, I declare war on Sabini’s men. Hunt them from Lockham. Cease trade. Make each of them an example. Show them no mercy as they showed our girls none.

man’s type. You must have them lined up around the block,” he

passion. “Quieter,” he reminded her when

finer than he ever had. He wore a white lab coat, overlaid with a faint haze of blue sexual energy, and did he usually have that many shirt

and used it to propel her tightening pussy back onto another deep thrust. She felt herself stretch in every direction, pulling aside curled flesh and exposing raw, electric nerves that might have sent

Dying and living, weeping and laughing--all parts of our existence here on earth. What would happen in your friendships if together you embraced the hard parts of life and did not fear weeping together?

Father. It's me, Michael. I did it. I found it. It was right where you said it would be. They were all there. They didn't recognize me at first, but then... they thought I was you. And I found her. I... put her back together, just like you asked me to. She's free now. But something is wrong with me. I should be dead. But I'm not. I've been living in shadows. There is only one thing left for me to do now. I'm going to come find you.

capture at the Bridewell Dock Groggery, he had been

Do you know the man who is buried there?” Ravyn asked. She laughed, her voice sharp. “As well as I know this glen, bird. As well as I know this tree, and all the faces that have tarried beneath it.” She twisted her finger in the tail of her plait. “You’ve heard of him, I suppose.” Her lips curled in a smile. “He’s a strange man, my father. Wary. Clever. Good.” Ravyn’s breath faltered. “The Shepherd King is your father?” Her smile faded, her yellow eyes growing distant. “They did not give him a King’s burial. Perhaps that is why he does not…” Her gaze returned to Ravyn. “You haven’t seen him with your Mirror Card, have you? He promised he would find us when he passed through the veil. But he has not come.” “Us?” The girl turned, her eyes tracing the woods on the other side of the meadow. “Mother is over there, somewhere. She does not come as often as she did. Ilyc and Afton linger near the statuary. Fenly and Lenor keep to your castle.” Her brow furrowed. “Bennett is often somewhere else. He did not die here. Not like the rest of us.

Bennett,” she murmured, her brow damp from labor. “I’d like to call him Bennett.” She held the babe out to me, and I rocked him. But even as I did, my hands itched to hold something else. When I passed Bennett back to Petra, I slipped my fingers into my pocket for the Providence Cards I kept there. Only then did I smile. I took Bennett to the wood. Asked the Spirit to bless him with her magic. A day later, his infant veins were dark as ink. His magic was the antithesis of mine, the trees told me. My heir, my counterweight. But that was our secret, his and mine. Our fond, silent riddle. More children were born. Boys—all yellow of eye like me. Lenor. Fenly. A pair of twins, Afton and Ilyc, so alike I could hardly tell them apart even when I took the time to try. I visited their nurseries, their rooms and tutor sessions, but often I was in another chamber, one I had built around the stone in the meadow. I brought my sons to the wood—asked the Spirit to bless them with magic. But for all four, she kept her gifts to herself. Then, a little girl was born. Tilly. Full of whim and a deviousness that reminded me of Ayris. Only, unlike my sister, the Spirit christened Tilly with the fever, and she was granted strange, wonderful magic. She could heal. With a single touch of her little hand, Tilly could wipe away any wound—and often did so without intention. The cuts I’d dealt myself, bartering for Providence Cards, vanished whenever Tilly reached for me. It hurt, feeling her touch. But when the pain was gone, I was left with nary a scar. But it cost her, little Tilly, to heal. Every time she did, her own body grew more frail. And so, for my next Providence Card, I asked the trees, the Spirit, for magic that healed. Magic that made its user as beautiful and unblemished as a pink rose—Tilly’s favorite flower.

Hubert, the great friend of Perceval, has only the steward’s steward to bid him farewell,” Wido said, clapping young Josson’s back with undisguised delight. “The depth of Perceval’s true love for Hubert is finally revealed.” Josson smiled uneasily. “My lord Hector is busy with

When storms come, we naturally want to run. What might happen in your friendships if you learned instead tasty put when storms hit?

When storms come, we naturally want to run. What might happen in your friendships if you learned instead to stay put when storms hit?

Regular, consisten celebration pulls us back to remembering God's goodness.

Perhaps I love happy endings because I have been created for one. Heaven.

We hope we have it contained. So far, it looks as though Afton, Wyoming, and Cedar City and Kanab in Utah are the only hot spots.

Ack! vad det här är odrägligt, viskade lilla ystra Märtha till sin syster Maria, jag skulle bestämt vilja gifta mig i afton, om bara jag kunde vara änka imorgon!

She offers me a bull’s-eye sweet, which she’s stashed in her apron pocket with a half-dozen half-smoked Afton butts—a mix of flavors I’ll never forget. On the front of the yellow cigarette box is a poem by Robert Burns that Gram likes to sing to an old Irish tune: Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise.

Everything is possible until proven impossible!

«Dave Miller», pero sin duda era William Afton.

Let go of perfection

Hot.  Tropical, damp climates always made the skin sticky and hot.  Feverishly so.  Sometimes, I thought my very flesh would melt and hang from my bones like Spanish moss.  In Paris I whirled in lightness and freedom . . . flinging the past away until I felt cool and alive again.  But . . . the oppression came back, didn’t it?  I shivered, it still held me down, sucked my breath away.

Inside, she vibrated with a passion to discover life’s secrets, a passion to right wrongs, a passion to unfold the petals of the heart. But even I didn’t know that then. Rebellious, she accepted his offer to accompany him to the Moulin Rouge.