Allen Walker Quotes

When you lost sight of your path, listen for the destination in your heart (Allen Walker, D-gray Man)

No matter what happens I'll keep on moving. Until this life runs out of me I'll keep on walking (Allen Walker)

When there's something you can't understand no matter how much you think about it, you can't let yourself brood over it forever. ~Allen Walker

Even though the wounds will heal the scars will remain.

the sensation of trying to escape... but never being able to... i'm sure i felt that... that's... death

I'm Allen Walker!" My life....is over...I'm going to die....

Until the last breath leaves my body, I will not stop walking

As long as we keep moving forward for what we believe in, it will be all right

I want to be a destroyer that can save people...

If that's the case.. Go deeper. To a world darker than black, brighter than white... Embrace it.

It's not luck, I'm cheating." (Allen Walker)

Our injuries will heal as long as we're alive. But the scars will remain..." - Allen Walker

If it could come true, this is all I'd want. It would have just been good if we played poker and nobody died." (Allen Walker)

It's... It's gross. Knowing there is something inside me that I don't understand. It's gross." - Allen Walker

Even though the wounds will heal the scars will remain.” Allen Walker

God? I don't care about that. I made an oath to myself that I will destroy the devil! To my friends that I would fight alongside them! To my father that I would keep walking until the end.! I made an oath to all of them!! This is the only path that I can take to feel alive." (Allen Walker)

Johnnie Walker is my celebratory drink,” I explained. “But when I’m out, I typically only drink whiskey. My dad only drank whiskey. His preference was Jack Daniels. And long before I was ever able to drink, I overheard my dad say that whiskey was like my mom. Rich, bold, sweet, fiery, full-bodied and multilayered.

Among fiction writers, Christians should explore the riches of C. S. Lewis, especially his space trilogy and Narnia stories; the romances of George Macdonald (Lewis’s mentor); the detective fiction of Dorothy Sayers; the supernatural novels of Charles Williams; and the fantasy of J. R. R. Tolkien, especially his incomparable Lord of the Rings trilogy. On this side of the Atlantic, the works of Walker Percy, Flannery O’Connor, and Allen Tate represent the Catholic literary renaissance of the 1940s. Among contemporary writers, Christians should get to know Larry Woiwode, Frederick Buechner, Ron Hanson, Annie Dillard, Walter Wangerin Jr., and Stephen Lawhead, to name a few. And we must not ignore the powerful novels of Alexander Solzhenitsyn—works that not only expose the horrors of the Soviet prison camp system but also reveal the response of the human heart to unspeakable suffering.

For you, he is the seed of destruction.

Abandon the Order, Allen Walker. If you do…I’ll stop this tragic slaughter.

As Allen Walker’s bodyguard, I can’t ignore what you said.

IN CLOSING, LET’S TAKE a brief look back at where we began: with 10 children who developed type 1 diabetes in 24 months within two miles of one another in the upscale suburbs of Boston. Rather than bemoan their fate, parents there organized and asked for an investigation to be conducted by the state, which is ongoing. Among those who have participated in organizing meetings are Ray Allen, the Celtics star, and his wife, Shannon, whose son, Walker, was the seventh child diagnosed there. “Shannon and Ray have turned out to be the most incredible advocates,” Ann Marie Kreft recently told me. “We have fabulous people on board who are spending inordinate amounts of their time on advocacy.” I asked her what they are advocating for. “I think we all agree that mandatory case reporting would be the ideal,” she said. “That would be the dream come true. I think we may be building up to that.” Rather than have to design a special survey every time an apparent cluster of type 1 cases emerges, mandatory case reporting, on a national level, would permit the CDC to automatically track cases as they emerge, to see not only the big national picture, but also local variations that could prove crucial in unraveling the riddle of why type 1 diabetes continues to rise, each and every year, by 3 percent. Presently, however, no national organization is advocating for mandated case reporting of type 1. Where is the line of protesters holding placards, marching outside the Atlanta offices of the CDC? Perhaps we need to look farther back, to the period before the diabetes pandemic began. In 1866, you might recall, the death rate from diabetes in New York City was 1.3 per 100,000 residents. If that rate held today for the 306 million residents of the United States, there would be 4,284 deaths due to diabetes each year. Instead, in 2006, there were 72,507 death certificates on which diabetes was listed as the underlying cause. The official national death rate from diabetes now stands at 23.3 per 100,000, according to the CDC — nearly 19 times higher than it was following the Civil War. And that doesn’t count the additional 200,000 or so deaths each year for which diabetes is listed as a “contributing” cause.

This curious coalition of Muslims and Marxists had picked Watts, Allen wrote, because blacks were actually rather well off there: “[I]f Watts could be exploded they could do it anywhere else in America.” So they had flooded the area with propaganda, most notably a “publicity campaign rivaling the Advertising Council’s promotion of Smokey the Bear” aimed at “the construction of the myth of police brutality.” With

The Blasters proved to be the most prominent and popular of these acts by far. Originally a quartet, the band was bred in Downey, just down the freeway from East L.A. In their teens, brothers Phil and Dave Alvin were bitten by the blues bug; they became habitués of the L.A. club the Ash Grove, where many of the best-known folk and electric blues performers played, and they sought out the local musicians who could teach them their craft, learning firsthand from such icons as Big Joe Turner, T-Bone Walker, and Little Richard’s saxophonist Lee Allen (who would ultimately join the band in the ’80s). But the Blasters’ style was multidimensional: they could play R&B, they loved country music, and they were also dyed-in-the-wool rockabilly fans who were initially embraced by the music’s fervent L.A. cultists. Their debut album, 1980’s American Music, was recorded in a Van Nuys garage by the Milan, Italy–born rockabilly fanatic Rockin’ Ronnie Weiser, and released on his indie label Rollin’ Rock Records, which also issued LPs by such first-generation rockabilly elders as Gene Vincent, Mac Curtis, Jackie Waukeen Cochran, and Ray Campi. By virtue of Phil Alvin’s powerful, unmannered singing and Dave Alvin’s adept guitar playing and original songwriting, the Blasters swiftly rose to the top of a pack of greasy local bands that also included Levi and the Rockats (a unit fronted by English singer Levi Dexter) and the Rockabilly Rebels (who frequently backed Ray Campi). Los Lobos were early Blasters fans, and often listened to American Music in their van on the way to their own (still acoustic) gigs. Rosas says, “We loved their first record, man. We used to play the shit out of that record. Dave [Hidalgo] was the one who got a copy of it, and he put it on cassette.

A pair of dark figures met me outside the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Walker.” “Mr. Allen,” they answered in unison, “if you want to lay your hands on Ellie, you’ll have to defeat us first!” Their love was a little overbearing. But as you can see, one of my hands is occupied with books, and— What? You’re still going to do this? I see. Very well. Good grief... As it turned out, they were both masters of close-quarters combat at a level that was rare even in the capital. ✽ “Allen, sir. Good mor— Wh-What happened to you?! You’ve hurt your face!

Allen Walker, we’re giving you a chance to abandon the Order of your own free will. (heart) This is your retirement party. (heart)

When someone is by your side…it’s like a lamp burning in the darkness. I want to rely on its light…and it’s difficult not to.

Allen Walker…since the Fourteenth revealed that he was the pianist, I’ve dreamt about him. That night…I still…wonder…why didn’t I kill him. Was it chance? Or fate? The dream fades then…and I never find out.

I know which way to go. So let us begin. All I have to do is move forward.

He feels sadness more acturely than others do. He’s reached his limit, but…he puts on a smile and goes out alone. He’s that kind of idiot. So I’m sure he’s alone now!

What a pretty clown…

I suppose you’ve figured it out by now, boy…why the akuma are attracted to you.

Good luck, boy. Stick it out…work things out with that monster inside you!

The struggle has just begun. Right, Allen? Right here! The goal is right here. I’ll keep calling you! I’ll lead you back! Okay?

I am Tabitha Abigail Walker, a Black girl in contemporary America, and I am personally and emotionally spent. It’s not even eleven a.m. and I already feel as exhausted as my egg supply.