C Owen Quotes

no saint goes without sinning, and no sinner goes without having some saintly qualities.  You can judge one for their mistakes, or you can love them for the flaws they try to correct. 

If I want reality, I’ll walk outside and breathe in the toxic air, dammit. I’ll take a look at my own miserable life. If I read or watch a movie, I’d better get a fucking happily-ever-after.

I don't think it's possible to c-call yourself a C-Christian and... and j-just leave out the awkward bits.' -Wilfred Owen

If we are truly fortunate, we will be blessed with one to love us, truly love us. To accept us in all ways, to see us in all our weaknesses and in our glory and to take our hearts, as we take theirs.

As his (C. S. Lewis's) good friend Owen Barfield once remarked, Lewis radiated a sense that the spiritual world is home, that we are always coming back to a place we have never yet reached.

People talk whether you're in school or not, but it doesn't dictate anything. You choose how much you allow people to rule you.

I know,” said Peter. “Perhaps better than anyone. But you can’t stay a child forever. To choose to speak into Echo’s Well is to choose illusion. To choose to avoid the responsibilities of being an adult. The real trick—the real choice—is to keep the best of the child you were, without forgetting when you grow up. “It is the best of both worlds, Jack. Being a child is to believe in magic everywhere… “…but even Peter Pan had to grow up one day.

I don't believe in second chances.  If someone will do something once, they'll do it again.

Sadan was so...beautiful. There seemed no other word for him, even if he had proved to be an ass and deserved to die in lakes of his own blood.

For the record, the proposal was just a courtesy. You would have been mine regardless. -KANE

I don't want you out of my life... ever. I'm not scared of you at all. I'm pretty fucking scared of your dad, but that's a typical guy reaction to any girl's dad. -KANE

We’re all fucking crazy. It’s the only way to be.

You've witnessed what you c-c-c-call a miracle and now you believe-you believe everything," Pastor Merrill said. "But miracles don't c-c-c-cause belief-real miracles don't m-m-m-make faith out of thin air; you have to already have faith in order to believe in real miracles.

One of his closest friends, Owen Barfield, once said of Lewis that “what he thought about everything was secretly present in what he said about anything.”12

Beware of the quiet ones, for they carry the darkest fury.

Obedience appears to me more and more the whole business of life, the only road to love and peace.

Passion does not translate easily into good income.

It'd be great if I actually got to have sex while being a slut. -ALYSSA

My mind and my sanity have both abandoned me.

Fidelity in marriage requires self-will and self-denial.

A philosophy that cannot be lived is no philosophy at all.

In my opinion, no saint goes without sinning, and no sinner goes without having some mainly qualitites.

Religion in art was a subtle business, best handled indirectly.

Far from breaking with tradition, they understood the Great War and its aftermath in the light of tradition, believing, as did their literary and spiritual ancestors, that ours is a fallen world yet not a forsaken one.

They had kissed so often in lust, in passion, but never like this. This felt like a renewal, a pledge… A beginning.

he expects me to elaborate.  Boundaries.  These damn people need boundaries. "So no boyfriend, but you're not a virgin?" he prods, seeming to delight

like this conversation.  Too many memories are attached to the questions he's asking.

A zebra like him would never change his stripes, and I’d been an idiot to fall for his gorgeous looks.

Before I got here, I thought a size four was a good size.  And then I saw the natives wearing a size negative-triple-zero, or something crazy like that.

it's nothing special to me to kiss someone.  It's kissing someone special that changes everything.

I don't take good selfies, so I can only imagine how I'll look in a mug shot.  

The teacher-student relationship evaporated, replaced by a rich and lively exchange of equals.

I groan as I lose all my ability to hold back, and I lower my head while pushing her dress and bra down in unison to allow way for my mouth to close over the hard little nub.

The unavoidable harshness of life surprised none of them, for they were Christians one and all, believing that they inhabited a fallen world, albeit one filled with God's grace.

A letter Lewis wrote reveals an 18-year-old with the energy of a schoolboy and the tastes of an octogenarian.

Wild Ones Tip #238 It’s rare we have feelings. Don’t fuck with them when we do.

First rule of family: brothers don’t hit sisters. They take their beatings, because sisters only beat them when they deserve it.

I swallow hard, wondering how in the hell I'm going to be able to fit into any of these clothes.  I've seen his models on TV.  They eat air for breakfast and ice for lunch.  There's no way.

His right eyebrow raises questioningly, and then his panty-dropping smile comes up as he leans down to get right in my face. “You thought that douche could stop me from doing anything I want to you?

Well, if you lived your whole life without socks, your feet would be just fine.  You wouldn't know the difference.  But, once you've had socks and felt their comfort in hard shoes, warmth in cold weather, and softness against the harsh floor, then you become a little spoiled, and you notice when they're gone.  You want socks again… a lot.

have to tell him that all three times we had sex were terrible.  Personally, I learned sex is highly overrated.  I see no point in reliving the worst six minutes of my life... total.  I don't get the appeal.  Maybe

Love is a consuming, unrelenting beast that bitch slaps you in the middle of the night like a rude awakening during a dream. It devours you whole, and it leaves you wrecked when it starts to slip through your fingers. “Yeah.

Kane can come in.

Well… I feel awkward now.

Like someone ripped my heart out, chewed it up, and then spit it into the pits of hell.

you’ll be faded by the viewer you’re trying to use to threaten us.

This hulking man starts climbing out of the driver's side, and there's so much of him that he just keeps on getting out.

Have fun,” she yells as I shut the door. That’s my plan - a night of fun with a game of catch and release.

need

winks at Thad before biting her bottom lip, and Thad leans in closer. “Any time you want, blondie.

I can barely walk barefoot.  What made you think these walking stilts of death would be a good idea?" I chuckle out.

I could stop, or I could finish.  Depends on what you give me, Ace." He smirks, and then he leans over.  "I'll give you something to scream about.

You might want to run now,” my eerie tone slithers out as I slowly stand to my feet. Brazen stumbles backwards before yelling to everyone, “Get the fuck out, now!

We must picture Oxford, during World War I, not as the neomedieval paradise it would like to be, but as the military compound it was obliged to become.

He loved his family, his friends, his writing, his painting; he knew their flaws, but they neither surprised nor embittered him.

A Christian's duty, Lewis believed, is not simply to tolerate "X" but to make life with "X" an occasion to work on one's own character flaws.

Dude, did you do drugs or something? Because you look like you’re tweaking.

Words contain the "souls" or minds of people in the past; as such, they tell the story of consciousness.

Words are catch-basins of experience, fingerprints and footprints of the past that the literary detective may scrutinize in order to sleuth out the history of human consciousness.

One cannot underestimate boredom as an incentive to write.

Imagination pointed toward truth but could not disclose it directly.

Language construction will BREED a mythology. J.R.R. Tolkien

Oh, that tights-wearing, level-one, squire douche, nerd-girl-chasing son of a bitch,

It's all the rage. Billionaire Doms. Kink. All that stuff. But they just like the fantasy of it. Tie a girl up and slap her ass and you're going to get slammed with a lawsuit.

their great hope was to restore Western culture to its religious roots, to unleash the powers of the imagination, to reenchant the world through Christian faith and pagan beauty.

My father always said not to drink when you had secrets to keep. You never know what might come out.  

Nothing physical defines a person. So why do we rely so much on the superficial to give us meaning?   Prom

A translator must, of course, be an interpreter of cultures.

J.R.R. Tolkien told a questioning correspondent, life's purpose is to know, praise, and thank God.

A Christian atmosphere is no protection against preening egos.

Apparently I sat down in modern-day Sterling Shore, and woke up in medieval Camel-toe-lot,

Pa pointed to a crumpled dollar and loose coins on the kitchen table. “This here’ll get ya food fer the week. Thar ain’t no such thang as handouts,” he said. “Ever’thang cost sump’m, and fer the money ya gotta keep the house up, stove wood c’lected, and warsh the laundree.

Fall apart, Tria. Slap me, punch me, kick me, scream at me until you can’t breathe… Do whatever you want to, but please don’t leave. I swear I’ll put you back together if you’ll let me.

What?” I ask, wondering why he’s keeping his body on the bed instead of coming down on top of me while he holds my shoulders. “You need an engraved invitation or something? ‘Maya’s hungry, talented vagina cordially invites your big penis to come stay the night.’ How’s that work for you?” I

I’ve survived countless broken hearts. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been hurt. I’ve tasted regret. I’ve been mocked and laughed at. I’ve been pushed to the bottom over and over. I got back up. I’ve smiled. I’ve laughed. I’ve loved. I’ve lived my life the way I want to. I’ve learned the value of happiness. I got stronger.

It’s hard on her, Ruby,” Bo sighs. “Sometimes we think we’re ready to cut strings to the ones who’ve broken us the most, only to realize we don’t know who we are without them. Give her time to figure things out. She’s had years’ worth of guilt trips and mind games played on her. You don’t just walk away with your head on right.

The majority of people spoil their lives by an unhealthy and exaggerated altruism – are forced, indeed, so to spoil them. They find themselves surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all this. The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought. Accordingly, with admirable, though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they see. But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it. Indeed, their remedies are part of the disease. They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping the poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by amusing the poor. But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the difficulty. The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible. And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the carrying out of this aim. Just as the worst slave-owners were those who were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror of the system being realised by those who suffered from it, and understood by those who contemplated it, so, in the present state of things in England, the people who do most harm are the people who try to do most good; and at last we have had the spectacle of men who have really studied the problem and know the life – educated men who live in the East End – coming forward and imploring the community to restrain its altruistic impulses of charity, benevolence, and the like. They do so on the ground that such charity degrades and demoralises. They are perfectly right. Charity creates a multitude of sins.

Whatever the unknown in Europe, it had to be better than the known in a small town, where truth was hidden behind smiles, pleasantries, and an abundance of stretch lace at weddings. Whatever, the yet-to-be-written truth about her own life, it seemed certain to be waiting elsewhere on a blank page, somewhere people made no attempt to predict the future based upon a person's past. Quote from: A Summer Abroad, Mrs. Duchesney's First Real Mystery c. 2013 Peggy Kopman-Owens

The Inklings were comrades who have been touched by war, who view life through the lens of war, yet who look for hope and found it, in fellowship, where so many other modern writers and intellectuals saw only broken narratives, disfigurement, and despair.

She had responded to the loss of her husband, to poverty, to disease, and to family cruelty with boldness and ingenuity, by opening herself to others, especially to her children and her Church, pouring into these precious vessels her knowledge, hope, and devotion.

Christians who like to write might do as a description of the genus. But the actual species shared more precise characteristics, including intellectual vivacity, love of death, conservative politics, memories of war, and a passion for beef, beer, and verbal battle.

Please," I murmur, surprised by how much it sounds like I'm begging. "Please what?" he murmurs, feigning coyness. "Fuck me." The low growl in his throat proves he liked my crude, blunt answer.  The panties slide down my legs, leaving a damp trail from my inner thigh

Oxford in the Inklings' day was not so different in look and smell from the Oxford of today. Then, as now, one was tempted to fantasize one's surroundings as a Camelot of intellectual knight-errantry or an Eden of serene contemplation. Then, as now, there was bound to be disappointment.

Fate is just a made-up word used to give us hope or absolution. We find hope when we believe bad things happen to us for a reason. We find absolution when we feel as though the wrongs of our past were just fate's twisted design to bring us to our present, and all of it was out of our hands. Of

Moments later, I finally find the courage I've been drinking for.

You look like death's bitch, so he's not trying to fuck you.

No.  I'm going home.  I don't know what the hell you're doing, but I don't want any part of it.  Are you on drugs?" she blares through her tears.

Shit,” Mel says softly, looking on with me as Aria continues her happy dance in the center of the raining body parts. “She’s psycho.

Why can’t you be magical?” she asks her crotch,

Oxford was in love with the idea of Christian perfection.

Williams was complex and tortured. He was not a saint but had his saintly side, which came and went, radiant and sincere as long as it lasted.

He trusted the cosmos – but not necessarily the powers that held sway on earth.

Christian myth, reveals the truth that "the Christian was (and is) still like his forefathers a mortal hemmed into a hostile world.

The church marched into his heart. Williams never abandon Anglicanism; he pushed at its borders.

Her body is scantily clad in a seductive leather attire that not even Araya would wear. Her cleavage is exposed and meant for allure. Her boots rise to her knees, and her skin tight leather pants are seamlessly tucked inside, but there are strategic, purposely placed slashes from head to toe. All that’s missing is a whip. I’m going to die at the hand of a dominatrix. Fuck my luck.

A very small class of books have nothing in common say that each admits us to a world of its own that seems to have been going on before we stumbled into it, but which, once found by the right reader, becomes indispensable to him.

Everyone and everything needed to be raised to its highest level – the teacher must become a mage, the husband a knight errant, the labor a hero in a sacred drama – intensified, rarefied, baptized in the turbulent waters of restlessness, curiosity, and ardor.

In a largely autobiographical paper Tolkien wrote in 1931 for the Oxford Esperanto Society (“A Hobby for the Home,” later entitled “A Secret Vice”), he would maintain that the making of a language necessitates the making of a mythology in which that language is spoken, that the two processes are intertwined, each giving rise to the other. People thought Tolkien was joking when he later said that he wrote The Lord of the Rings to bring into being a world that might contain the Elvish greeting, so pleasing to his sense of linguistic beauty, Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielmo (“A star shines on the hour of our meeting”). The remark is witty—but also deadly serious.

Shame and suffering, as St. Bernard says, are the two ladder-uprights which are set up to heaven, and between those two uprights are the rungs of all virtues fixed, by which one climbs to the joy of heaven… In these two things, in which is all penance, rejoice and be glad, for in return for these, twofold blisses are prepared: in return for shame honour; in return for suffering, delight and rest without end.

But you of all people!” I said to him. “Look at me—I never was a believer, not until this happened. If I can believe it, why can’t you?” I asked Mr. Merrill. He began to stutter. “It’s easier for you to j-j-j-just accept it. Belief is not something you have felt, and then not felt; you haven’t l-l-l-lived with belief, and with unbelief. It’s easier f-f-f-for you,” the Rev. Mr. Merrill repeated. “You haven’t ever been f-f-f-full of faith, and full of d-d-d-doubt. Something j-j-j-just strikes you as a miracle, and you believe it. For me, it’s not that s-s-s-simple,” said Pastor Merrill. “But it is a miracle!” I cried. “He told you that dream—I know he did! And you were there—when he saw his name, and the date of his death, on Scrooge’s grave. You were there!” I cried. “How can you doubt that he knew?” I asked Mr. Merrill. “He knew—he knew everything! What do you call that—if you don’t call it a miracle?” “You’ve witnessed what you c-c-c-call a miracle and now you believe—you believe everything,” Pastor Merrill said. “But miracles don’t c-c-c-cause belief—real miracles don’t m-m-m-make faith out of thin air; you have to already have faith in order to believe in real miracles. I believe that Owen was extraordinarily g-g-g-gifted—