Ce We Re Quotes

They're constants, aren't they?" ... "Books are. That's why we like them so much. They seem immutable. They're not, of course. Not from the author's first draft to the tenth printing, but they seem like it.

Mimbrates are the bravest people in the world --probably because they don't have brains enough to be afraid of anything. Garion's friend Mandorallen is totally convinced that he's invincible." "He is," Ce'Nedra said in automatic defense of her knight. "I saw him kill a lion once with his bare hands." "...I heard him suggest to Barak and Hettar once that the three of them attack an entire Tolnedran legion." "Perhaps he was joking." "Mimbrate knights don't know how to joke," Silk told him. "I will not sit here and listen to you people insult my knight," Ce'Nedra said hotly. "We'renot insulting hi, Ce'Nedra," Silk told her. "We're describing him. He's so noble he makes my hair hurt." "Nobility is an alien concept to a Drasnian, I suppose," she noted. "Not alien, Ce'Nedra. Incomprehensible.

Je suis ce que je suis.” – Death “Is that a spell?” – Nick “It’s French, Nick. Means ‘I am what I am.’ Sheez, kid. Get educated. Read a book. I promise you it’s not painful.” – Death “I would definitely argue that. Have you seen my summer reading list? It’s nothing but girl books about them getting body parts and girl things I don’t want to discuss in class with my female English teacher. Maybe in the boys’ locker room and maybe with a coach, but not with a woman teacher in front of other girls who already won’t go out with me. Or worse, they’re about how bad all of us men reek and how we need to be taken out and shot ‘cause we’re an affront to all social and natural orders. Again – thanks, Teach. Give the girls even more reason to kick us down when we talk to one. Not like it’s not hard enough to get up the nerve to ask one out. Can you say inappropriate content? And then they tell me my manga’s bad. Riiight…Is it too much to ask that we have one book, just one, on the required reading list that says, ‘Hey, girls. Guys are fun and we’re okay. Really. We’re not all mean psycho-killing, bloodsucking animals. Most of us are pretty darn decent, and if you’ll just give us a chance, you’ll find out we’re not so bad.’” – Nick

We shall steal fire from the heavens, and I shall not repent, even for one minute – for what sort of god would condemn us to such a cold world without it? We’re merely taking what should have been ours from the beginning.

I suppose I knew on an intellectual level that graves weren't especially made for getting out of. I mean, you start with a hermetically sealed casket and then you dump six feet of dirt on top of it. Over time the earth gets compacted, which can't make it easy to dig through. So even if you're a very angry and determined zombie, you've kind of got your work cut out for you just escaping from the grave. Which was, I suppose, why we got hit with an initial wave of zombie bugs, birds and rodents. I bet some people would say if you've never picked undead mosquitoes out of your teeth, you've never lived. Under that definition, I'd be just as happy to have not lived, thanks.

bikes have also been fundamental to early women’s liberation. While this will hopefully not be an issue in your civilization—you’re starting on a better foot than we ever did, seeing as you don’t have to labor under the hangover of thousands of years of patriarchy—it’s worth noting how something as simple as giving people the ability to cheaply transport themselves under their own power changed European society in the late 1800s CE. This newfound mobility not only allowed women to participate in civilization in ways they couldn’t before, but actually changed the way women saw themselves. They were no longer observers moved around by society: instead, they were active participants who could—and would—move themselves. The clothing women wore also changed in response to the bicycle, as demands for a new “rational dress” that allowed for a modicum of physical activity meant the end of the restrictive corsets, starched petticoats, and ankle-length skirts that had previously been worn.

Humans are sentimental creatures, n’est ce pas?” she said. “We gather mementos to help us recall happy occasions, moments of delight - to remind us of the innocence that exists in the world. My husband used to tease me for hoarding all these bits and pieces. But now I find they’re like a museum of comfort.

When we remember the Goddess and the old earth-based religion, we come back into contact with cycles and the eternal return that lets us face death without fear. It wasn't until 400CE that the Christian church declared that there were no cycles, no reincarnation. Until that time, everyone knew the obvious, that there certainly it life after death, and it is not only in the eternal realm. One of the joyous reclaimings that accompanies our re-membering is that we get over the insidious fear of the Death Goddess and realize she is only the other face of the Mother. In surrender to her, we leave the problem in her hands; in allowing ourselves to be used in the healing of the planet, we become part of the solution.

I have a trainer,” she confirmed while searching for an escape route. Standing closer to this man is like being stuck in an elevator, she decided. You’d bargain with God to get free. “But not just any trainer. Not only does this woman tackle a stallion no one else can seem to tame but she resurrects the dead, n’est-ce pas? You have done wonders to stir McCloud’s blood again, or so I have heard.” A.J.’s mouth dropped open at the insinuation. “What are you talking about?” “Surely you jest. The news is all around.” He gesticulated with a limp wrist. “Although I must say, you are faithless to leave your family in favor of a man who is not your husband. No matter how good you find his services.” Her vision narrowed on the man’s jugular. “Why, you little—” Devlin appeared at her side. “A.J.! Time to go pace off the course.” “Ah,” Philippe said grandly. “And here is your good teacher, the man you gave up so much for. Myself, I could not imagine leaving my family for someone else’s stable, but I am French and we are known for our loyalty. Then again, I also don’t need the particular kind of instruction this McCloud offers.” A.J. could sense her face tuning brick red and felt like a boxer winding up for a punch. “Come on,” Devlin said. “Yes, run along, you two. I imagine there is much you must do to each other.” That did it. She lost it. “Why, you tar-mouthed gossip hound—” She was itching to go further but Devlin put a firm hand on her arm and began to lead her away. “And speaking of gossip,” the Frenchman called out as they left, “you would do well to keep your ear to the floor. I myself am going to make an announcement soon.” “That’s ‘ear to the ground,’ you—” “Enough,” Devlin hissed, dragging her off. When they were out of range from the crowd, A.J. whirled on him, eyes flashing turquoise. “How could you let him go on like that? You didn’t give me the chance to defend us!” Devlin said nothing, which infuriated her further. He just stood there, staring at her calmly. Didn’t he have any pride? “I mean, come on! Marceau made insinuations that were insane and you hauled me off before I could respond.” When that didn’t get any reaction, she frowned. “Hello?” “You finished?” he asked. “Or do you want to give him more of what he’s after?” A.J. looked confused. He said, “Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.” “How I’d like to crown him with a bag of feed.

One drink,” I coax. “And then you can have me any way you want me.” He steps forward, close enough that we’re almost touching.  “One drink,” he repeats, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “One drink and then I’m going to spend the rest of the night making you wish we skipped it altogether.

We’re good together. Too good. Scarily good.

We call it song, but it’s more than that. It’s not just a harmony and melody and a rhythm vocalized together. Our song…encompasses the deepest parts of us. Losing it isn’t just deciding you’d rather take up blade smithing. Losing it means losing what connects you to everything and everyone else. And if it vanishes, until it’s found again, we’re…handicapped.

Less than a minute later, we’re sliding onto the bench seat of his ‘67 Impala

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As human beings we take things for granted so much because we're too used to seeing everything.

But the idiot I am, I let Rain in. Again. Into my body, my mind, and my fucking heart. I hate that once again, we’ve proven we’re nothing but an almost. Almost…everything. And knowing this tears me apart.

I’m fucking sure,” I pant against his mouth when we're finally forced to come up for air. “This is gonna come out sounding stupid and fucking corny, but my world begins and ends with you. I see you, the real you. The you kept hidden from everyone else. I know who you are, baby. And despite the shit we went through and all the shit we still have to overcome, I’m undeniably in love with you.

Leaning up on my forearms and opening my eyes, I furrow my brows to give him a what the fuck look. "I know, baby. But I don't care. I know what I'm signing up for. We'll fight and we'll make up. That's what couples, what partners, do." I move to sit up completely, careful to keep my back from touching the sheets and scoot over directly in front of him. "Don't try talking me or yourself out of this. I fucking meant it when I said forever." His eyes track mine. "We're only twenty-one," he whispers. "How can we know what forever is supposed to look like when we've barely lived?

And I know now, we’re no longer an almost. We’re everything.

nod, his hair tickling my chin before I kiss the top of his head. "I know, Abhainn. I just want to keep you safe." "We're safest together.

I feel his fingers weave their way through my hair and the struggle coursing through his body. I know, because I feel it, too. We’re both tired. Of fighting each other, of fighting this intoxicating desire that overwhelms us every single time we’re in a room together. And just like every other time since the first in the cabin, we lose.

We're still parents, even when our children are no longer here.

He’s mine. Only mine. Just like I’m his. And I know now, we’re no longer an almost. We’re everything.

But it’s not deep enough. It’s not enough. I won’t be fucking satisfied until it’s impossible to tell where I stop and he begins. Until we’re one. “Damn fucking right you’re mine,” he pants, building speed as he grinds into me on every downstroke. My fingers dig in, holding him in place as I take my turn to thrust up into him in hard, greedy pumps. “Always, completely yours, mo grá.

Ellinor crossed her arms over her chest, her headache returning in force with Lazar’s words. “So what you’re trying to tell me is, we’re fucked. That about sums it up, yeah?” Lazar smirked. “I just said we’d be in for trouble.

allure /alyʀ/ nf 1. (de marcheur) pace; (de véhicule) speed • rouler à vive or grande/faible ~ | to drive at high/low speed • l'entreprise s'est développée à grande ~ | the company expanded at a tremendous pace • modérer or ralentir son ~ | to slow down • presser l'~ (à pied) to quicken one's pace; (en véhicule) to speed up • à toute ~ (conduire, marcher) at top speed; (réciter, manger, noter) really fast • partir à toute ~ | to speed off • à cette ~ nous allons être en retard | at this rate we're going to be late 2. (apparence) (de personne) appearance; (de vêtement) look; (d'événement) aspect • avoir des ~s de | to look like • il a une drôle d'~ | he's a funny-looking chap • tu as une ~ or de l'~ avec ce chapeau! | you look really daft in that hat! • ses vêtements lui donnent l'~ d'un bandit | his clothes make him look like a gangster • prendre l'~ or les ~s de | [changement, révolte] to begin to look like; [personne] to make oneself out to be 3. (distinction) style • elle a beaucoup d'~ | she's got a lot of style • avoir belle ~ | to look very stylish • une personne de belle ~ | a distinguished-looking person • le salon a de l'~ | the sitting room is stylish • avoir fière ~ | to cut a fine figure 4. sailing trim 5. (d'animal) gait

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will be explained in the chapters that follow, a number of prophecies specify that this final phase of the Regathering process began in-or-about 1996 CE.  Since prophecy tells us that this final phase has already started, we should be able to look at the world and find a group of believers in the Messiah (both Protestant and otherwise) who are attempting to re-establish their identity as the Lost Ten Tribes of Israel.  There are in fact several such groups, and their numbers are rapidly growing. Since the promises of the Two House Theory are being borne out right before our eyes, it is clearly a true theory; and therefore we should endeavor to understand it as completely as possible.  However, in order to do that, we must first understand the origins of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.

Psalm 100:5 says, “For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.” When we’re tempted to give up on the next generation and declare the task of reaching them too difficult, we ignore the fact that God is faithful to every generation.

Here,” he says, cutting me off. “My whole life is here. With you, East. You’re my family. My life and home are where you are. The rest is just the details. Ones we’ll figure out together.” The way he says home has my heart soaring. Maybe because it’s what he is now, here on the coast. How I feel with him here. And what we finally both are, together. Home.

Goddamnit, East. What’re we doing?

We’re reminding ourselves that they might be dead, but we’re still here,” I pant, staring into his soul. “We don’t know how much time we have before it’s all over. And we can’t just take it for fucking granted. We need to do more than just survive. We need to fucking live.

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