Cedar Point Quotes

Amid the moon and the stars, amid the clouds of the night, amid the hills which bordered on the sky with their magnificent silhouette of pointed cedars, amid the speckled patches of the moon, amid the temple buildings that emerged sparkling white out of the surrounding darkness - amid all this, I was intoxicated by the pellucid beauty of Uiko's treachery.

We going to argue about this?” he asked. “Don’t we argue about everything?” “Good point,” he said. “Let’s settle this one like adults— in the bedroom, naked.

He stepped closer. "Lily---" "No. Stay back," she said, pointing a finger at him. He went still. "Why?" "Because when you come close I do stupid things." "Like?" "Like let you kiss me." "Let me?" He laughed ruefully. "Lily, you just about crawled up my body to get at these lips." She narrowed her eyes. "Like I said. Stupid.

I merely wish to point out that in the face of such a world you have only yourselves to rely on. You have only the decision you must make, each of you, alone. And will you contribute to the indifferent forces that ceaselessly conspire toward injustice? Or will you stand up against this endless tide and in the face of it be truly human?

Theirs was a failure of imagination, though, two overlapping but private delusions. G. H. would have pointed out that the information had always been there waiting for them, in the gradual death of Lebanon’s cedars, in the disappearance of the river dolphin, in the renaissance of cold-war hatred, in the discovery of fission, in the capsizing vessels crowded with Africans. No one could plead ignorance that was not willful. You didn’t have to scrutinize the curve to know; you didn’t even have to read the papers, because our phones reminded us many times daily precisely how bad things had got. How easy to pretend otherwise.

I. My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. II. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. III. If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Now hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. IV. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope. V. As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bit the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, ('since all is o'er,' he saith And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;') VI. When some discuss if near the other graves be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. VII. Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ So many times among 'The Band' to wit, The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best, And all the doubt was now - should I be fit? VIII. So, quiet as despair I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed. All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. IX. For mark! No sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, Than, pausing to throw backwards a last view O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round; Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. I might go on, naught else remained to do. X. So on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle, spurge, according to their law Might propagate their kind with none to awe, You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove. XI. No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land's portion. 'See Or shut your eyes,' said Nature peevishly, It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: Tis the Last Judgement's fire must cure this place Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.

She must have been annoyed that it no longer worked. One morning he looked down and it was gone. I expect she'd pointed at it when he was asleep. She was keeping it in a cedar box with some other penises she'd stolen; she was feeding them on grains of wheat. That's the usual method of tending penises.

Suddenly, I’m glad I’m not the type of girl who plays hard to get. It’s overrated.

The kiss was hot and wet and deep and amazing, and by the time he lifted his head from hers, she could hardly remember her point, much less her name.

Building the Mean Streak was not a mistake. We needed a wooden coaster and we were hoping for a Beast. But it was never on the same planet as the Beast. Nothing has ever come close to the Beast.

Ancient tradition has a saying: 'The infinitely distant is the return.' Among the maxims of Zen that point in the same direction is the statement that the 'great revelation,' acquired through a series of mental and spiritual crises, consists in the recognition that 'no one and nothing 'extraordinary' exists in the beyond'; only the real exists. Reality is, however, lived in a state in which 'there is no subject of the experience nor any object that is experienced,' and under the sign of a type of absolute presence, 'the immanent making itself transcendent and the transcendent immanent.' The teaching is that at the point at which one seeks the Way, one finds oneself further from it, the same being valid for the perfection and 'realization' of the self. The cedar in the courtyard, a cloud casting its shadow on the hills, falling rain, a flower in bloom, the monotonous sound of waves: all these 'natural' and banal facts can suggest absolute illumination, the satori. As mere facts they are without meaning, finality, or intention, but as such they have an absolute meaning. Reality appears this way, in the pure state of 'things being as they are.' The moral counterpart is indicated in sayings such as: 'The pure and immaculate ascetic does not enter nirvana, and the monk who breaks the rules does not go to hell,' or: 'You have no liberation to seek from bonds, because you have never been bound.

It's been over a year since they've visited their son's market. As they walk through the parking lot they take in a number of improvements. Brian admires the raised garden beds made of cedar planks that flank the sides of the lot. There are stalks of tomatoes, staked beans, baskets of green herbs- oregano, lavender, fragrant blades of lemongrass and pointed curry leaf. The planter of baby lettuces has a chalkboard hung from its side: "Just add fork." A wheelbarrow parked by the door is heaped with bright coronas of sunflowers, white daisies, jagged red ginger and birds-of-paradise. Avis feels a leap of pride as they enter the market: the floor of polished bamboo, the sky-blue ceiling, the wooden shelves- like bookshelves in a library. And the smells. Warm, round billows of baking bread, roasting garlic and onions and chicken.

There it lay in the early sunshine of spring. It looked a town rather than a house, but a town built, not hither and thither, as this man wished or that, but circumspectly, by a single architect with one idea in his head. Courts and buildings, grey, red, plum colour, lay orderly and symmetrical; the courts were some of them oblong and some square; in this was a fountain; in that a statue; the buildings were some of them low, some pointed; here was a chapel, there a belfry; spaces of the greenest grass lay in between and clumps of cedar trees and beds of bright flowers; all were clasped — yet so well set out was it that it seemed that every part had room to spread itself fittingly — by the roll of a massive wall; while smoke from innumerable chimneys curled perpetually into the air. This vast, yet ordered building, which could house a thousand men and perhaps two thousand horses, was built, Orlando thought, by workmen whose names are unknown. Here have lived, for more centuries than I can count, the obscure generations of my own obscure family. Not one of these Richards, Johns, Annes, Elizabeths has left a token of himself behind him, yet all, working together with their spades and their needles, their love-making and their child-bearing, have left this. Never had the house looked more noble and humane.

cabin for a long moment. Just looking at it made her smile. It was tiny and whimsical – a cedar sided A-frame with a bright green roof and purple trim, complete with a purple star at the point of the A-frame. It sat in a small open area amongst spruce and alder. The hill tumbled down behind it, offering a wide-open view of Kachemak Bay. She’d been in Diamond Creek, Alaska for almost three years. The sun was rising behind the mountains across the bay, streaks of gold and pink reaching into the sky and filtering through the wispy clouds that sat above the mountains this morning. The air was cool and crisp, typical for an Alaskan summer morning. When the sun was high, the chill would dissipate. A faded blue Subaru pulled into the driveway. Susie climbed out of her car, grabbed some fishing gear and walked to Emma’s truck. “Morning! Sorry I’m late,” Susie said. Emma reached over and took a fishing rod out of Susie’s hands.

I wrote that the sails are our desires that must be perfectly pure and clean, since the port we seek is the knowledge of God, which none can attain save the pure in heart.[291] Hence it is written of the ship of Tyre:  “Fine broidered linen . . . was woven for your sail.” [292]  The mast is the love of God, which the same prophet declares was made of cedar and incorruptible, as the soul should never fail in the practice of any exercise; the cedar must come from Libanus, which means ‘beatitude’, for infused charity is perfect love. To this mast must be fastened the ropes of peace and harmony with God, ourselves, and our neighbor, which in Holy Scripture are called ‘the bands of love.’ [293]  The mariner's compass is faith, by which the rudder must be directed, and the helm is prudence. The compass points to the North, for faith must rule us and raise us to contemplation between the two is discretion, which is very necessary. The pilot is good counsel: he must be guided by the mariner's chart, that is, the Holy Scriptures, if he wishes to avoid mistakes. The sounding-line is prudence, by which we must measure what is to be done if we wish to succeed: the pilot, or sage counsel, must plumb the water over which we sail, that is, our restless life.

There it lay in the early sunshine of spring. It looked a town rather than a house, but a town built, not hither and thither, as this man wished or that, but circumspectly, by a single architect with one idea in his head. Courts and buildings, grey, red, plum colour, lay orderly and symmetrical; the courts were some of them oblong and some square; in this was a fountain; in that a statue; the buildings were some of them low, some pointed; here was a chapel, there a belfry; spaces of the greenest grass lay in between and clumps of cedar trees and beds of bright flowers; all were clasped — yet so well set out was it that it seemed that every part had room to spread itself fittingly — by the roll of a massive wall; while smoke from innumerable chimneys curled perpetually into the air. This vast, yet ordered building, which could house a thousand men and perhaps two thousand horses, was built, Orlando thought, by workmen whose names are unknown. Here have lived, for more centuries than I can count, the obscure generations of my own obscure family. Not one of these Richards, Johns, Annes, Elizabeths has left a token of himself behind him, yet all, working together with their spades and their needles, their love-making and their child-bearing, have left this. Never had the house looked more noble and humane.

Can't release her? The air caught in my chest, hardened, and refused to move. There was a good chance I wasn't making it out of this basement. The craziest thing I had ever done was ride some insane roller coaster at Cedar Point--and now that seemed like no big deal. I'd never been out of the country. Never played with my unborn niece. Never made amends with my parents and sister since our continued fighting began almost eight months earlier.

If what doesn’t kill you makes you—well, what doesn’t kill you makes you not dead but if what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, then I should be able to lift Cedars-Sinai Hospital and glow in the dark. So I say to myself at this point—BRING IT ON!!!

I remember random hookups when I was at school, and it never felt like this – like a fucking avalanche of sensation that can’t be controlled or corralled in any way. Looks like I just need to hold on or risk getting swept away.

There is just something about you that feels different. Makes me want to reconsider…everything.

Everyone’s path looks different,” she said. “Some people can get on a plane and get to their destination in a shorter amount of time. Others take a road trip all over before reaching where they want to be, and maybe they get in a fender bender on the way and they have to stop for a while. That doesn’t make it any less important to get to that goal. If anything, it provides life experiences the person on the plane didn’t get.

What are the “proud and lofty” things of contemporary cultures? To what do nations and peoples point in showing off their “honor” and “glory”? It would be interesting, for example, to count how many times those very words – “honor” and “glory” and their variants and equivalents – are used in our own day at national festivals and political rallies. The variants are seemingly endless. “National honor.” “Our honor is at stake.” “We are gathered today to honor those who...” “Our glorious heritage.” “Our glorious flag.” “What a glorious nation we live in!” People boast about the nations of which they are citizens. They also boast about ethnic identities, religious affiliations, race, gender, and clan. They point in pride to natural wonders they claim as their own possessions – “This land was made for you and me.” They show off their military might, their economic clout, their material abundance. The Lord of hosts has a day against all of these things: against nations who brag about being “Number One,” against racist pride, against the idealizing of “human potential,” against our self-actualization manifestos, against our reliance on missiles and bombers, against art and technology, against philosophy textbooks and country music records, against Russian vodka and South African diamonds, against trade centers and computer banks, against throne-rooms and presidential memorabilia. In short, God will stand in judgment of all idolatrous and prideful attachments to military, technological, commercial, and cultural might. He will destroy all of those rebellious projects that glorify oppression, exploitation, and the accumulation of possessions. It is in such projects that we can discern today our own ships of Tarshish and cedars from Lebanon.

When you’re lost, sometimes it seems like a better idea to keep moving, even if you’re going tin the wrong direction,” she tells me. “I think that’s where I am right now.

I’ve never done this before,” she finally tells me, confirming my suspicion. “And it took all my nerve to ask, so I’m gonna need you to take the lead on this, okay?” At her bold honesty, I let out a deep laugh of relief. I hope she can always be this honest with me, especially if we’re about to take this into the bedroom. “I can do that,” I tell her, reaching out and taking one of her hands in mine, then tugging her my way so she’s standing between my legs. Then I place my hands on either side of her face, enjoying the little look of nervous excitement she gives me. “This is going to be fun,” I whisper. And then I pull her mouth to mine.

What I want is to make her feel something that’s pretty much the opposite of falling. I want to help her rise and grow and bloom. Up, up, up, as far as her dreams and plans can take her.

When it comes time for things to end between us, it won’t be me who makes it happen. That responsibility will rest firmly in Briar’s court, because I doubt I’ll ever be able to voluntarily let her go.

He sees me at the heart of who I am, like he knows the little things and the big things and loves them just the same. It makes me feel like I can fly.

I don’t think I’ve ever pinpointed the mountain man type as something that does it for me, but holy goodness. Boyd’s relaxed posture and this flannel shirt, one hand on the steering wheel of his scruffy truck – it’s like something out of a Hallmark movie, and I am so here for it.

The girl has so many layers, some of them going deep. And I want to take my time exploring each one.

Ruby lifts a hand and strokes it through my hair, the tenderness in her caress cracking something open inside of me. “I couldn’t have dreamed you up,” she whispers, looking at me like I hung the fucking moon.

God, I’m falling in love with him. I’m falling in love with a man I’ve known for a week, and every single part of me feels on board with this absolutely reckless decision.

Being with Boyd is about the quiet laughter, the heartfelt conversations, the sweet gestures. He makes me feel like a painful space in my chest is slowly starting to heal… Sometimes, it doesn’t feel real. Sometimes, it feels like too much. Too big. Too fast. But I’m starting to see that the good stuff is something you have to take a risk on. For the first time in my life, I’ve found a man who makes me want to gamble.

What you need is a man who loves you enough to never let you go, a man who will continue so show up, time after time, who will continue to fight for you, who will prove to you over and over again that love is absolutely worth the trouble.

Damn, do I love her, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making sure she knows how I feel down in the deepest parts of her soul.

Like his mother said, nobody is perfect. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be perfect for me.

The world we live in is filled with women who want different things, Rusty. Some women want to wait until they’re married. Others want to fuck constantly and never get married. And then there are a million levels in between. Guess what is on none of those levels? Room for a man’s disapproval. You wanna have opinions about shit? Be my guest, but keep them to your own damn self. I’ll be over here, enjoying the choices I make, without consulting you.

I’m pretty sure he plans on killing me anyway,” I said with a shrug. “At least if he kills me for this, it was for something that matters.” “I-” “Tell him I came here and spoke with you about Darius. Tell him I made some excuse to get you to leave the room and by the time you came back I’d done this. Put all the blame on me. I mean that.” “Okay…” she said hesitantly and I met her eye. “Do I need to make you swear it on the stars?” I growled. “No. I’ll tell him. Thank you, Roxanya.” “It’s Tory. Only Darius calls me Roxy and I can’t make him stop, but I don’t want anyone else making a habit of it,” I said. Although at this point if Darius started calling me Tory it would probably just be weird. Not that I’d ever admit that I was okay with the Roxy thing. “Okay. Thank you, Tory.” I smirked at her and hit post. Catalina gasped as Xavier’s secret went viral and I glanced down at my Atlas as reactions and comments began to pour in before I locked the screen. Shit, what if Daddy Acrux really does kill me for this? “Run, Tory,” Catalina breathed, real fear dancing in her eyes. “Run for the gate and get back to the academy before he comes back. If he finds you here-” “Consider me gone.” I barked a laugh as nerves made my heart flutter. Catalina smiled at me before ripping her dress off, knocking her hair free of its perfectly styled bun, flashing me those gloriously fake tits and leaping out of thewindow after her son. She transformed as she plummeted and my lips fell open as a stunning silver Dragon burst from her flesh. She beat a path up towards the clouds just as Xavier dipped beneath them with an excited whinny. I quickly raised my Atlas and snapped a picture of the two of them dancing through the sky before I took a running jump out of the window too. My wings burst to life at my back and I flew hard and fast along the drive until I soared over the gates, beyond the anti-stardust wards where I landed quickly, my boots skidding in the gravel. I grabbed the stardust from my pocket and winked at the startled guards half a second before I tossed it over my head and the stars whisked me back to the academy. I stumbled as they deposited me and suddenly strong arms locked around my chest from behind, making me scream in surprise. A hand slapped over my mouth and I stilled for a moment as the scent of smoke and cedar overwhelmed me. Darius dragged me back through the hole in the wards, pulled me through the fence and shoved me up against a huge tree at the edge of campus before he took his hand from my mouth. His hands landed either side of my head as he penned me in, glaring down at me with an angry as fuck Dragon peering out of his eyes, his pupils transformed into reptilian slits and a hint of smoke slipped between his lips. He was only wearing sweatpants and I got the impression he’d flown here to ambush me the moment I returned. I guess he didn’t like my FaeBook post. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded. “Whoa, chill out dude,” I said, pressing my hands to his chest to push him back. He didn’t move a single inch and I just ended up with my hands pressed to his rock hard muscles, his heart pounding frantically beneath my right palm. “Do you know what you’ve done?” Darius snarled. “Father could kill Xavier for this! He could-” “He won’t,” I snapped angrily. “He can’t. Don’t you see that? The only power he held over Xavier was in keeping his real Order form a secret. Now everyone knows, he’s free. Killing him wouldn’t change the truth. And he can’t very well alienate every Pegasus in Solaria by making his Orderist bullshit public knowledge. He’ll have to let Xavier leave the house, join a herd, fly.” Darius was staring at me like he didn’t know whether to kill me or kiss me and as my gaze fell on his mouth, I found myself aching for the latter. Fuck the stars. (Tory POV)

All my mind can think about is that kiss, and it’s killing me to know she thought it was for show when it wasn’t.

So, basically, you’re asking me for sex lessons.” At that, I giggle, my cheeks flushing and slight nervousness running through me at the thought. “Well, kind of. I guess.” He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile there, too. “Bellamy Mitchell, what are you getting me involved in? First a fake boyfriend, and now sex lessons?” It’s a relief that the serious tone he had just a moment ago is gone, something lighter and more teasing having taken its place. “I guess I’m a lot more interesting than either of us ever gave me credit for, huh?

There’s something small in my chest that stands a bit taller when people want to talk to me, even when it’s about Bellamy and not me. Bellamy is amazing, and there’s something I can’t deny about how it feels to be associated with her, with her and her kindness and willingness to open her heart and soul to just about everyone.

Our undeniable chemistry is growing harder and harder to resist, and now, I feel like a live wire, my entire body strung tight, like just a simple touch might send me careening over the edge.

There’s something about her that speaks to me, that speaks to my soul, a connection I didn’t think I would ever have with someone again.

I’m not sure I can handle it. After all the women I’ve been with, after every hollow one-night stand and quicky fling I’ve had, I finally found someone I want to have sex to mean something with, and all she wants is something meaningless. How ironic is that?

The idea is hot as hell, even though it shouldn’t be. I should feel like a creep, enjoying the thought of teaching Bellamy more about her body, about the things she likes, what gives her pleasure. But I don’t. Instead, I feel like a fucking lion, the king of the pride. It’s almost animalistic, the kind of primal need that zips through me when I think about taking her back to my place.

We might both need some time to cool down a bit and remind ourselves that this thing is supposed to be fake. It’s fake for her, at least. For me, it’s been borderline real since the night she yanked me across the bar and planted a kiss on my lips.

That’s the problem with perfect – it doesn’t leave room for something real.

You don’t lose yourself in the things that bring you joy and happiness and fulfillment. You find yourself. You find the best version of yourself.

This is real,” she whispers. “I know it is, and so do you.” She kisses me, and I’m lost in her. No – I’m found in her.

A shiver races through me, and it feels divine. If I were to ever classify anything as perfect, it would be the way it feels when Rusty and I are pressed together, naked and open to each other in a way I never could have imagined before him.

I’m willing to fight for you, Rusty, because someone in your life needs to do it. But you have to fight for you, too.

Not in a million years did I ever think Bellamy Mitchell would knock me on my ass like she has, and yet here I am, splayed out on the ground, wondering how I got here.

I, on the other hand, know exactly how far out of my league Bellamy is, and I’m going to do every-fucking-thing I can to make that woman so happy she doesn’t doubt me for a single second.

It’s real for me, too,” I say before she can get any words out. “It’s the most real thing I’ve ever known, loving you.

I’m not pretending anymore,” she whispers. “And it’s time for you stop pretending, too.

I can’t imagine living in a world where I had you and chose to let you go.

I keep telling myself I need to work on keeping a boundary so nothing happens between us, but that ship has sailed. It has sailed and crashed into a rock and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I’m falling for Bellamy Mitchell, and I don’t know how to stop it. And the truth is…I’m not sure I want to.

Rural Ohio. Yup. The corn maze was a joke of a holiday event, because regardless of whether it was Halloween, it would probably still exist. This entire state was a fucking corn maze, plus Cedar Point. Corn mazes and Cedar Point. The only good thing about this place was that when winter came, you could leave your beer outside to keep it cold.

I dream and drift, a double self, me and that woman … A great weariness becomes a black fire that consumes me … A great, passive yearning becomes the false life embracing me … Such a dull happiness! Being eternally at a point where two paths fork! I dream and behind me someone else is dreaming with me … Perhaps I am only the dream of that nonexistent Someone … Outside, the ever-distant dawn! The forest so intensely present to those other eyes of mine! When I’m far from that landscape, I almost forget it, and only when I have it here before me do I miss it, and only when I walk through it do I weep and long for it … The trees, the flowers, the secret, tree-thick paths! We would sometimes walk together, arm in arm, beneath the cedars and the Judas trees, and neither of us even gave a thought to living. Our flesh was a vague perfume and our life the echo of a bubbling spring. We would hold hands, and our eyes would wonder what it would be like to be a sensual being and to want to make flesh the illusion of love … In our garden there were flowers of every beautiful kind — roses with curled petals, white lilies tinged with yellow, poppies that would have been hidden had their red blush not betrayed their presence, a few violets on the crowded edges of the flower beds, tiny forget-me-nots, camellias barren of scent … And, erect above the tall grasses, the wide eyes of lone sunflowers would watch us.

The Akitu New Year Festival was a twelve-day celebration. The first day would involve the final arrival of the people into the temple district and city streets. The second day brought elaborate purification rituals and washings for both priests and temple. On the third day, statues of the gods were carved out of cedar and tamarisk wood. The fourth day was considered the true starting point, because it was the actual first day of the year. After recitations, prayers and rituals, the priests would recite their creation epic to the people. The story would connect their past with their future and reinforce the kingdom of the gods.

Carmelina points at the cabin. "What is that?" I follow her finger to the log walls made of matchsticks, the miniature windows. The doorknob has fallen off along the way, but other than that it's intact. A perfect, tiny replica of the cabin in the forest. I can almost hear the Steller's jay, imagine its flash of blue, smell the lemony resin of the cedars. See daisies looped flower to stem upon dark hair. Feel a hand with a broad palm and rough fingers linked with mine. I smile at Carmelina. "That is home.