Devil In Disguise Quotes

Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue

Education, n. That which discloses to the wise and disguises from the foolish their lack of understanding.

Moderation? It's mediocrity, fear, and confusion in disguise. It's the devil's dilemma. It's neither doing nor not doing. It's the wobbling compromise that makes no one happy. Moderation is for the bland, the apologetic, for the fence-sitters of the world afraid to take a stand. It's for those afraid to laugh or cry, for those afraid to live or die. Moderation...is lukewarm tea, the devil's own brew.

The most dangerous among us come dressed as angels and we learn too late they are the devil in disguise.

Darling, family can be the very devil in disguise. More powerful than any drug, more alluring than any sin. They can demand a loyalty that will rip your heart out and chew it up without the thought of an apology.

I've since discovered that many human beings need no supernatural mentoring to commit acts of savagery; some people are devils in their own right, their telltale horns having grown inward to facilitate their disguise.

Alarm clocks were invented by fork-tongued devils disguised as gremlins wearing snake masks.

The word friend is a label anyone can try on. You decide who is best suited to wear it. Choose wisely. The most dangerous among us come dressed as angels and we learn too late they are the devil in disguise.

This girl isn’t the Queen of Hearts, but the Devil in disguise. Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t follow her into hell.

All kids are devils in disguise,” Rose retorts, her forearms on the bar, “and apparently I’m the only one who sees them for what they really are.” “And what is that?” “Small, tiny gremlins.

The devil doesn't come to you with a red face and horns, he comes to you disguised as everything you've ever wanted.

Luke caught Mina's chin in his left hand and turned her face toward him. 'Guess what, sweetheart?' 'What?' He grinned. 'I'm keeping you.

You show me an angel that breaks bad, and I’ll show you a devil in disguise.

Here is all the invisible world, caught, defined, and calculated. In these books the Devil stands stripped of all his brute disguises. Here are all your familiar spirits-your incubi and succubi; your witches that go by land, by air, and by sea; your wizards of the night and of the day. Have no fear now-we shall find him out and I mean to crush him utterly if he has shown his face!

Keir was almost shocked by the rush of tenderness he felt. “No, dinna be nervous with me.” He took her against him, nestling her to his chest. “I would never harm you. You’re safer in my arms than anywhere outside them.

Love is the devil in disguise. He sweeps in and seduces you when you’re at your weakest, when you’ve lost all hope. But he gives you a sense of want and desire. He whispers sweet words, wrapping you into a world of existence, because before Love, you didn’t exist. Then, when you give in fully, when you’re lost in Love and when he has you exactly where he wants you, he takes over completely, possessing your mind, body, and soul. That’s when he snatches your heart, rips it to shreds, and leaves you with nothing left to give.

Nonconformity is nothing but self-interest in disguise.

How could it be late, when you’re the sunrise? There’s no morning sky or lark-song before you appear. No butterfly would dare unfold its wings. The day waits on you, my heart, just as the harvest waits the reaper.

Little Maiden Encounters Fear Deepest regions walked she there little maiden sweet and fair ventured far from the path never a whisper never a laugh...

A brief laugh escaped him as he saw her confusion. “You’re a horsewoman, aye?” he asked, and nudged upward with his hips. “Ride.

If the devil decided to run for President, do you think he/she would put on their horns and wicked grin, or a suit with an angelic smile? If the wicked witch stayed green and ugly, would she have been able to give Snow White a poisoned apple? And if the Big Bad Wolf had not disguised himself as an old granny, would he have been able to lure Little Red Riding Hood into the house to eat her? And if a drug dealer wanted to seduce some school kids to get on his drugs, would he act like a greedy businessman — or a caring friend? Salt and sugar look exactly the same but taste very different. We live in a world of illusions, one filled with Luciferians acting like righteous men, and righteous men condemned as criminals.

The devil appeared to a monk disguised as an angel of light, and said to him, ‘I am the angel Gabriel, and I have been sent to you.’ But the monk said, ‘Are you sure you weren’t sent to someone else? I am not worthy to have an angel sent to me.’ At that the devil vanished.

Dr. Murray made it clear to me before I left that a woman who enhoys the Act is as loose as a harlot. God gives pleasure in it only to husbands. Women are the source of evil and temptation, therefore women are to blame when men fall into fleshly error. It was Eve who seduced Adam, Eve who entered into league with the serpent, who was the Devil in disguise. So the only pleasure women are allowed is in their children.

Of course I want to bed her. A man would have to be dead and buried not to. No, I want to talk to her. I like talking to her. Dammit, the bedding part is natural. Wanting to spend time with her outside the bedchamber is not.

some people are devils in their own right, their telltale horns having grown inward to facilitate their disguise.

they’re both moonstruck. You remember how it is in the beginning.” She grimaced. “Yes, a state of derangement with chapped lips.

All he knew was that after he left, he'd have to learn how to live with his heart beating somewhere far away.

He tried to say her name, but it came out as "Merry." A word of joy, shaped in longing.

Vegas may be a genie, willing to grant wishes, but it’s also a devil in disguise, here to slay our dreams just as quickly.

You’ll always be Lachlan MacRae’s son. But you’re mine too.” A pause, and then he added hoarsely, “You can be mine too.” “Aye,” Keir whispered, while an unexpected sense of peace stole over him.

never believed in demons or monsters lurking under my bed. But lately I’ve started to wonder if evil hasn’t in fact infiltrated this world, slithering streets and sidewalks, wearing what- ever disguise suits its immediate purpose. When a choirboy is molested, is it by the devil in a priest costume? Or does Satan play a more clever game to get what he wants? To win the contest, accomplish his goals, might the prince of hatred mask himself as love?

His low, dark voice curled in her ear. "There's a saying we have about whisky: Slow fire makes sweet malt.

Darling," she said reasonably, "you can't put your foot down, I've already put my foot down.

My little devil who walks the world disguised as an angel.

The devil is a gentleman in disguise, Bessie.

Is he handsome?” “A stunner. Tall and big-chested, with blue eyes and hair the color of summer wheat. And his accent . . .” “Irresistible?” “Oh, yes. There’s something about a Scottish burr that makes it seem as if a man is either about to recite poetry or toss you over his shoulder and carry you away.” “Maybe both at the same time,” Phoebe said dreamily, sipping her tea.

I looked down at Lilah, her hair around her on the pillow like a damn halo. "Baby," I rasped, you look like a fuckin' angel right now. I ain't seeing any evidence of some evil, sinful woman." Lilah's hand dropped. "That is the disguise. The devil is beautiful after all." "Then I fuckin' want the devil, Li...I want you.

I’ll take responsibility for my own decisions.” “Are you so daft, lass, that you think one night with me would be worth risking everything?” he demanded. Merritt shrugged and lowered her gaze, but not before he saw the impish gleam in her eyes. “I’d like to find out.

A cask of whisky slipped from the hoisting gear, broke on the roof of a transit shed, and poured all over MacRae. He's ready to murder someone - which is why I brought him up here to you." Despite her concern, Merritt let out a snort of laughter. "Luke Marsden, are you planning to hide behind my skirts while I confront the big, mean Scotsman?" "Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "You like them big and mean.

Someday, Luke... you'll meet someone. And from one breath to the next, everything will change. You won't care whether it makes sense. All you'll know is that a stranger owns your every heartbeat." Luke's mouth twisted. "God, I hope not.

Why is God landing in this enemy-occupied world in disguise and starting a sort of secret society to undermine the devil? Why is He not landing in force, invading it? Is it that He is not strong enough? Well, Christians think He is going to land in force; we do not know when. But we can guess why He is delaying. He wants to give us the chance of joining His side freely. I do not suppose you and I would have though much of a Frenchman who waited till the Allies were marching into Germany and then announced he was on our side. God will invade. But I wonder whether people who ask God to interfere openly and directly in our world quite realise what it will be like when He does. When that happens, it is the end of the world. When the author walks on to the stage the play is over. God is going to invade, all right: but what is the good of saying you are on His side then, when you see the whole natural universe melting away like a dream and something else -something it never entered your head to conceive- comes crasing in; something so beautiful to some of us and so terrible to others that none of us will have any choice left? For this time it will be God without disguise; something so overwhelming that it will strike either irresistible love or irresistible horror into every creature. It will be too late then to choose your side. There is no use saying you choose to lie down when it has become impossible to stand up. That will not be the time for choosing: it will be the time when we discover which side we really have chosen, whether we realised it before or not. Now, today, this moment, is our chance to choose the right side. God is holding back to give us that chance. It will not last forever. We must take it or leave it.

Even if you love your current job and don’t work in a hostile environment, you can still learn how to better equip yourself for when conflict and trials do come around. And believe me, sooner or later they always come around! For the devil can’t stand for God’s people to advance His causes without a fight. So if your present workplace isn’t hostile, then thank the Lord for this wonderful respite and use it to train yourself for when you will be sitting across the boardroom from a devil in disguise.

When I was a child, I first thought that these shades might be malevolent spirits who fostered evil in those people around whom they swarmed. I've since discovered that many human beings need no supernatural mentoring to commit acts of savagery; some people are devils in their own right, their telltale horns having grown inward to facilitate their disguise.

I'm outside. Can you come out? I'd rather not have another encounter with the devil (carefully disguised as your grandma).

They’re devils in disguise, evil incarnate, demons that have stolen my soul. And they are mine.

My arms ache to hold you,” he said. “No’ just for a little while. For a long time.

First," he said, "let me remind everyone that in my youth, I was by no means the angel I am now." Lillian's mouth twisted. "Believe me, Kingston... no one's forgotten.

I love this part of you, like the sweet heart of a rose. Merry, honey-love... dinna ask me to spend the rest of my life never knowing the taste of you.

When we believe that being ignorant we are neutral, it is just a way to deceive ourselves. Ignorance is nothing but the devil in disguise.

The Devil is a master of disguise and takes on many forms. He comes to conquer you, steal your joy, kill your spirit, and destroy your faith. When you are doing right, he attacks you from the left but know that God is all powerful and God is in you and that no weapon formed against you shall prosper.

The stew had been made with chunks of beef, potatoes, and turnips simmered in burgundy wine until they melted at the lightest pressure of the tongue. There was a salad of crisp lettuce greens and chopped mint leaves, and wedges of cottage bread, the interior laced with holes to catch every drop of salted butter.

She gave him a smile that crinkled her nose and tip-tilted her eyes. It made him a wee bit dizzy, that smile. It fed sunshine into his veins. He was dazzled by her, thinking she could have been some mythical creature. A fairy or even a goddess. Not some coldly aloof and perfect goddess... but a small and merry one.

I've had no time for sweethearting. To be sure, I've no' met the woman who could tempt me away from a single life." Merritt's brows lifted. "What kind of woman will she be?" "I'll expect I'll know when I find her.

Back on the beach, everyone was tearing off their costumes piece by piece. It was like some kind of crazy dream, the sight of all those people emerging from their disguises, shedding the fake muscles and plastic armor, the fairy wings and angel wings, and devils horns, all of it piled up like a mass grave for make-believe.

We’ll come to the right decision, you and I. Later. For now . . . let’s go to bed.” Her eyes flew open. She gave him a dumbfounded look. “Here? Now?” “My arms ache to hold you,” he said. “No’ just for a little while. For a long time.” “Oh, I don’t think . . .” Floundering, Merritt lowered her forehead to his shoulder. “It wouldn’t solve any problems.” He made a sound of amusement in his throat. “It would solve at least one of mine.

How can you be sure?" MacRae asked, one brow lifting in a mocking arch. "Will you be managing the operation yourself?" The way he asked, sarcasm wrapped in silk, elicited an odd little pang of recognition, as if she'd heard him say something in just that tone before. Which made no sense, since they'd never met until this moment.

easily to his back, taking her with him. Surprised and flummoxed, Merritt floundered a little as he gently pushed her up and arranged her legs to straddle him. “What are you doing?” “Putting you to work,” he said, “since you’re so set on wringing me dry.” She looked at the brawny male beneath her and shook her head slightly. A brief laugh escaped him as he saw her confusion. “You’re a horsewoman, aye?” he asked, and nudged upward with his hips. “Ride.

I'll be the extra rib that protects your heart." Keir pulled back abruptly. The motion sent a stab of pain through his ribs, and he swore. Rising to his feet, he sent her a glance of mingled torment and frustration. "You can't, Merry." The hint of a smile had vanished. "Because you doubt my abilities," she said rather than asked. Keir shook his head. "Because you are my heart.

I dinna fook like a gentleman,” he told her gruffly. “There’ll be no pretty words and fine manners. I’ll throw a leg over, start the bed to banging, and when I’m done, I’ll give you a pat on the arse on my way out. If that’s what you’re after, tell me where your room is, and we’ll go at it.” But there was no outrage. No face slap. Just a brief silence before Merritt said helpfully, “It’s the last door on the right, at the end of the hallway.” She’d called his bluff. Her lips twitched at his expression. Damn it.

Oh. I see. So your grace never curses.” “I do not.” “Words like cor . . . bollocks . . . damn . . . devil . . . blast . . . bloody hell . . .” She pronounced the words with relish, warming to her task. “They don’t cross a duchess’s lips?” “No.” “Never?” “Never.” Miss Simms’s fair brow creased in thought. “What if a duchess steps on a tack? What if a gust of wind steals a duchess’s best powdered wig? Not even then?” “Not even when an impertinent farm girl provokes a duchess to a simmering rage,” she replied evenly. “A duchess might contemplate all manner of cutting remarks and frustrated oaths. But even in the face of extreme annoyance, she stifles any such ejaculations.” “My,” Miss Simms said, wide-eyed. “I do hope dukes aren’t held to the same standard. Can’t be healthy for a man, always stifling his ejaculations.” Griff promptly broke the prohibition against elbows on the table, smothering a burst of laughter with his palm and disguising it as a coughing

I always knew I'd have to pay for my sins in some future cosmic reckoning. But in my arrogance, it didn't occur to me that a man never bears the cost of his sins alone. The people around him --- especially those who love him --- have to pay as well. That's the worst part of it.

Merritt propped up on her elbows and glanced over him. "You have very large..." She hesitated. "...feet." Keir turned on his side to face her, a smile tugging at his lips. "That I do." He reached out to play with the lace trim at the neckline of her bodice. "Do you like a man with large feet?

And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing—I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart.” “Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel.” “Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the eternal throne—between a guide and a seducer?” “I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if you listen to it.” “Not at all—it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don’t make yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!” He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being. “Now,” he continued, again addressing me, “I have received the pilgrim—a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine.

very different. Black people have a heart of gold, love and mercy. Such a heart, nature did not give to the white race. This is where the so-called Negroes are deceived in this devil race. They think they have the same kind of heart; but the white race knows better. They have kept it as a secret among themselves, that they may be able to deceive the black people. They have been, and still are, successful in deceiving the black man, under the disguise of being the ones who want peace, love and friendship with the world, and with God - at the same time making war with the world, to destroy peace, love and friendship of the black nation.

And cried for mamma, at every turn'-I added, 'and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain.-Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes, and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle, and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes-Don't get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet, hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.' 'In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton's great blue eyes, and even forehead,' he replied. 'I do - and that won't help me to them.' 'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking - tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows, but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors, and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!

Pleasure, after all, is a safer guide than either right or duty. For hard as it is to know what gives us pleasure, right and duty are often still harder to distinguish and, if we go wrong with them, will lead us into just as sorry a plight as a mistaken opinion concerning pleasure. When men burn their fingers through following after pleasure they find out their mistake and get to see where they have gone wrong more easily than when they have burnt them through following after a fancied duty, or a fancied idea concerning right virtue. The devil, in fact, when he dresses himself in angel's clothes, can only be detected by experts of exceptional skill, and so often does he adopt this disguise that it is hardly safe to be seen talking to an angel at all, and prudent people will follow after pleasure as a more homely but more respectable and on the whole much more trustworthy guide.

His attention was riveted by the shapely figure in front of him, the intricately pinned-up swirls of her hair, the voice dressed in silk and pearls. How good she smelled, like the kind of expensive soap that came wrapped in fancy paper. Keir and everyone he knew used common yellow rosin soap for everything: floors, dishes, hands, and body. But there was no sharpness to this scent. With every movement, hints of perfume seemed to rise from the rustling of her skirts and sleeves, as if she were a flower bouquet being gently shaken.

He could look at himself in a mirror and tell himself that he was one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the world... He could feel that he was a god in disguise.

That is the disguise. The devil is beautiful after all.” “Then I fuckin’ want the devil, Li… I want you.

PATIENCE, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.

Life can be understood only by looking back, but has to be lived forwardly.

Married life would be dull indeed without some friction; one can't light a match with it.

Keir had never suspected it was possible for a woman to wear so much clothing. After they'd gone to Merritt's bedroom, he'd unfastened the back of her velvet dress and she'd stepped out of it to reveal a profusion of... Christ, he didn't know the names for them... frilly lace-trimmed undergarments that fastened with tiny hooks, ribbons, and buttons. They reminded him of the illustrations pasted on the walls of the Islay baker's shop, of wedding cakes decorated with sugar lace and marzipan pearls, and flowers made of icing. He adored the sight of her in all those pretty feminine things.

The nuns used to say that the devil comes disguised as an angel. That the worst things you’ll do, you’ll do for the best reasons. The most hateful things you’ll do, you’ll do for the ones you love most.

His head bent, and his mouth found hers with a pressure as soft as snowfall. She'd thought he might be rough or impatient, maybe a bit clumsy... she'd expected anything but the gently teasing caress that coaxed her lips apart before she was even aware of it. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue, a sensation that went down to her knees and weakened them. She felt herself list like a ship unable to right itself, but he gathered her firmly against him, his supportive arms closing around her. The tender focus on her mouth deepened until it had gone on longer than any kiss in her life, and still she wanted more.

Moderation? It’s mediocrity, fear, and confusion in disguise. It’s the devil’s dilemma. It’s neither doing nor not doing. It’s the wobbling compromise that makes no one happy. Moderation is for the bland, the apologetic, for the fencesitters of the world afraid to take a stand. It’s for those afraid to laugh or cry, for those afraid to live or die. Moderation” — he took a deep breath, getting ready for his final condemnation — “is lukewarm tea, the devil’s own brew!

My brother and I are both well aware that I have nothing at all to fear from you. On the contrary, it's common knowledge that Scots are trustworthy and honest, and... and simply the most honorable of men." MacRae's scowl eased slightly. After a moment, he said, "'Tis true that Scots have more honor per man than other lands. We carry the honor of Scotland with us wherever we go." "Exactly," Merritt said. "No one would doubt my safety in your company. In fact, who would dare utter one offensive word, or threaten any harm to me, if you were there?" MacRae seemed to warm to the idea. "If someone did," he said vehemently, "I'd skin the bawfaced bastard like a grape and toss him onto a flaming dung heap." "There, you see?" Merritt exclaimed, beaming at him. "You're the perfect escort.

I dinna fook like a gentleman,” he told her gruffly. “There’ll be no pretty words and fine manners. I’ll throw a leg over, start the bed to banging, and when I’m done, I’ll give you a pat on the arse on my way out. If that’s what you’re after, tell me where your room is, and we’ll go at it.” But there was no outrage. No face slap. Just a brief silence before Merritt said helpfully, “It’s the last door on the right, at the end of the hallway.” She’d called his bluff. Her lips twitched at his expression. Damn it. Exasperated, Keir took her upper arms in his hands and held her apart from him. “If I stayed, no harm would come to me—only to you. I’d pay any price to have you, but I won’t let you be the one to pay it.” “I’ll take responsibility for my own decisions.” “Are you so daft, lass, that you think one night with me would be worth risking everything?” he demanded. Merritt shrugged and lowered her gaze, but not before he saw the impish gleam in her eyes. “I’d like to find out.” Unable to stop himself, Keir jerked her close and kissed her roughly.

As they talked, Merritt entertained him with stories of her childhood in Hampshire as the oldest of six siblings. Her father, the earl, loomed large in those stories, as a loving parent and a man of great authority and responsibility. His marriage to Lillian Bowman, an American heiress, had been an improbable match, but the union had turned out to be a remarkably happy one. Merritt's mother was a lively and lighthearted woman, the kind of mother who had romped outside with her children and splashed in puddles with them, and encouraged their flights of fancy.

He turned his head just then and for a moment, our eyes met. I would like to tell you that I saw the face of evil when I looked at the Grand Inquisitor, but in fact he seemed like so many men who serve Holy Mother Church: a bureaucrat for whom the suffering of humanity is of no account compared to his imagined visions of the will of God. It is said that the Devil enters through back doors and in disguise, but men such as Torquemada never seemed to consider that. He is dead now, as I tell this tale. I wonder how warmly the One he served welcomed him into eternity.

She dampened her lips, and spoke as if she'd just awakened from a long sleep. "I've heard that Scots are the most passionate of men." A slow smile crossed his lips. He let a fingertip play with the wisps of hair around her ear, delighting in her squirm of response. "Aye...'tis true that Scots have more passion than men of other lands. But I'll no' be the one to demonstrate it to you." "What if..." Merritt paused to take an extra breath, her gaze slightly unfocused. "What if I wanted you to?" He shook his head, knowing she wasn't thinking straight. "It would be a mistake." "People should make mistakes," she said. "It builds character.

I've spent nearly three years managing a shipping firm," she pointed out. "After all the time I've spent around longshoremen, nothing could shock me now." "Maybe not," Luke conceded. "But Scotsmen have a special gift for cursing. I had a friend at Cambridge who knew at least a dozen different words for testicles." Merritt grinned. One of the things she enjoyed most about Luke, the youngest of her three brothers, was that he never shielded her from vulgarity or treated her like a delicate flower. That, among other reasons, was why she'd asked him to take over the management of her late husband's shipping company, once she'd taught him the ropes.

Islay whisky starts as hot as the devil's whisper... but then the flavors come through, and it might taste of cinnamon, or peat, or honeycomb fresh from the hive. It could taste of a long ago walk on a winter's eve... or a kiss you once stole from your sweetheart in the hayloft. Whisky is yesterday's rain, distilled with barley into a vapor that rises like a will-o'-the-wisp, then set to bide its time in casks of good oak." His voice had turned as soft as a curl of smoke. "Someday we'll have a whisky, you and I. We'll toast health to our friends and peace to our foes... and we'll drink to the loves lost to time's perishing, as well as those yet to come.

Do you know anything about the woman who gave birth to you?" "No, and I dinna need to." Merritt's dark eyes seemed to look right inside him. "The gold key..." Keir smiled slightly at her perceptiveness. "She left it with me at the orphanage. I wear it because... I suppose 'tis a small way of honoring her. I owe her that much at least, after the pain I caused her." A tiny crinkle appeared between her fine brows. "Do you mean childbirth?" "That, and the sorrow of having to give away her bairn." He paused reflectively. "I think I was one of many men who hurt her, one way or another. A lass who was protected and loved would no' have found herself in such circumstances.

Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful of your doggish lust. Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers. Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of fellow-suffering? And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.

To make matters worse," Luke continued, "there was an accident." Her eyes widened. "What kind of accident?" "A cask of whisky slipped from the hoisting gear, broke on the roof of a transit shed, and poured all over MacRae. He's ready to murder someone - which is why I brought him up here to you." Despite her concern, Merritt let out a snort of laughter. "Luke Marsden, are you planning to hide behind my skirts while I confront the big, mean Scotsman?" "Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "You like them big and mean.” Her brows lifted. "What in heaven's name are you talking about?" "You love soothing difficult people. You're the human equivalent of table syrup." Amused, Merritt leaned her chin on her hand. "Show him in, then, and I'll start pouring." It wasn't that she loved soothing difficult people. But she definitely liked to smooth things over when she could. As the oldest of six children, she'd always been the one to settle quarrels among her brothers and sisters, or come up with indoor games on rainy days. More than once, she'd orchestrated midnight raids on the kitchen pantry or told them stories when they'd sneaked to her room after bedtime.

Merritt stared in bemusement at the big, wrathful Scotsman. He was an extraordinary sight, more than six feet of muscle and brawn dressed in a thin wet shirt and trousers that clung as if they'd been glued to his skin. An irritable shiver, almost certainly from the chill of evaporating alcohol, ran over him. Scowling, he reached up to remove his flat cap, revealing a shaggy mop of hair, several months past a good cut. The thick locks were a beautiful cool shade of amber shot with streaks of light gold. He was handsome despite his unkempt state. Very handsome. His blue eyes were alert with the devil's own intelligence, the cheekbones high, the nose straight and strong. A tawny beard obscured the line of his jaw- perhaps concealing a weak chin?- she couldn't tell. Regardless, he was a stunner.

When the Devil goeth about like a roaring lion, he goeth about in a shape by which few but savages and hunters are attracted. But, when he is trimmed, smoothed, and varnished, according to the mode; when he is aweary of vice, and aweary of virtue, used up as to brimstone, and used up as to bliss; then, whether he take to the serving out of red tape, or to the kindling of red fire, he is the very Devil.

Damn it, he thought wearily, I miss Evie. When she was away, which thankfully was seldom, the world stopped spinning, the sun went dark, and life devolved to a grim exercise in endurance until she returned. At the outset of their marriage, Sebastian had never dreamed a shy, awkward wallflower, who'd spoken with a stammer since childhood, would turn out to have such fearsome power over him. But Evie had immediately gained the upper hand by making it clear he would have nothing from her- not her affection, her body, or even her thoughts- unless he'd earned it. No woman had ever challenged him to be worthy of her. That had fascinated and excited him. It had made him love her. Now he was left counting the remaining nights- four, to be precise- of waking in the middle of the night blindly searching the empty space beside him. And the hours- ninety-six, approximately- until Evie was in his arms again.

Moderation?” He leaped up on the desk, like an evangelist. “Moderation? It’s mediocrity, fear, and confusion in disguise. It’s the devil’s dilemma. It’s neither doing nor not doing. It’s the wobbling compromise that makes no one happy. Moderation is for the bland, the apologetic, for the fencesitters of the world afraid to take a stand. It’s for those afraid to laugh or cry, for those afraid to live or die. Moderation” — he took a deep breath, getting ready for his final condemnation — “is lukewarm tea, the devil’s own brew!

But Proportion has a sister, less smiling, more formidable, a Goddess even now engaged--in the heat and sands of India, the mud and swamp of Africa, the purlieus of London, wherever in short the climate or the devil tempts men to fall from the true belief which is her own--is even now engaged in dashing down shrines, smashing idols, and setting up in their place her own stern countenance. Conversion is her name and she feasts on the wills of the weakly, loving to impress, to impose, adoring her own features stamped on the face of the populace. At Hyde Park Corner on a tub she stands preaching; shrouds herself in white and walks penitentially disguised as brotherly love through factories and parliaments; offers help, but desires power; smites out of her way roughly the dissentient, or dissatisfied; bestows her blessing on those who, looking upward, catch submissively from her eyes the light of their own. [She] had her dwelling in [his] heart, though concealed, as she mostly is, under some plausible disguise; some venerable name; love, duty, self sacrifice. How he would work--how toil to raise funds, propagate reforms, initiate institutions! But conversion, fastidious Goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will.

Unclean. They were to disguise themselves as outcasts, untouchables, and so get away. She knew all about these wretched outcasts. They handled the dead and were unclean. They were supposed to be possessed by devils, and anyone coming in contact with them was also bedeviled. They were not allowed to touch food and had to eat what was thrown to them from the ground like dogs. They must enter no house and speak to neither man nor woman of the clean. They were dressed in rags and daubed from head to foot with a red paint made from stinking shark oil and red ochre mixed, red being the funereal color. If they were not insane to start with, they soon became so.

Family is everything to him. When he was a young boy, he lost his mother and four sisters to scarlet fever, and was sent away to boarding school. He grew up very much alone. So he would do anything to protect or help the people he cares about." She hefted the album into Keir's lap, and watched as he began to leaf through it dutifully. Keir's gaze fell to a photograph of the Challons relaxing on the beach. There was Phoebe at a young age, sprawling in the lap of a slender, laughing mother with curly hair. Two blond boys sat beside her, holding small shovels with the ruins of a sandcastle between them. A grinning fair-haired toddler was sitting squarely on top of the sandcastle, having just squashed it. They'd all dressed up in matching bathing costumes, like a crew of little sailors. Coming to perch on the arm of the chair, Phoebe reached down to turn the pages and point out photographs of her siblings at various stages of their childhood. Gabriel, the responsible oldest son... followed by Raphael, carefree and rebellious... Seraphina, the sweet and imaginative younger sister... and the baby of the family, Ivo, a red-haired boy who'd come as a surprise after the duchess had assumed childbearing years were past her. Phoebe paused at a tintype likeness of the duke and duchess seated together. Below it, the words "Lord and Lady St. Vincent" had been written. "This was taken before my father inherited the dukedom," she said. Kingston- Lord St. Vincent back then- sat with an arm draped along the back of the sofa, his face turned toward his wife. She was a lovely woman, with an endearing spray of freckles across her face and a smile as vulnerable as the heartbeat in an exposed wrist.

All kinds of folly.” He paused to meet the man’s curious gaze. “I commend her to you, Mr. Meers. Take her to the ship.” “Beg pardon?” He scowled fiercely. “What she be this?” The captain screwed his face up at him. “Are you dafter than a doornail, son? Our little Cameron Jack here be a lass as sure as I be your devil’s bastard seed.” Both of his companions gaped at him, then her. And she returned their slack-jawed stares without blinking or flinching. “How did you know that?” No one could ever tell she was female whenever she disguised herself as a lad. It was a ploy she’d been using ever since her parents had orphaned them when she was a small girl. A ruse Patrick had insisted on to keep her safe from harm, and under his nose so that he could watch after her. Bane scoffed as he reached for his ale. “Never try to fool the devil, love. I can see right through you. Besides, no man has an ass that fine. If he did, he’d serve to be changing my religion on certain things.” He

How strange and delicious it was to sit here like this, entwined and filled, while sea breezes rustled through the marram grass on the dunes and quiet waves lapped at the shore. Eventually Keir lifted his head, his eyes very light in his flushed face. "Put your legs around my waist," he said. He helped to rearrange her limbs until they were pressed together closely in a seated embrace, with his bent knees supporting her. It was surprisingly comfortable, but didn't permit much movement. Instead of thrusting, they were limited to a rocking motion that allowed only an inch or two of his length to withdraw and plunge. "I don't think this is going to work," Merritt said, her arms looped around his neck. "Be patient." His mouth sought hers in a warm, flirting kiss. One of his hands searched beneath her skirts to settle on her naked bottom, pulling her forward as they rocked rhythmically. Feeling awkward, but also having fun, Merritt experimented by bracing her feet on the ground and pushing to help their momentum. The combination of pressure and movement had a stunning effect in her. Every forward pitch brought her weight fully onto him, in deep steady nudges that sent bolts of pure erotic feeling through every nerve pathway. The tension was building, compelling her toward a culmination more intense than anything she'd ever felt. She couldn't drive herself hard onto the heavy shaft, her body taking every inch and clenching frantically on each withdrawal as if trying to keep him inside. Nothing mattered except the rhythmic lunges that pumped more and more pleasure into her. Keir's breath hissed through his teeth as he felt her electrified response, the cinch of her intimate muscles. His hand gripped over her bottom, pulling her onto him again, again, again, until the relentless unfaltering movement finally catapulted her into a climax that was like losing consciousness, blinding her vision with a shower of white sparks and extinguishing every rational thought.

Well brought up folks no longer believe in the devil, but as their ideas are no more rational than those of our nurses, they do but disguise devil and angel under a pedantic wordiness honored with the name of philosophy. They do not say "devil" nowadays, but "the flesh," or "the passions." The"angel" is replaced by the words "conscience" or "soul," by "reflection of the thought of a divine creator" or "the Great Architect," as the Free- Masons say. But man's action is still represented as the result of a struggle between two hostile elements. And a man is always considered virtuous just in the degree to which one of these two elements --the soul or conscience-- is victorious over the other --the flesh or passions. It is easy to understand the astonishment of our great-grandfathers when the English philosophers, and later the Encyclopedists, began to affirm in opposition to these primitive ideas that the devil and the angel had nothing to do with human action, but that all acts of man, good or bad, useful or baneful, arise from a single motive: the lust for pleasure.

St Alexander, his friends, and mentors opposed National Socialism primarily from the standpoint of their Christian faith. They perceived Nazi ideology as an assault on Truth. In the ambition of the Nazi creed to destroy the existing order of society, in its fierce determination to annihilate Jews, Slavs, Gypsies, and all whom it deemed unworthy of existence, the White Rose saw an assault on the very concept of Man who was created in God’s image. It was an assault on God himself. The authors of the White Rose leaflets, Alexander and Hans, ascribe a spiritual significance to their resistance to Nazism, which they call “the dictatorship of evil.”255 In their fourth leaflet, they present this resistance as a struggle against “the National Socialist terrorist state … the struggle against the devil, against the servants of Antichrist.” It is of utmost importance, they continue, to realize that everywhere and at all times, demons have been lurking in the dark, waiting for the moment when man is weak; when of his own volition he leaves his place in the order of Creation as founded for him by God in freedom; when he yields to the force of evil, separates himself from the powers of a higher order and, after voluntarily taking the first step, is driven on to the next and the next at a furiously accelerating pace. One must therefore cling to God, as “of course man is free, but without God he is defenseless against evil. He is like a rudderless ship, at the mercy of the storm, an infant without his mother, a cloud dissolving into thin air.” The accuracy of the young people’s perception of the fundamental antagonism of National Socialism to Christianity was corroborated by the Nazis themselves (although, like the Communists in Russia, they made efforts to disguise and deny this). In a secret circular of June 9, 1941, Martin Bormann, Hitler’s second in command, divulged the fact that the repressive measures against the Churches of Germany were aimed against Christianity itself. The circular opened with the following words: “National Socialism and Christianity are irreconcilable.”256 In a private conversation, the head of the dreaded SS, Heinrich Himmler, boasted that “We shall not rest until we have rooted out Christianity.

Hey, I have an idea,” Lex said. “Give me a sec.” He kept trying. “Idea as in ‘good idea,’ or idea as in ‘let’s take the Ferris wheel, everyone, I’m sure it’ll be a carefree ride of thrills and delights and whimsy’—” “Does this help?” Driggs opened his eyes and, in the space of a yoctosecond, popped right into a solid body. Lex half expected to hear a wacky boing sound effect. She grabbed his arm to keep him that way, while he kept on staring at her bare chest. “So,” he said, swallowing, “good idea, then.” “Thank you.” He pulled her close and gave her a kiss. “And thank you for sparing me your devil corset.” She held it up and waved it in his face. “It’s a standard bra, Driggs. From, like, Target.” “Satan employs many disguises.” “Like you’re from the Land of Superior Underwear. Let’s see what sort of designer boxers you’ve chosen to grace my presence with today.” She unzipped his pants and looked. “Dude. Penguins?” “Um, penguins are officially recognized as the most adorable bird on the planet,” he said, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong with penguins?” “Nothing—” “And igloos. See their little igloos?” “Yes—” “The Santa hats are a bit much, I’ll give you that, but they were a Christmas present, okay? And if I’d known that I was going to die while wearing them and be forever doomed to their Arctic quirkiness—and of hypothermia, too, how’s that for irony—” “Driggs,” she interrupted, grabbing his chin and boring her eyes into his. “I thought we were on a tight time frame here.” “Right.” He scratched his head. “I think that perhaps, since I’m talking way too much, there is the slightest chance that I might be a tiny bit nervous.” Lex smirked. “Relax, spaz.” “Oh, no way. You do not get to use that against me.

Christianity agrees with Dualism that this universe is at war. But it does not think this is a war between independent powers. It thinks it is a civil war, a rebellion, and that we are living in a part of the universe occupied by the rebel. Enemy-occupied territory — that is what this world is. Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say landed in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage. When you go to church you are really listening-in to the secret wireless from our friends: that is why the enemy is so anxious to prevent us from going... Why is God landing in this enemy-occupied world in disguise and starting a sort of secret society to undermine the devil? Why is He not landing in force, invading it? Is it that He is not strong enough? Well, Christians think He is going to land in force; we do not know when. But we can guess why He is delaying. He wants to give us the chance of joining His side freely. I do not suppose you and I would have thought much of a Frenchman who waited till the Allies were marching into Germany and then announced he was on our side. God will invade. But I wonder whether people who ask God to interfere openly and directly in our world quite realize what it will be like when He does. When that happens, it is the end of the world. When the author walks on to the stage the play is over. God is going to invade, all right: but what is the good of saying you are on His side then, when you see the whole natural universe melting away like a dream and something else — something it never entered your head to conceive — comes crashing in; something so beautiful to some of us and so terrible to others that none of us will have any choice left? For this time it will be God without disguise; something so overwhelming that it will strike either irresistible love or irresistible horror into every creature. It will be too late then to choose your side. There is no use saying you choose to lie down when it has become impossible to stand up. That will not be the time for choosing: it will be the time when we discover which side we really have chosen, whether we realized it or not. Now, today, this moment, is our chance to choose the right side. God is holding back to give us that chance. It will not last forever. We must take it or leave it.

[the virgin birth account] occurs everywhere. When the Herod figure ( the extreme figure of misgovernment) has brought man to the nadir of spirit, the occult forces of the cycle begin to move. In an inconspicuous village, Mary is born who will maintain herself undefiled by fashionable errors of her generation. Her womb, remaining fallw as the primordial abyss, summons itself by its very readiness the original power that fertilzed the void. Mary's virgin birth story is recounted everywhere. and with such striking unity of the main contours, that early christian missionaries had to think the devil must be creating mockeries of Mary's birth wherever they testified. One missionary reports that after work was begun among Tunja and Sogamozzo South American Indians, "the demon began giving contrary doctrines. The demon sought to discredit Mary's account, declaring it had not yet come to pass; but presently, the sun would bring it to pass by taking flesh in the womb of a virgin in a small village, causing her to conceive by rays of the sun while she yet remained virgin." Hindu mythology tells of the maiden parvati who retreated to the high hills to practice austerities. Taraka had usurped mastery of the world, a tyrant. Prophecy said only a son of the high god Shiva could overthrow him. Shive however was the pattern god of yoga-alone, aloof, meditating. It was impossible Shiva could be moved to beget. Parvati tried changing the world situation by metching Shiva in meditation. Aloof, indrawn in her soul meditating, she fasted naked beneath the blazing sun, even adding to the heat by building four great fires. One day a Brahmin youth arrived and asked why anyone so beautiful should be destroying herself with such torture. "My desire," she said "is Shiva, the Highest. He is the god of solitude and concentration. I therefore imitate his meditation to move him from his balance and bring him to me in love." Shiva, the youth announced, is a god of destruction, shiva is World Annhilator. Snakes are his garlands. The virgin said: He is beyond the mind of such as you. He is terrifying but the source of grace. snake garlands or jewel garlands he can assume or put off at will. Shiva is my love. The youth thereupon put away his disguise-he was Shiva. The Buddha descended from heaven to his mother's womb in the shape of a milk white elephant. The Aztec Coatlicue was approached by a god in the form of a ball of feathers. The chapters of Ovid's Metamorphoses swarm with nymphs beset by gods in sundry masquerades: jove as a bull, a swan, a shower of gold. Any leaf, any nut, or even the breath of a breeze, may be enough to fertilize the ready virgin womb. The procreating power is everywhere. And according to whim or destiny of the hour, either a hero savior or a world--annihilating demon may be conceived-one can never know.