Devlin Quotes

In all of eternity, no faery born has overcome me in anything.' Aaah. Pride goeth before the fall, my friend"--Irial stood and clasped Devlin's hand--"but you've already fallen, haven't you?' And to that, Devlin had no answer.

Is it true?" Devlin asked me. "You're Prince Jaron?" "KING Jaron, actually. News must travel slower amongst the illiterate." I glared at Gregor with every inch of disdain I felt. "Shouldn't you be groveling to me or bowing or something?" Gregor smiled. "I think before I have the chance, you will already be dead." "Ah. So much for all your toasts to my long life.

Listen, there is no way any true man is going to let children live around him in his home and not discipline and teach, fight and mold them until they know all he knows. His goal is to make them better than he is. Being their friend is a distant second to this.

I am Devlin, brother and advisor to the High Queen, assassin, and keeper of order.

Love can be broken but never forgotten.

I haven't don anything wrong." At least, not for a few hours

You're in my head, you're in my heart, and I've lost so much already. I can't lose you too.

Some things are more important than safety.

I waited here while you talked to Sorcha, who, by the way, is crazy. Now you are off to the mortal world where the crazier one is? ... I was there, Devlin. Bananach could've killed you, and really? We've been bound together for like five minutes and you're suddenly darting off into danger without me. I don't think so.

Pride goeth before the fall....but you've already fallen, haven't you?

By now, Gregor had recovered. "Sage? Devlin, forgive my accusation, but you are a fool. Don't you know who this is?" Devlin didn't appear to forgive the accusation. With a sneer on his face, he folded his arms and said, "Enlighten me." Gregor looked at me and frowned. "He can perform the Avenian accent as well as his own Carthyan tongue. And although he has a reputation for being able to steal the white off snow if he chooses to, this boy is far from being a mere thief. Devlin, you are facing the boy who has haunted the pirates for the past four years. This is Jaron, the lost prince of Carthya.

It was amazing how flowers could grow in the damnedest places, but the Devlin weed patch had sprouted quite a wildflower in Faith.

I’m going to go," he said. "All right." He didn’t move. Then: "I don’t want to." "Do it anyway." He chuckled. "You’re a hard woman, Faith Devlin." "Hardy." "I didn’t know him. He isn’t real to me. Did you love him?" "Yes." But not the way I love you. Never like that.

He reached out and caressed her face. With a serious expression, he traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb. "You‘re beautiful, Ani. In all of eternity, there‘s never been another faery who could make me want to forget everything and everyone else." "Because you like the way I look?" She rolled her eyes. "Apparently, my dream mind is shallow." "No, not the exterior. You… the tempers and follies and passion… even the way you care for that infuriating steed."Devlin gazed at her like she was precious. "Even knowing you could be fatal, I would‘ve said yes." Her chest hurt like she had held her breath too long as she asked, "To?" "Whatever you wanted." He didn‘t reach out and pull her into his embrace. Instead, he took one step forward, leaned down, and kissed her.

I'm so ready you could drive a truck straight up my ass and I would bend over and push back until it was in to the rear bumper.

Ben kissed me like he could kiss me forever, like he had to kiss me forever and he wanted to, he wanted me, and when he felt my surprise at that, I could feel again how beautiful I was to him, how I was beautiful beyond words.

Sometimes you could get so turned around that even breathing became complicated.

To gain that which is worth having,it may be necessary to lose everything else.

Like many faeries she knew, he was sculpture-perfect, but instead of being wrought of shadows like those in her court, this faery had a tangled feel to him. Shadow and radiance. He didn‘t look much older than her, until she saw the arrogance in his posture. Then, he reminded her of Irial, of Bananach, of Keenan, of the faeries who walked through courts and crowds confident that they could slaughter everyone in the room. Like chaos in a glass cage.

I remembered screaming then, screaming until my voice stopped.

I've read Reverend Kirk, in fact. My uncle's library has quite a few books of your people. I have read Mr. Lang's fairy tales as well. (Katherine Rae O'Flaherty) "Books are not the same as reality," Devlin stared at her. "My world is not always kind to mortals.

I was the girl who had hair like blood.

It was where I was supposed to be now. But it wasn't where I wanted to be.

I know what it's like to lose everything you had, to lose your whole life.

All I saw was Ben, and I knew that all he saw was me. The whole world didn't - it was there, but it didn't matter.

May you find what you are searching for, my friend. – I already have and lost it in the finding.

Mom said that loving art was just as important as being able to create it.

Arthur Devlin, you and my husband may have been in the same grade, but you were never in the same class.

but it's not always as set as that. Some things, though, feel like they're right. You and me? It's one of those things. I don't know why they see or why things are such a mess, but in the middle of it all, I do know that being around you is one of tue best things that happened to me in, well, ever.

Although she was a logical, practical person, she believed that in books there existed a kind of magic. Between the aging covers on these shelves, contained in tiny, abstract black marks on sheets of paper, were voices from the past. Voices that reached into the future, into Claire's own heart and mind, to tell her what they knew, what they'd learned, what they'd seen, what they'd felt. Wasn't that magic?

You are, Devlin, too young to understand how rare a thing true love is, how unlikely in this world to happen, and when it does, how unlikely to endure. And once it is lost, how hard to live without.

Yesterday I dared to struggle today I dare to win!

Life's tough," Mia said with a shrug. "You play the cards you're dealt or you fold.

Out of absolutely nowhere I felt a sudden, sweet shot of joy, piercing and distilled as the jolt I imagine heroin users get when the fix hits the vein. It was my partner bracing herself on her hands as she slid fluidly off the desk, it was the neat practiced movement of flipping my notebook shut one-handed, it was my superintendent wriggling into his suit jacket and covertly checking his shoulders for dandruff, it was the garishly lit office with a stack of marker-labeled case files sagging in the corner and evening rubbing up against the window. It was the realization, all over again, that this was real and it was my life. Maybe Katy Devlin, if she had made it that far, would have felt this way about blisters on her toes, the pungent smell of sweat and floor wax in the dance studios, the early-morning breakfast bells raced down echoing corridors. Maybe she, like me, would have loved the tiny details and the inconveniences even more dearly than the wonders, because they are the things that prove you belong.

She wished she hadn't succumbed to irritation. Because she wanted to know about his inner feelings. She always thought people were like pieces of art glass-- strong enough to handle and use, delicate enough to shatter under a strong blow, and filled with swirls of color that fascinated the eye. But while most people--and most glass--allowed light through, she could discern nothing of Devlin's heart and soul through the smoke and mirrors he held before him.

We could be something amazing- or we could end up destroying each other.

I hadn’t been that interested in a hug. I could get them anytime. Or at least, that’s what I’d thought.

After the first week I knew every line, freckle and scar on his body. Some might call it obsessive. I called it having an attention to detail. I can't help it if I'm overly observant.

Maybe we’ll all have to get used to the uncertainty. Maybe that’s what frightens me. The way you can get used to anything if you’ve got nothing better to gravitate toward.

Jesus honey, your husband ain’t dead, he’s in hiding.” He growled, watching her visibly flinch. - Jase Devlin

Do you think I don't worry about you?" "That's not—" "Not the same? Because you are a man and I am a woman?" "No. Because it's one thing for me to make the choice to put my own life in danger and something else entirely when my actions endanger someone else." She touched her fingers to his lips. "I knew what I was letting myself in for when I married you, Devlin." He smiled against her hand. "I'm not sure I did.

Policemen always call me a stupid bitch, and I deny that I'm stupid.

Give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he’ll eat for a lifetime.”? It’s the same for mathematics education for twenty-first century life.

And here is this boy, who acts like he spent his life with a map and I'm the buried treasure.

There's a fine line between standing behind a principle and hiding behind one.

I knew I was in bad shape because, despite how my gut clenched with hunger, my fangs didn't lengthen. Erectile dysfunction. I had vampire ED, on top of everything else.

...[T]he three greatest works are those of Homer, Dante and Shakespeare. These are closely followed by the works of Virgil and Milton.

And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that I haven't been with a women since I came to your bed back in February-Devlin.

I had mistaken a brown sheep for Devlin.

Like a Shakespearean sonnet that captures the very essence of love, or a painting that brings out the beauty of the human form that is far more than just skin deep, Euler’s equation reaches down into the very depths of existence.

The ping of the elevator door signaled their arrival at the bottom, just as an image flashed through his mind of Laurel huge with child--his child, their child. The very thought should scare him, but he found himself grinning. Trahern was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "I don't know where your mind is, Devlin, but it better be right here in this elevator with me.

...she said that life was too precious to cast away; that even the foulest and meanest expression of life was precious, full of grandeur and inestimable beauty, although we are often too blind to recognize it.

Remember what they say about dancing with the devil, Rosie.” Her mouth dropped open as she stared at her friend. The devil. Rosie could only think of Devlin. “But what they don’t say is sometimes you need to get burned.

He's reading a book called Great Warlocks of the 18th Century, and to get this ball rolling before Dean Devlin shows up and rains on our private parade, I snort and ask, "Good book?" I forget I'm pretending to be sitting behind my two-thousand-ninety-eight-page Highlights of Modern Chemistry book, so he snorts back. "Better than yours.

Do not mistake my compassion for injured creatures as any kind of personal interest, Mr. Devlin. I once bandaged the paw of a stray dog I found in the village. I would place you in the same category as he." "My angel of mercy.

For all the time schools devote to the teaching of mathematics, very little (if any) is spent trying to convey just what the subject is about. Instead, the focus is on learning and applying various procedures to solve math problems. That's a bit like explaining soccer by saying it is executing a series of maneuvers to get the ball into the goal. Both accurately describe various key features, but they miss the \what?" and the \why?" of the big picture.

plural is generally formed from the singular by the addition of s or es.

It is very easy to learn how to speak and write correctly, as for all purposes of ordinary conversation and communication,

Words become meaningless, the mind cuts itself off from reality for a little while, a necessary breathing space until one is ready to cope.

the problem with the truth was that it was so poorly written

Isn’t it beautiful how stories can work like that? The subtle way they help the teller, the subversive way they reach the listener, how they creep inside you like waking dreams.

My shooting star. You're better than a wish.

Well, let's put it this way, you'll be a major by nightfall or dead

A child can learn what is right as easy as what is wrong and whatever impressions are made on the mind when it is plastic will remain there.

There is an old Latin quotation in regard to the poet which says 'Poeta nascitur non fit' the translation of which is— the poet is born, not made.

At the time, most bodies worked on by anatomists were cold indeed. They were brought to Edinburgh from all over Britain -- some came by way of the Union Canal. The resurrectionists -- body-snatchers -- pickled them in whisky for transportation. It was a lucrative trade." "But did the whisky get drunk afterwards?" Devlin chuckled. "Economics would dictate that it did.

To use a big word or a foreign word when a small one and a familiar one will answer the same purpose, is a sign of ignorance. Great scholars and writers and polite speakers use simple words.

He and Anna lay facing each other, Staines lying on his left hip, and Anna, on her right, both of them with their knees drawn up to their chests, Staines with one hand tucked beneath his bandaged shoulder, Anna with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. She must have turned toward him, some time in the night: her left arm was flung outward, her fingers reaching, her palm turned down... Devlin came closer...He looked down at Anna and Emery, their mirrored bodies, facing in. They were breathing in tandem. So they are lovers, he thought, looking down at them. So they are lovers, after all. He knew it from the way that they were sleeping.

In the works of Shakespeare, the most wonderful genius the world has ever known, there is the enormous number of 15,000 different words, but almost 10,000 of them are obsolete or meaningless today.

The women were beautiful, but they hadn’t been attractive. Not to Devlin, anyway. Grace Darling was attractive, not beautiful. But apparently, at this juncture of Devlin’s accumulated experience, Grace was the only female who attracted him. That made her special. Unique.

Shakespeare was not a scholar in the sense we regard the term to-day, yet no man ever lived or probably ever will live that equalled or will equal him in the expression of thought. He simply read the book of nature and interpreted it from the standpoint of his own magnificent genius.

Devlin's disarming blue eyes were set in a face of such perfect masculine beauty that it should have come from a painting or a sculpture. Yet there was nothing aristocratic about his looks. He possessed an earthiness, a sensuality, that was impossible to ignore. If he resembled an angel, it was a fallen one.

If you’re the sort of person who sees blood and monsters rather than somebody real? What does that say about us, I wonder? What does that say about me? Does it take a certain sort of mindset to succumb to that sort of narrative? A certain sort of vulnerability to look at someone, a group of people and think: monster, zombie, Other.

The country craved change, even when it didn't need it. America was an entire nation suffering from attention deficit disorder.

Because handsomeness is always accompanied by vanity. And I suppose ugliness is accompanied by a wealth of virtues?

I'm the soft light compared to their ultraviolet.

Birds of a feather flock together?

Many people want to live in an alternate world. As a writer, it’s my job to put them there.

I'm not looking for the Fountain of Youth. . .I'm looking for the Fountain of Knowledge and Wisdom.

No woman likes to clean. What she likes is to restore order.

A story told under duress is not the story ready to be told.

Relationships aren't scientific, they're not mathematical. They're chaotic, abstract, irrational.

Happy as a dog with two tails and a hard-on.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short and unhappy life it’s never to expect anything and to be particularly suspicious of that which is apparently served up on a plate.

Whatever Just do something productive. You haven't done your last two English assignments and you have one due Friday. I told you next time it's detention." "Wow, gossiping about me withe the English teacher. I would have thought you were above that kind of thing." Ms. Devlin turned red, ready to explode. "I am your English teacher, you ninny." "Oh I thought you looked familiar.

Every person of intelligence should be able to use his mother tongue correctly. It only requires a little pains, a little care, a little study to enable one to do so, and the recompense is great.

Under a system in which no single question is submitted to the electorate for direct decision, an ardent minority for or against a particular measure may often count for more than an apathetic majority.

Everyone loses faith at some point. Take me for example. I haven't spoken to God since your mother died... But sometimes, you have to stop and remember all the things you do have. You've got to be thankful.

Yes, something [book] to transport your mind from where and who and what you are. Everyone needs that. A time or two in my past, it seemed that a book was the only thing that stood between me and near insanity.

There was a strange and disquieting quality to her silence. It was seductive. Like the patch of darkness you can see through an apen window that you keep staring at because you have an idea something might appear there.

Devlin shifted just the slightest, and the next breath Rosie took lodged in her throat. She felt him against her stomach, thick and hard, and unless he had something weird in the front of his pants, he was totally turned on. So was she. And they were both apparently freaks, because she’d just tried to shove him and he had just threatened her, but here they were, utterly aroused, and there was a really good chance she needed to find a therapist stat. … “Are we going to pretend like you don’t feel me?” he asked, rather calmly. “Yes,” she snapped. “How’s that working out for you?” “Just great.” The moment those words came out of her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. Devlin’s lips twitched.

TEN GREATEST ENGLISH POETS Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Burns, Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, Browning. TEN GREATEST ENGLISH ESSAYISTS Bacon, Addison, Steele, Macaulay, Lamb, Jeffrey, De Quincey, Carlyle, Thackeray and Matthew Arnold.

My dashing Lieutenant Douglas, I will never be ruled by that which I do not do of my own free will, and if we are to build a family, I had better start out as I mean to go on.  Anything less would be dishonest, and if you do not appreciate it, you may feel free to plant your affections elsewhere.” 

He was standing so close to her that he detected the faint fragrance of lemons in her hair. He sensed rather than felt the stiffness of her body. Was she remembering the blistering heat of their lovemaking? He had suffered for hours afterward, his loins aching viciously, his hands itching for the feel of her soft, silken flesh. It had not been easy to leave her that night. Yet he hadn't been able to take her innocence under false pretenses. Someday he would be back in her arms, with no deception between them. And the next time, no power in Heaven or hell would be enough to stop him.

When he was about fourteen years of age, Leonardo would have left the fondaco and most likely traveled with an older merchant, a form of apprenticeship system common in those days. Around that time his father summoned him to Bugia. No one knows exactly when he made this voyage. In the introduction to Liber abbaci, he later wrote: “When my father, who had been appointed by his country as public notary in the customs at Bugia acting for the Pisan merchants going there, was in charge, he summoned me to him while I was still a child, and having an eye to usefulness and future convenience, desired me to stay there and receive instruction in the school of accounting.

My great-grandmother raised nine children to adulthood in a world without supermarkets, refrigerators, or washing machines. She did not have much time to search for “unconditional love” or “commitment,” because she was too busy practicing it herself. Most of her life was taken up with the unceasing procurement and preparation of food for her husband and children. Yet she got along fine without romance novels, child custody gamesmanship, or psychotherapy; she was, I am told, always cheerful and contented. This is something beyond the imagination of barren, resentful feminists. It is the satisfaction which results from knowing that one is carrying out a worthwhile task to the best of one’s abilities, a satisfaction nothing else in life can give. We are here today because this is the way women used to behave; we cannot continue long under the present system of rotating polyandry.

You’re worried about Anna?” “Anna and the baby, who, I can assure you, are not worried about me.” “Westhaven, are you pouting?” Westhaven glanced over to see his brother smiling, but it was a commiserating sort of smile. “Yes. Care to join me?” The commiserating smile became the signature St. Just Black Irish piratical grin. “Only until Valentine joins us. He’s so eager to get under way, we’ll let him break the trail when we depart in the morning.” “Where is he? I thought you were just going out to the stables to check on your babies.” “They’re horses, Westhaven. I do know the difference.” “You know it much differently than you knew it a year ago. Anna reports you sing your daughter to sleep more nights than not.” Two very large booted feet thunked onto the coffee table. “Do I take it your wife has been corresponding with my wife?” “And your daughter with my wife, and on and on.” Westhaven did not glance at his brother but, rather, kept his gaze trained on St. Just’s feet. Devlin could exude great good cheer among his familiars, but he was at heart a very private man. “The Royal Mail would go bankrupt if women were forbidden to correspond with each other.” St. Just’s tone was grumpy. “Does your wife let you read her mail in order that my personal marital business may now be known to all and sundry?” “I am not all and sundry,” Westhaven said. “I am your brother, and no, I do not read Anna’s mail. It will astound you to know this, but on occasion, say on days ending in y, I am known to talk with my very own wife. Not at all fashionable, but one must occasionally buck trends. I daresay you and Emmie indulge in the same eccentricity.” St. Just was silent for a moment while the fire hissed and popped in the hearth. “So I like to sing to my daughters. Emmie bears so much of the burden, it’s little enough I can do to look after my own children.” “You love them all more than you ever thought possible, and you’re scared witless,” Westhaven said, feeling a pang of gratitude to be able to offer the simple comfort of a shared truth. “I believe we’re just getting started on that part. With every child, we’ll fret more for our ladies, more for the children, for the ones we have, the one to come.” “You’re such a wonderful help to a man, Westhaven. Perhaps I’ll lock you in that nice cozy privy next time nature calls.” Which

She was a luxuriously made woman, with her velvety skin and curly auburn hair, and her decidedly voluptuous figure... and he was a man who appreciated quality when he saw it. Her features were pleasant, if not precisely beautiful, but the eyes... well, they were extraordinary. Penetrating gray... the light gray of April rain... intelligent, expressive eyes. Something about her made him want to smile. He wanted to kiss her spinster-stiff mouth until it was soft and warm with passion. He wanted to charm and tease her. Most of all, he wanted to know the person who had written a novel filled with characters whose proper facades concealed such raw emotions. It was a novel that should have been written by a woman of the world, not by a country-bred spinster. Her written words had haunted him long before he met her. Now, after their tantalizing encounter in her home, he wanted more of her. He liked the challenge of her, the surprises of her, the fact that she had done extremely well for herself. They were alike in that way. Yet she possessed a gentility that he lacked and very much admired. Just how she could manage to be so natural and simultaneously so ladylike, two qualities that had always before struck him as being completely opposed, was an intriguing mystery.

Whoa, whoa, calm down, everyone!” I said. “Lemme try to talk to them and see what’s up?” “What’s up? Don’t you see what’s up?” said Devlin. “They’re about to fire on us!” “But they haven’t yet. Just chill and let me salvage this.” I stepped out in front of Devlin’s shield. “I said do not take one step further!” yelled the announcer. “Hey, hey, remember me?” I said. “It’s Steve.” “You! What’s the meaning of this?!” “Of what?” “This army! Why did you bring an army to our doorstep?!” yelled the announcer. “Uh, I’m here on business. Is the Skeleton King in? Can I speak to him?” I asked. “I speak for our king! Now tell me what’s the meaning of this army?! Is it war you want?!” “What?! No, no, not at all! I’m telling you, we’re here on business!” “What kind of business?! The hostile takeover business?!” “No, no, you got it all wrong!” “We were kind to your people. We took you in and this is how you repay us? With a hostile takeover?!” “No! I’m serious! We’re not here to overthrow you!” “Why else would you bring such a huge army?!” “They’re here for another fight!” “Yeah, right! You mean the fight that’s going to start right after we let you past our walls?!” “What?! No!” Then the announcer turned around and said, “Bring out the golem!” “The golem? Is he talking about Bob?” I said to Devlin. “Probably,” replied the paladin. Then Alex came up to me. “Steve, you need to deescalate this situation quickly before it gets out of hand.” I nodded. “You’re right, yeah.” Some skeleton guards brought out Bob to the front of the wall. He was all chained up. “Bob!” I yelled at the sight of my friend in bindings. “Steve! What’s going on?!” said Bob. “They think we’re here to fight them,” I said. “Now tell us the truth or we’ll beat this golem!” said the announcer. Bob chuckled. “Beat me? It’s not like you guys could hurt me.” “Bob, be quiet!” I yelled. “You’re not helping. Just let me deal with them.” “Quit your stalling and start explaining!” yelled the announcer.  “Dude! We’re not here to fight. We’re not here to take over your home. I’m telling you the truth! This is a huge misunderstanding,” I explained.  “Bring out the girl!” yelled the announcer. “The girl? Is he talking about Emily?” I said softly. “She’ll make him speak the truth!” Some skeleton guards dragged out Emily. She was kicking and screaming all over the place. Her arms were also tied behind her back like Bob’s. “Unhand me, you stupid skeletons!” yelled Emily. “Emily!” I yelled. “Steve!” “Let her go!” “Tell me the truth, or else she’s going to get it!” yelled the announcer as he drew out a stone sword and pointed it at Emily’s throat.

Feminist “theory,” as it is grandiloquently called, is simply whatever the women in the movement come up with in post facto justification of their attitudes and emotions. A heavy focus on feminist doctrine seems to me symptomatic of the rationalist fallacy: the assumption that people are motivated primarily by beliefs. If they were, the best way to combat an armed doctrine would indeed be to demonstrate that its beliefs are false. (…) A feminist in the strict and proper sense may be defined as a woman who envies the male role. By the male role I mean, in the first place, providing, protecting, and guiding rather than nurturing and assisting. This in turn envolves relative independence, action, and competition in the larger impersonal society outside the family, the use of language for communication and analysis (rather than expressiveness or emotional manipulation), and deliberate behavior aiming at objective achievement (rather than the attainment of pleasant subjective states) and guided by practical reasoning (rather than emotional impulse). Both feminist and nonfeminist women sense that these characteristically male attributes have a natural primacy over their own. I prefer to speak of“primacy” rather than superiority in this context since both sets of traits are necessary to propagate the race. One sign of male primacy is that envy of the female role by men is virtually nonexistent — even, so far as I know, among homosexuals. Normal women are attracted to male traits and wish to partner with a man who possesses them. (…) The feminists’ response to the primacy of male traits, on the other hand, is a feeling of inadequacy in regard to men—a feeling ill-disguised by defensive assertions of her “equality.”She desires to possess masculinity directly, in her own person, rather than partnering with a man. That is what leads her into the spiritual cul de sac of envy. And perhaps even more than she envies the male role itself, the feminist covets the external rewards attached to its successful performance: social status, recognition, power, wealth, and the chance to control wealth directly (rather than be supported).