Grasp The Mettle Quotes

Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you, for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. Aaron Hill

It's only words and words are all I've. I'm a person who enjoys quiet moments, of reflection and Introspection. And over the years I've come to grasp a fundamental truth about myself: "Words are all I have." This realization runs deep, emphasizing the significance of my composing journey. It's an acknowledgment that the very make-up of my being, from couching joy to helming sorrow, relies on my art of words. It's only words, but to me, they hold the essence of my dreams. Each word I speak or write is a reflection of who I am and what I feel. They're not just letters strung together; they're pieces of my soul; shared.. It's only words, but they're my gateway to the world of my innermost thoughts and feelings. With each word expressed, I reveal a piece of my heart, offering glimpses into my fear and mettle. Through the art of language, I try to epitomize, I reveal the sanctuary of my soul, trusting, with the raw beauty of the vulnerabilities. In this self-awareness, I find the strength that accompany the words I choose to wield. They often become the bridge between my inner world and the external reality, giving meaning to my experiences and connecting me with others on a profound level. It's only words. This very phrase encapsulates the essence of my personal journey—a recognition of the weight and wonder held within the words that accompany me through every epoch of my life. Wishes are a strong current guiding us through the river of dreams, gently nudging us towards the shores of our deepest desires. I wish my words dance like poetry and sing like music, leaving a trail of wonder and enchantment in their wake.

Sensing reprieve, grasping for it with eager disbelief, she lifted her lashes in confusion to see the same emotion reflected in his cobalt eyes. He began to tremble, as if the lance weighed a thousand pounds. And suddenly she knew that as much as he longed to murder her, a part of him couldn’t, wouldn’t throw the lance. It made no sense. She could see nothing but hatred written on his chiseled face. He had surely killed hundreds of times and would kill again. Slowly he lowered his arm and stared at her as if she had bested him in some way. Then, so quickly she couldn’t be sure she saw it, pain flashed across his face. “So you’re sweet?” His smile dripped ice. “We shall see, woman, we shall see.” He said “woman” as if he were spitting bile and slid his lance arrow to her chin. She had heard of women being disfigured by Indians and expected him to slash her as he outlined her mouth and the slope of her nose. Breathless fear brought moisture to her brow. Black spots danced, blurring her vision. She blinked and forced herself to focus on him. Laughter twinkled in his eyes. She realized that since he had decided not to kill her, he was, for some reason she couldn’t imagine, playing a hideous game, terrifying her to test her mettle. She caught hold of his lance and shoved it aside, lifting her head in defiance. Chuckling low in his chest, he leaned over his thigh, making a fist in her hair. His grip brought tears to her eyes. As he turned her face to study her, he said, “You have more courage than you have strength, Yellow Hair. It is not wise to fight when you cannot win.” Looking up at his carved features and the arrogant set of his mouth, she longed for the strength to jerk him off his horse. He wasn’t just taunting her, he was challenging her, mocking her. “You will yield. Look at me and know the face of your master. Remember it well.” Riding high on humiliation, Loretta forgot Amy, Aunt Rachel, everything. An image of her mother’s face flashed before her. Never, as long as she had life in her body, would she yield to him. She worked her parched mouth and spat. Nothing came out, but the message rang clear. “Nei mah-heepicut!” Releasing her, he struck her lightly on the arm. Wheeling his horse, he glanced toward the windows of the house and thumped his chest with a broad fist. “I claim her!