Jan Quotes

jan was an excellent fuck...she had a tight pussy and she took it like it was a knife that was killing her.

As long as you have any floor space at all, you have room for books! Just make two stacks of books the same height, place them three or four feet apart, lay a board across them, and repeat. Voila! Bookshelves!

Men are jealous of every woman, even when they don’t have the slightest interest in her themselves.

And this is what I want you to understand, that good, real good, was born out of your father's remorse. Sometimes, I thing everything he did, feeding the poor on the streets, building the orphanage, giving money to friends in need, it was all his way of redeeming himself. And that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good.

Lord, make me a blessing to someone today.

I think that everything he did, feeding the poor, giving money to friends in need, it was all a way of redeeming himself. And that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good.

All rational action is in the first place individual action. Only the individual thinks. Only the individual reasons. Only the individual acts.

المدينة التي لا يقرأ أهلها الكتب، يصبح فيها الذباب أئمة

You’re the fool,” Jesper snarled. “He’s smarter than most of us put together, and he deserves a better father than you.

it is a heartBreaking sound, Amir Jan, the Wailing of a mother. I pray to Allah you Never hear it.

The skillful tactician may be likened to the shuai-jan. Now the shuai-jan is a snake that is found in the Ch'ang mountains. Strike at its head, and you will be attacked by its tail; strike at its tail, and you will be attacked by its head; strike at its middle, and you will be attacked by head and tail both.

Book lovers will understand me, and they will know too that part of the pleasure of a library lies in its very existence.

I'd like you to know that I've forgiven him. Again and again. Once done, of course, back comes the Enemy to persecute and prosecute, and I must ante up to God and forgive yet again.

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our policy? I can say: It is to wage war, by sea, land and air, with all our might and with all the strength that God can give us; to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime. That is our policy. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; In “Blood, Toil, Tears, and Sweat,” his first speech as Prime Minister to the House of Commons May 13, 1940 quoted by Jeffrey R. Holland in “However Long and Hard the Road” BYU Devotional 18 Jan 1983

Do not live in fear, Khalid-jan, for that is not a life.

Life is a gift full of riddles in which suffering and happiness are inextricably intertwined. Any attempt to have one without the other was simply bound to fail.

One of the things that makes a dead leaf fall to the ground is the bud of the new leaf that pushes it off the limb.

Sometimes all darkness needs is a little of the right kinda light; I am your light Mischeif." PHOENIX ROCKSTAR - JAN 2013.

And so there must be in life something like a catastrophic turning point, when the world as we know ceases to exist. A moment that transform us into a different person from one heartbeat to the next.

What a beautiful woman. She moved with grace, she was entirely feminine, and yet, she possessed incredible inner strength. She’s a survivor.

my only complaints are two: that I didn't make myself ready for you sooner in life, that I can't give you better, Love you more.

Someday,” I told Jan, “when they demonstrate that the world has four dimensions instead of just three, a man will be able to go for a walk and just disappear. No burial, no tears, no illusions, no heaven or hell. People will be sitting around and they’ll say, ‘What happened to George?’ And somebody will say, ‘Well, I don’t know. He said he was going out for a pack of cigarettes.

Velvet looks horrified. “If you are fool enough to address King R’jan, you will do it thus and in no other manner! ‘My King, Liege, Lord, and Master, your servant begs you grant it leave to speak.’” “Wow. Totally delusionary there.” “Good luck with that,” Ryodan says. “She doesn't beg to speak, or do anything else. You can lock her up, down, and sideways and it’s never going to happen.” I beam at him. I had no idea he thought so highly of me.

My mind reels with sarcastic replies!

The firefly only shines when on the wing, So it is with us--when we stop, we darken.

Jesper gave his shoulder another little shake. "Well, how about this? Kaz is going to tear your father's damn life apart." Wylan was about to say that didn't help either, but he hesitated. Kaz Brekker was the most brutal, vengeful creature Wylan had ever encountered--and he'd sworn he was going to destroy Jan Van Eck. The thought felt like cool water cascading over the hot, shameful feeling of helplessness he'd been carrying with him for so long. Nothing could make this right, ever. But Kaz could make his father's life very wrong.

Jan built herself an ivory tower to keep the wolves out; she never dreamed they were already inside.

The more I lived with Jan, the more I loved her, the more I made her miserable. It was a vicious cycle (page 209)……The more I loved her the more I hated her. And the more she loved me, the more I harmed myself (page 269).

She hoped that Tin Win would learn what she had learned over the years: that there are wounds time does not heal, though it can reduce them to a manageable size.

Easter is never deserved.

How can anyone truthfully claim to love someone when they’re not prepared to share everything with that person, including their past?

But, I nearly forgot, you must close your eyes otherwise you won't see anything

I believe that's when God first started speaking to my heart--the very day I started speaking to His!

Phillipians 4:13 for Pete's sake!

Well, I'm going to church. But i've got to tell you that it's full of hypocrites. My friend, if you keep your eyes on Christians, you will be disappointed every day of your life. Your hope is to keep your eyes on Christ.

Our hearts are not pure: our hearts are filled with need and greed as much as with love and grace, and we wrestle with our hearts all the time. The wrestling is who we are. How we wrestle is who we are. What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us forward toward what we might be." Orion (Jan/Feb 2005)

Meet Wylan Van Eck,” said Kaz Brekker as the boy’s cheeks flooded crimson. “Jan Van Eck’s son and our guarantee on thirty million kruge.

Can words sprout wings? Can they glide like butterflies through the air? Can they captivate us, carry us off into another world? Can they open the last secret chambers of our souls?

Are you reading your Bible?" Ah, well...I was." And then you quit." You got it." Then, you can expect to be weak on one of your flanks, and that's precisely where the Enemy will come after you with a vengeance.

My life was a wandering; I never had a homeland. It was a matter of being constantly tossed about, without rest; nowhere and never did I find a home.

There may be circumstances in this life that God uses to keep bringing us back to Him, looking for His grace.

Sorrow and joy, he thought, so inextricably entwined that he could scarcely tell where one left off and the other began.

Inspiration is very nice when you get it. It's like being given a present you weren't expecting. You don't hand the present back and say, 'My birthday's not till November.' You take it and run.

In Ireland there’s no such thing as bad weather ~~~ only the wrong clothes.

Chaos will come and I will be its master.

Do you know what Van Eck’s problem is?” “No honor?” said Matthias. “Rotten parenting skills?” said Nina. “Receding hairline?” offered Jesper. “No,” said Kaz. “Too much to lose. And he gave us a map to what to steal first.

If you don't build your dream, someone else will hire you to help them build theirs.

‎You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.

Only a few days earlier he had explained to her that he did not merely read books but traveled with them, that they took him to other countries and unfamiliar continents, and that with their help he was always getting to know new people, many of whom even became his friends.

I have often wondered what was the source of her beauty, her radiance. It’s not the size of one’s nose, the color of one’s skin, the shape of one’s lips or eyes that make one beautiful or ugly. So what is it? Can you, as a woman, tell me? I shook my head. I will tell you: It’s love. Love makes us beautiful. Do you know a single person who loves and is loved, who is loved unconditionally and who, at the same time, is ugly? There’s no need to ponder the question. There is no such person.

We wish to be loved as we ourselves would love. Any other way makes as uncomfortable. We respond with doubt and suspicion. We misinterpret the signs. We do not understand the language. We accuse. We assert that the other person does not love us. But perhaps he merely loves us in some idiosyncratic way that we fail to recognize.

What was that, Kurokuma?' asked one of the escorts riding near him. The others chuckled at the name. 'Nothing important,' Horace said. Then he looked at them suspiciously. 'What's this Kurokuma business?' The Senshi looked at him with a completely staight face. 'It's a term of great respect,' he said. Several others within earshot nodded confirmation. They too managed to remain straight-faced. It was a skill the Nihon-Jan had perfected. 'Great respect,' one of them echoed.

She had learned over the years that there are wounds time does not heal, though it can reduce them to a manageable size.

You’re a blackmailer—” “I broker information.” “A con artist—” “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—” “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.” “And what cause is that?” “Same as yours, merch. Profit.” “How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach—the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing. “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.

I know very little, and I still know more than you, Khalid-jan. I know love is fragile. And loving someone like you is near impossible. Like holding something shattered through a raging sandstorm. If you want her to love you, shelter her from that storm . . .” Jalal rose to his feet, straightening the insignia of the Royal Guard at his shoulder. “And make certain that storm isn’t you.

We all want to see Sunshine after Moonlight.

If you have sacrificed my nation to preserve the peace of the world, I will be the first to applaud you. But if not, gentlemen, God help your souls." Czechoslovakian foreign minister Jan Masaryk to Lord Halifax as reaction to announcement of allies' betrayal in 1938.

The essence of a thing is invisible to the eye, U May said. Learn to perceive the essence of a thing. Eyes are more likely to hinder you in that regard. They distract us. We love to be dazzled.

In World War One, they called it shell shock. Second time around, they called it battle fatigue. After 'Nam, it was post-traumatic stress disorder.

At least when one speaks of oneself one is passionate, well-informed and specific.

Loving can be hard. Sometimes we don't feel loving, but it isn't all about feeling. Very often it is about will. Practice that if you can.

I am not without you, that you are with me from the moment I wake until the moment I fall asleep, that it's you when the wind caresses me, that it's your voice I hear in the silence, you whom I see when I close my eyes, you who make me laugh and sing when I know no one else is around.

Being Southern isn't talking with an accent...or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion.

When my father-in-law, Jan Vuijst, a Dutch Reformed minister, was on his deathbed, I had a deeply intimate conversation with him - as it turned out, my last conversation with him. He said to me, 'It was a privilege to have lived.' The soulful gratitude of that simple statement will never leave me.

Love is an act of endless forgiveness.

Give me faith, Lord, to know Your Presence as surely as I know the beating of my own heart. I've felt so far from You....

Love, I'm pretty sure, is light.

Eyes and ears are not the problem... It is rage that blinds and deafens us. Or fear. Envy, mistrust. The world contracts, gets all out of joint when you are angry or afraid.

Saints!” his father gasped. “This city is worse than the guidebooks said!” “Da, it isn’t the city,” Jesper said, pulling the pistol from his coat. “They’re after me. Or after us. Hard to say.” “Who’s after you?” Jesper exchanged a glance with Wylan. Jan Van Eck? A rival gang looking to settle a score? Pekka Rollins or someone else Jesper had borrowed money from? “There’s a long list of potential suitors. We need to get out of here before they introduce themselves more personally.

...weary of k knowing too much and understanding too little.

Alis volat propiss. (She flies with her own wings.)

Freedom is always the freedom of the dissenter

When the trees and the power lines crashed around you, when the very roof gave way above you, when the light turned to darkness and water turned to dust, did you call on Him? When you called on Him, was He somewhere up there, or was He as near as your very breath?

So this, thought Jan, with a resignation that lay beyond all sadness, was the end of man. It was an end that no prophet had foreseen – an end that repudiated optimism and pessimism alike. Yet it was fitting: it had the sublime inevitability of a great work of art. Jan had glimpsed the universe in all its immensity, and knew now that it was no place for man. He realized at last how vain, in the ultimate analysis, had been the dream that lured him to the stars. For the road to the stars was a road that forked in two directions, and neither led to a goal that took any account of human hopes or fears.

Not anyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.

Denial, as any addict in recovery will tell you, is not defined as knowing something and pretending you don’t; it is failing to see it at all.

I can't say I have any confidence in confidence. I have confidence that God is with us in all things, both tender and tough.

Death is not the end of life, but a stage thereof.

good morning sinners. vampiric red bull intake in pub smoking compound commenced. day of heavy brain-fingering ahead.

When we turn from our sin, and have the blessed forgiveness of the Almighty, then we can ask Him to run things, and let Him be in charge.

She saw that he knew what loneliness was, that he understood why it might be raining inside a person even when the sun shone, that sadness needed no immediate cause.

إن القلوب التي تتوجه إلى صلاة النقاء، يجب أن تتوضأ بماء المآقي لا بماء السواق- أحمد الخاني

Abajo y a la Izquierda está el Corazón!

Listening is among the most generous ways to give. When a loved one talks to us— whether their words appear to be deep or shallow— listen. For in some way, they are baring their souls.

I worried too much about what others thought—I can tell you it’s a tragic waste of time and energy and pokes God in the eye.

Few conversations, at any time of life, are more stimulating, more spontaneous and more genuinely original than those long ridiculous talks we all have, when we are very young, late at night about the meaning of life.

I hear there are people who actually enjoy moving. Sounds like a disease to me - they must be unstable. Though it does have it’s poetry, I’ll allow that. When an old dwelling starts looking desolate, a mixture of regret and anxiety comes over us and we feel like we are leaving a safe harbor for the rolling sea. As for the new place, it looks on us with alien eyes, it has nothing to say to us, it is cold.

When we get over something, we move on, we put it behind us. Do we leave the dead behind or do we take them with us? I think we take them with us. They accompany us. They remain with us, if in another form. We have to learn to live with them and their deaths.

I have come to realize that truly rich people are rich not because they are frugal or they chose to be frugal, but because they are so grateful, contented and full of self-worth that they don't have to prove anything to anyone with material possessions. This way, they appear frugal.

In a Kenya game park once I saw a family of wart-hogs waddling ungainly and in a tremendous hurry across the grass. Contemptuous though I am of those who find animals comic…still I could not help laughing at this quaint spectacle. My African companion rightly rebuked me. “You should not laugh at them,” he said. “They are beautiful to each other.

Sometimes you have to gag on fancy before you can appreciate plain, th' way I see it. For too many years, I ate fancy, I dressed fancy, I talked fancy. A while back, I decided to start talkin' th' way I was raised t' talk, and for th' first time in forty years, I can understand what I'm sayin'.

We are intelligent and compassionate creatures and we can make choices. We can fortify our hearts in goodness and do the right things. Or we can turn our heads the other way and pretend again that bad things are not happening. That they will disappear because they have nothing to do with us, because we are not accountable. Well, this is also our choice. But in that case, I am afraid, this world will be lost for us.

Selethen was names Hawk. Alyss had been given the title of Tsuru, or Crane. . .Evanlynn was Kitsune, the Nihon-Jan word for Fox . . .Halt strangly enough had been known only as Halto-san. . . But Will had been taken aback in his confrotation with Arisaka to discover that his name - Chocho - meant "butterfly". It seemed a highly unwarlike name to him- not at all glamorous.And he was puzzled to know why they had selected it. His friends,of course, were delighted in helping him guess the reason. "I assume its because you're such a snazzy dresser," Evanlynn said. "You Rangers are like a riot of color after all." Will glared at her and was mortified to hear Alyss snigger at the princess's sally. He'd thought Alyss, at least, might stick up for him. "I think it might be more to do with the way he raced around the the training ground, darting here and there to correct the way a man might be holding his sheidl then dashing off to show someone how to put theri body weight into their javelin cast," said Horace, a little more sympathetically. Then he ruined the effect by adding thoughtlessly, "I must say, your cloak did flutter around like a butterfly's wings." "It was neither of those things," Halt said finally, and they all turned to look at him. "I asked Shigeru," he explained. "He said that they had all noticed how Will's mind and imagination darts from one idea to another at such high speed," . . Will looked mollified. "Isuppose it's not too bad it you put it that way. It's just it does seem a bit . . girly." .... " I like my name Horace said a little smugly. "Black Bear. It describes my prodigous strength and my mighty prowess in battle." Alyss might have let him get away with it if it hadn't been for his tactless remark about Will's cloak flapping like a butterfly's wings. "Not quite," she said. "I asked Mikeru where the name came from. He said it described your prdogious appetite and your mighty prowess at the dinner table. It seems that when you were escaping through the mountains, Shigeru and his followers were worried you'd eat the supplies all by yourself." There was a general round of laughter. After a few seconds, Horace joined in.

I've got a lot to download on your mercy and grace. I've always rushed up to You and dumped whatever it was and hurried away, fascinated by my own busyness. I want to turn all this over to You slowly, carefully, examining every fragment as I pass it off, so there'll never be any question about it again. Every time I've dumped and run, I've nearly always run back and snatched it out of Your hands. Help me in this.......Right now, I'm certain of only one thing - that You love us, and that's where we all have to begin.

I'm not sure I would put it that way. When we get over something, we move on, we put it behind us. Do we leave the dead behind or do we take them with us? I think we take them with us. They accompany us. They remain with us, if in another form. We have to learn to live with them and their deaths..... I think of them every day, I wonder what they would say at a given moment. I ask them for advice, even today, at my age, when it will soon be time to be thinking of my own death"...

I have just four words to leave with you. Four words that have spoken volumes of truth into my life.' He wanted the words to stay in the room, to remain long after he had gone. Though no one wished to hear Paul's radical injunction, it had to be told. 'In everything, give thanks.' This was the lifeboat in any crisis. Over and over again, he had learned this, and over and over again, he had to be reminded.

The difference between Marilyn’s and Jayne’s approach to intellectual pursuits is that Marilyn carried big heavy books around and hung out with brainy people to absorb their intellect, while Jayne really had a thirst for knowledge. Jayne was very proud of the fact that if she like something enough she would commit it to memory. At that time, The Satanic Bible was still in monograph form, and Jayne had pored over those pages until she knew most of it by heart...Marilyn gave me a copy of Stendhal’s On Love, and I still have a copy of Walter Benton’s This is My Beloved, which we bought together on Sunset Boulevard. Marilyn turned me on to it—wanted me to read it and write something in it for her. I got as far as writing her name in it, but I ended up with the book. It meant a lot to me during a particularly dark period in my life after I left L.A. Jayne kept insisting I read The Story of O and I, Jan Cremer. She gave me a dog-eared copy of each. It seems a distinctly feminine trait to want to share books with people they care deeply about.

Of course I am not referring to those outburts of passions that drive us to do and say things we will later regret, that delude us into thinking we cannot life without a certain person, that set us quivering with anxiety at the mere possibility we might ever lose that person-a feeling that impoverishes rather than enriches us because we long to possess what we cannot, to hold on what we cannot. No. I speak of a love that brings sight to the blind. Of a love stronger than fear. I speak of a love that breathes meaning into life, that defies the natural laws of deterioration, that causes us to flourish, that knows no bounds. I speak of the triumph of the human spirit over selfishness and death.

Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.” The look of disgust on the merch’s face was something that deserved its own DeKappel oil to commemorate it. “Don’t look so disappointed. Just think how miserable you would have been to discover this canal rat had a patriotic streak. You might actually have had to uncurl that lip and treat me with something closer to respect.” “Thank you for sparing me that discomfort

قال : لماذا هل وقع مني خطأ ، هل أسأتُ التصرف ، هل جاوزت حدي قالت : ما الحد يا محمد ، هل تعرفه ؟ قال : الحد ، حد الجوارح وما نملك أم حد الروح والقلب والخيال ، أما عمل الجوارح فحده الخيانة والحرام ولا انا بالذي يتعداه ولا أنت ، أما حد القلب والروح فحيث يهيمان الى حيث تقدر الاعمار والاقدار والامصار حيث لا مكان ولا تواريخ ولا ليل ولا نهار وهبي أني خرجت من هذا المكان ثم لم أعد اليه هل تفارقه روحي أو يفارقه قلبي ؟؟؟؟ وهل لي عليها سلطان ؟؟؟؟ ليته كان فأُريح وأستريح فإن كانا باقيين هنا حضرت أم غبت ،شئت أم ابيت . فما الذي نصيبه بالبعد غير خيانة القلب والروح ، وهل يكون الشئ معدوماً طالما بقي سراً في القلب حتى اذا افصح عنه وُجِد ، اذا افصح عنه ولا أبالي فهو موجود موجود لا أقمعه فكأني انكر نفسي ولكن أصونه بالعفاف أصونه بالعفاف وأحفظه بالتذمم وإكرمه بالوفاء ولقد وجدتني أفكر بك ثم أستذكر السدود الحدود والقيود فأفرغ منها الى الخيال والوهم ، خيال الصبي أول بلوغه الحلم يصنع الدنيا على مثال أحلامه هنا ، حين يرقد لنومه فيزوره طيف المرأة الناضجة الشابة التي دونه ودونها كل الأسباب ، فإذا رقد زاره الطيف قبيل نومه فزع الى أوهامه وخيالاته يخترع أزمنة غير هذه الازمنة ، أمكنةً غير هذه الامكنة بشراً غير هؤلاء البشر وقواعد غير اتي نحيى بها وقد يصور نفسه واياها قد اجتمعا على غير ميعادٍ في مركبٍ يحطمه الموج ليجد نفسه واياها وحيدين في جزيرة منقطعةٍ لا حياة فيها ولا سبيل للخروج منها أبد العمر، فإن كان هذا الصبي آثماً فليس الا على هذه البسيطة آثم، ذلك هو فضاء القلب والروح فكيف ننكره على أنفسنا فننكره على الجملة ... 04- Dec-2015 11:38Pm 04-Jan-2016