Kerry King Quotes

Death was not prejudiced by mortal things such as station or gender. It came for kings and queens and prostitutes alike, often leaving the living with regrets.

Mr. Thomas Cresswell might not truly hold the title of prince, but the was perfectly fine. To me, he'd always be the king of my heart.

Steve had just met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Until now his engagement to Christine had never been a concern.

Death was not prejudiced by mortal things such as station or gender. It came for kings and queens and prostitutes alike, often leaving the living with regrets. What might we have done differently if we’d known the end was so near?

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. —MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. Mastering

I keep waiting for some great life purpose to rise up in front of me and declare itself, but I don’t seem to be wired for greatness.

I found I could not wait to show Thomas and perhaps be like a sudden ray of sun to brighten his spirits in return. Mr.Thomas Cresswell might not truly hold the title of prince, but that was perfectly fine. To me, he'd always be the king of my heart.

Mr. Thomas Cresswell might not truly hold the title of prince, but that was perfectly fine. To me, he’d always be the king of my heart.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. —MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

A familiar web of worry and indecision grounds me in my accustomed reality.

Avoiding talking about things is much more dangerous than having conversations.

My mother is present in every room of the house. She’s always in my head. Her grave is the last place in the world I feel close to her. But today is about some kind of symbolic gesture,

It’s funny how life spins, how we go on for long stretches of time and nothing changes, and then all at once, in a single moment, everything is altered.

But I am not brave, and I have never been strong enough to carry the weight of my mother’s ambitions and expectations, to bear the brunt of her obsessive love.

His anger is not my fault. I am not responsible for his behavior, then or now.

Whisper me this, my darling, my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above. Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies, Warm days of winter, cold summer skies. Whisper me anger, whisper me rain, Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain. When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss. Whisper me, whisper me, whisper

I remembered attending one of Dr. Kerry's lectures, which he had begun by writing, "Who writes history?" on the blackboard. I remembered how strange the question had seemed to me then. My idea of a historian was not human; it was of someone like my father, more prophet than man, whose visions of the past, like those of the future, could not be questioned, or even augmented. Now, as I passed through King's college, in the shadow of the enormous chapel, my old diffidence seemed almost funny. Who writes history? I thought. I do.

I was confused

I really really really want a touch of magic and adventure in my life.

me this A lifetime of memories, and one final kiss.

I think you need to trust that people are strong enough to carry the truth.

But whether you believe or not, I think prayer is an act of love, a conscious desire for good. It also helps to create a separate space for what you feel regarding the well-being of others.

I’m a bit psychic.” She glances up at him, measuring the impact of her words, then returns her gaze to the fire. “It left me wide open to people’s emotions when I was younger. I didn’t know how to shield myself. I didn’t believe what I’m telling you now, that people have to carry their own burdens, that they’re responsible for their own emotional journeys. I sank under the weight of it all. And so I started drinking.

It left me wide open to people’s emotions when I was younger. I didn’t know how to shield myself. I didn’t believe what I’m telling you now, that people have to carry their own burdens, that they’re responsible for their own emotional journeys.

And still, through all this overwhelming grief and fear and loss, my anger is an ever-present demon. It tangles itself in all the other emotions, stealing the sweetness from my love, poisoning my fear. I watch from the doorway, until finally everything stops.

We need food and shelter first, before we need anything else, because without those things we will die. Then we need people to love. Once we have people to love, then we can learn to love ourselves and start working toward the things we are good at, the things that make us happy.

Whisper me this, my darling, my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies Warm days of winter, cold summer skies Whisper me anger, whisper me rain Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss.

The number one thing I would tell you is this. You can’t fix people. You can’t change people. So the trick, if there is one, is to differentiate. Your emotion. Their emotion. Your responsibility. Their responsibility. Oh, you can offer your friendship, your support, even your help. But what somebody does with that is entirely up to them.” “That’s

My mother used to say that parenting classes should be mandatory before people were allowed to reproduce. She didn’t mean this to apply to herself, of course, but to the ignorant hordes whose children run wild in Walmart, pillaging candy bars and throwing tantrums. At this moment, I’m thinking there should be a mandatory university degree, which includes not only psychology but also existential philosophy.

Whisper me this, my darling, my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies Warm days of winter, cold summer skies Whisper me anger, whisper me rain Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss. Whisper me, whisper me, whisper me this A lifetime of memories, and one final kiss.

The state is a matter of consent,’ I heard old Master Tiraes instruct her as she sat at his feet. ‘The king and the subjects all agree that one shall rule and others shall be ruled. Decisions taken by a king, therefore, bind his followers, but they cannot be forced too far, because then they will depose the king and seek another, better able to carry out their will.

To treasure,' he says. 'May it be easily found and may there be joy in the finding.

Never again will I forget who I really am or how to keep my eyes open to the magic all around me.

Which would be the greater incentive?” Oscar asks. “A shaming session from your support group, or the promise of a superfun day on the water celebrating your choice to come back to sobriety?

Phryne spent a blameless evening reading The Winter’s Tale with Ruth, who was still convinced that Shakespeare could bear translation. ‘Why does he take so long to say anything?’ ‘The Elizabethan stage had no scenes and only hand-props. His actors had to create the scene, as well as the action. Look how cleverly he has leafed the innocent conversation of the Queen and Polixenes with the King’s own jealous thoughts. It works very well onstage, I promise. We

I catch her picking the thing up and carrying it for a step or two before remembering that she’s supposed to lean on it, not use it as a fashion accessory.

You aren’t afraid?” James asks. “No. We are all placed here for a certain time. There’s no use in fighting for a different outcome.

Why do you not see your strength? We’re all born to this earth, not to the people around us. Everything you need is already in you.

Because of you, I grew up without ever knowing what it was to fear a man because I was a woman. I’m only just beginning to realize what an exceptional gift that is.

keep waiting for some great life purpose to rise up in front of me and declare itself, but I don’t seem to be wired for greatness.

put the paper down on the table and dump out all the crayons in a rainbow of color. They smell warm and happy, almost drowning out my sadness and the sharp smell of sickness.

She and Nomi shared a taste for whimsy and woo-woo, along with an offbeat and sometimes twisted sense of humor. Arranging a singing telegram from beyond the grave is exactly the sort of prank she might pull. If so, it’s not her fault that the balloon man arrived in the middle of Alan’s carefully planned grand romantic proposal, and if opening the gift will make her happy, well, somebody deserves to enjoy this day.

That’s life, Mom says, but I can’t help thinking there should be more. I want vibrant colors and passionate feelings. I want the sort of love that makes time stand still. I want to do something that matters in the world. And I really, really, really want a touch of magic and adventure in my life.

wild surge of freedom washes over me, along with a dreamlike sensation that I’m entering a magical world where anything is possible—even finding a treasure marked on a map drawn by a six-year-old child.

for

But now there is a baby, or at least the promise of one, and that changes everything.

Tonight I simply wanted Wrath. Samael. King of demons. Most feared of the seven immortal princes of Hell. General of War and the literal devil. Temptation and sin made flesh. A nightmare to some, but to me he currently looked like a dream. And if the cursed demon didn’t crawl between the sheets with me this instant, I’d unleash a bit of hell myself.

As it happens, I do. But whether you believe or not, I think prayer is an act of love, a conscious desire for good. It also helps to create a separate space for what you feel regarding the well-being of others.

It’s worth noting that the period from 1985, when the AP first reported the Contra-cocaine connection, to 1989, when the Kerry Committee report was released, spanned some of the most treacherous years in the war on drugs. That period included two major anti-drug-and-crime bills, in 1986 and 1988. Indeed, at the very moment Ronald Reagan made his special address to warn the nation about crack, the Contras that his administration created were under investigation by the Kerry Committee. Moreover, as he signed legislation in 1986 and 1988 to increase penalties for American drug dealers and users, his administration was turning a blind eye to foreign actors bringing drugs into the country. Worse yet, the administration actively sought to fund its covert operations with the proceeds. —

The Mercury News published Webb’s reporting the week of August 18, 1996, in a three-part, twenty-thousand-word series titled “Dark Alliance.” The series made several claims that culminated in an argument that a CIA-backed Blandón had supplied Ross with enough cocaine to kick off the crack epidemic. All of it was done, Webb claimed, to fund the Contras and covert operations in Nicaragua. Despite many of the revelations having already been exposed by the Kerry Committee, the “Dark Alliance” series set off a firestorm. It swept through Black talk-radio programs and attracted thousands of readers to The Mercury News’s website, making it one of the first viral news stories.

To be sure, “Dark Alliance” was far from a perfect piece of journalism. In his eagerness to break the story of the CIA, the Contras, and crack, Webb overstated some key claims. It was not true, for example, that Blandón’s drug ring “opened the first pipeline between Colombia’s cocaine cartels and the black neighborhoods of Los Angeles.” The piece also suggested in several passages that the CIA actively participated in Blandón’s operation. As much as testimony points in that direction, Webb never presented a smoking gun. What Webb could say with authority was exactly what the Kerry Committee had: that federal law-enforcement agencies, including the CIA, knew that Contra members were involved with the Colombian cartels and trafficking large shipments of cocaine to the United States. They also knew that a number of major U.S. drug rings controlled by Nicaraguan expats were helping to fund the Contras. Webb could have also said with authority that one of the Contra-cocaine connections known to the feds was Danilo Blandón, a trafficker who, it turned out, supplied Ricky Ross, the L.A. dealer who catalyzed the crack epidemic. Those were and are the facts.

Perhaps the closest the Kerry Committee got to proof of the federal government’s intent to fund the Contras with drug money was a statement made by DEA officials before the House Judiciary Subcommittee on Crime in July 1988. According to those officials, Ollie North suggested to the DEA in June 1985 that $1.5 million in drug money acquired in a Medellín Cartel sting be given to the Contras. The suggestion was ultimately rejected by the DEA, but the fact that it was made, and by the Reagan administration’s man in charge of “the Enterprise,” illustrates an eagerness on the part of the administration to fund the Contras using the proceeds of drug trafficking.

The Kerry Committee report was finally released on April 13, 1989, and its findings were damning. According to the report, the committee found considerable evidence linking individual Contras to drug trafficking. Further, it found that in each case, “one or another agency of the U.S. government had information regarding the involvement either while it was occurring, or immediately thereafter.

men with guns stole our future by killing the best of our leaders, again and again—in one single tragic year, Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. And day after day, death upon death, they steal our dreams by killing the people we love.

What’s so amusing, wench?” came a gravel-throated voice from behind her, followed by a gentle swat across her sheet-covered backside. “Just plotting my mutiny, Captain,” she said. “Mutiny?” he said, pulling the sheet, and her, closer to him. “I thought I’d convinced you to join my merry little band of thieves.” He tugged at the sheet she’d grabbed in her fist, rolling her neatly over and right up against his side. “You don’t want to be the pirate queen of the high seas?” “You’re a merry band of one who can’t sail a boat, so--” He silenced her with a kiss. When he finally lifted his head, she sighed and let her head loll back on his arm. “Well, when you put it that way…” He rolled on top of her, making her squeal. “I’m happy to put it another way, if that’ll help persuade you.” “Sheath your sword, pirate king. Your wench needs some sustenance before she can allow you to have your pirate ways with her again.” “I thought I was sheathing my sword,” he said, then laughed when she hooked her leg over his and rolled him to his back. “I see you’ve been paying attention to my pirate tricks.” “Indeed I have,” she said, looking down into his handsome face and twinkling blue eyes. She didn’t want to think about the next chapter, not now, not yet. But there it was, staring up at her, framed in tousled blond hair and five o’clock shadow. This could be your life, Kerry McCrae. Just say yes.

Books absorb energy from readers. Energy doesn't like to stagnate, it wants to move. Ergo, books want to move.

my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies Warm days of winter, cold summer skies Whisper me anger, whisper me rain Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss. Whisper me, whisper me, whisper me this A lifetime of memories, and one final kiss.

finished circling the room, ending at the desk in back. Books stacked against the wall spanned many genres and years, from Stephen King to Shakespeare, Spanish-titled novels and art instruction

Trust me. He doesn't. He can't. Not because she'd ever hurt him on purpose but because she doesn't know what she's doing.

The new normal is me being allowed to deviate from routine.

Whatever happened already happened," she says. "So the harm is already done.

fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.

I;m telling you now, that people have to carry their own burdens, that they're responsible for their own emotional journeys.

Without music, life would be a mistake. —Friedrich Nietzsche

In the fifteen years he’s worked as a fireman and a paramedic, Tony has seen strange things, sad things, and outright disturbing things. He’s witnessed deaths accidental and purposeful, traumatic and peaceful.

Whisper me this, my darling, my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above. Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies, Warm days of winter, cold summer skies. Whisper me anger, whisper me rain, Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain. When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss. Whisper me, whisper me, whisper me this A lifetime of memories, and one final kiss.

Mentre tornavo a casa a piedi col pesante manoscritto, ripensai a quella volta che il professor Kerry aveva cominciato una lezione scrivendo alla lavagna: "Chi scrive la storia?". Lì per lì mi era sembrata una domanda strana. L'idea che avevo degli storici non era umana: erano personaggi simili a mio padre, più profeti che uomini, le cui concezioni sul passato così come sul futuro non potevano essere messe in discussione né tantomeno ampliate. Adesso, mentre attraversavo il King's College all'ombra dell'enorme cappella, la mia vecchia diffidenza mi sembrò quasi buffa. Chi scrive la storia? Pensai. La scrivo io.

You’re not broken, Rae, dear, and therefore not in need of fixing. You are designed to be more. You weren’t meant to be what we call normal, not that normal really exists.” She goes on as if she’s still talking to me, but her gaze zeroes in on Cole. “The number one thing I would tell you is this. You can’t fix people. You can’t change people. So the trick, if there is one, is to differentiate. Your emotion. Their emotion. Your responsibility. Their responsibility. Oh, you can offer your friendship, your support, even your help. But what somebody does with that is entirely up to them.” “That’s it?” Cole asks. “All of that stuff you taught me, about shielding, about imagery, about toning down the energy . . .” “That was you. This is Rae.

You’re not broken, Rae, dear, and therefore not in need of fixing. You are designed to be more. You weren’t meant to be what we call normal, not that normal really exists.” She goes on as if she’s still talking to me, but her gaze zeroes in on Cole. “The number one thing I would tell you is this. You can’t fix people. You can’t change people. So the trick, if there is one, is to differentiate. Your emotion. Their emotion. Your responsibility. Their responsibility. Oh, you can offer your friendship, your support, even your help. But what somebody does with that is entirely up to them.” “That’s it?” Cole asks. “All of that stuff you taught me, about shielding, about imagery, about toning down the energy . . .” “That was you. This is Rae.” Again she smiles at me, but this time it’s tinged with sadness. “You are welcome anytime, to come sit in my garden. To talk, or not to talk. And I can tell you tricks and tools and teach you what I know. But if you can understand and grasp what I’ve just told you, that’s the balancing point. The first step.

You really don’t think I’m broken?” She turns back, already moving toward the house with the tray. “I think you’re Rae. Balance is the quest of a lifetime.” I want to believe her, but my belief in my own brokenness is stronger than her words. What does she know of me? We’ve just met. Rae isn’t even my legal name.

Time for me is not linear. It flows in random loops and swirls, and sometimes in huge, incomprehensible leaps.

My memories are going to hurt people. " "Whatever happened already happened," she says. "So the harm is already done.

Teenagers,' he says, finally, as if this is a tiff over curfew. 'I teach at the high school.' He smiles, ruefully. 'Social graces run thin with them. They're adept at spitting ou the truth the rest of us try to bury in politeness. Messy.

Before reason has time to catch up with me, I'm sitting on the window ledge, poised between fates. A deep breath, and I swing my legs through the window and take the leap, old enough to know that for every such act of rebellion, there must always be consequences.

The wider I wander, the farther I roam The more your love finds me And leads me back home Closer home, closer home You always bring me closer home.

The ringmaster strode into my room and settled on the bed as if he were the high king of the Fairy claiming his throne.

Any letter containing anything of importance would have to include words to tell him that she lies awake at night thinking about him. That even when she’s absorbed in crafting and repairing instruments, there’s an emptiness in her chest that sometimes makes it hard to breathe.

betwixt and between

Don’t fight what you cannot change.