Knox Quotes

An intelligent person can rationalize anything, a wise person doesn't try.

You fainted and I caught you. It was the first time I'd supported a human. You had such heavy bones. I put myself between you and gravity. Impossible.

Sex Piston, if you don’t quit bugging your sister, the police are going to be charging me with another crime,” Knox threatened.

Only by examining our personal biases can we grow as artists; only by cultivating empathy can we grow as people.

Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God.

Where did you meet?” he pressed on. I shrugged and considered a little rephrasing. “I was out for a run.” “From who?” I leaned back to take a long, very long, slow sip of that beer. Knox leaned forward. “I think we’re both bullsh*tting here, you ever play that card game?” “With my grandma, every Sunday after church.

Laugh a little Syd," Knox said. "Life is too short for perpetual misery.

Hell hath no fury like a goddess scorned

There was a young man who said "God Must find it exceedingly odd To think that the tree Should continue to be When there's no one about in the quad." Reply: "Dear Sir: Your astonishment's odd; I am always about in the quad. And that's why the tree Will continue to be Since observed by, Yours faithfully, God.

I promise you, whatever we are together, it's not a mistake. It's too good to be a mistake.

My proctologist keeps in better touch than you do." - Knox

I believe you, Knox...And I don't care...Got it? I believe you're sorry. I. Don't. Care. I don't want your sorry. Live with your guilt. It's the one debt you owe me and I don't ever, ever want it repaid.

Happiness had never been like this before. Now it came like sun showers, the sun and the rain together. Happiness was happier than it had been - sharp, piercing, and snatched, like a breath while swimming in surf.

A man with God is always in the majority.

Knox, I think we need to buy a small island, " she said, picking up a pocketknife. A small island? Knox turned towards her taking the knife out of her hand. 'Yes' diamond nodded enthusiastically. 'Did you know that you can buy small islands? They're kind of expensive, but if we save, we could buy one in a few years'. ' diamond....' Knox started to say something, but closed his mouth. 'Why an island?' "Because zombies can't swim

I cook for you because it’s how I show someone I care. I cook for you because I love the look on your face after that first bite. I cook for you because I’d rather cook for you than anyone else.” “What?” My jaw dropped. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with you, woman.” My mouth was still open. Which suited Knox just fine. Because he raised his hands, framed my face. Then sealed his lips over mine.

When the writing is good, a book becomes a mirror. The reader will see an uncanny familiarity and respond accordingly.

I didn't know you owned clothes with colors." "I have a few things that aren't black." "Of course you do, darling. Only all the ones I've seen are very small, and I get to take them off with my teeth. You've trained me to salivate at the sight of color, like one of Pavlov's dogs. Your top is making me very hungry.

If through no fault of his own the hero is crushed by a bulldozer in Act II, we are not impressed. Even though life is often like this—the absconding cashier on his way to Nicaragua is killed in a collision at the airport, the prominent statesman dies of a stroke in the midst of the negotiations he has spent years to bring about, the young lovers are drowned in a boating accident the day before their marriage—such events, the warp and woof of everyday life, seem irrelevant, meaningless. They are crude, undigested, unpurged bits of reality—to draw a metaphor from the late J. Edgar Hoover, they are “raw files.” But it is the function of great art to purge and give meaning to human suffering, and so we expect that if the hero is indeed crushed by a bulldozer in Act II there will be some reason for it, and not just some reason but a good one, one which makes sense in terms of the hero’s personality and action. In fact, we expect to be shown that he is in some way responsible for what happens to him.

I have no particular plan in life - and that's something I rather like. Most things that people do seem to me to be rather dull and silly. In my ideal life I'd be left alone to read

Time heals all things. If time fails, try cake.

It is possible to argue that the true business of faith is not to produce emotional conviction in us, but to teach us to do without it.

When John Knox went upstairs to plead with God for Scotland, it was the greatest event in Scottish history.

You matter. So much that you’re a vulnerability, a weakness. But I’m keeping you.” Knox framed her face with his hands. “Nothing is more important to me than you.

What's your name?" she asked. He laughed. "Nev." She sat up suddenly, bracing her elbows on the bed. "Short for Neville?" It was the world's dorkiest name. Nearly as bad as Rupert. "I never thought I'd be penetrated by a Neville." she said wonderingly. "Maybe a Colin, or a Simon but -" "Shut up.

‎"Prayer is an earnest and familiar talking with God.

I’m assuming Mona did something I need to know about. Tell me.” Be a tattletale who whined to people’s Primes? “No.” “No?” Knox echoed with disbelief. Evidently, he wasn’t denied things often. Well, Harper did like to introduce people to new experiences. It was more of a calling, really.

From here on out, if anyone says they have a right to decide what to do with your body, kid, you kick ’em in the ass, then come find me,” Knox told her.

No.” “No?” Knox echoed with disbelief. Evidently, he wasn’t denied things often. Well, Harper did like to introduce people to new experiences. It was more of a calling, really.

Are you by any chance acquainted with the words 'steel toe'? Or do the words 'permanent dent' mean anything to you?" My locker door is not intimidated. "My grandfather was a vault at Fort Knox, and if you try to dent me with a kick you will only tear some ligament that will never mend.

He’s right,” Levi told her. Harper sniffed at the sentinel. “I don’t believe I asked for a glass of your unimportant opinion.” The guy just smiled. “Knox, can I bite her?” “No.” If anyone would take a bite of that ivory skin, it would be Knox. His demon was in full agreement with that.

Please, Tom. You can't ride your bicycle across the country alone. It's insane. You'll end up being slaughtered by a serial killer." "Taryn, I'm thiry-five, single, tattooed, and antisocial. I'M the serial killer.

He grinned and then pulled Syd's face to him, pressing their lips together. At first Syd flinched, then he relaxed and let his hands fall to Knox's side. The battle around them vanished, the world that was nd the world to come, all disappeared for one instant as their lips held on to one another.

I'm a thoroughly respectable woman." "You don't kiss like one.

There was never an age considered old enough to know everything. The calm seas of hell were only a break before the next storm.

She said to him, ‘You might melt.’ And he said, “If I melt, you can make me again.

Adam isn't here." "How do you know? Because the only balls I see on you aren't crystal.

Books can be the people we never get to meet, ancestors or far neighbors.

She reached out, her fingers hesitant. The deer—Knox—tilted his head down, letting her touch his antlers. Her hand trembled slightly as she caressed the boney protrusion. The ivory tines were warmer than she thought they’d be, a living extension of the man inside. She petted his pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of his muscles bunching and moving underneath. Sitting back, she winked up at him. "You probably get this a lot,but…nice rack.” The deer flashed back into a man who tackled her onto her pillows with a wolfy growl. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?

If a man tells you that he is fond of the Imitation, view him with sudden suspicion; he is either a dabbler or a Saint.

She turned to Knox. “And you were right about Nash getting hurt and now you’re both mad at each other for that.” “Well, breakfast didn’t help,” Knox admitted. Naomi closed her eyes. “Is that why you were such a bridezilla with the florist yesterday?” “Baby’s breath is stupid. Fight me,” he said.

It was amazing to Knox that they all knew, instinctively, how to build implements of pain. It was something even shadows knew how to do at a young age, knowledge somehow dredged up from the brutal depths of their imagination, this ability to deal harm to one another.

You call out Gods name one more time while im between your legs, even he wont be able to save you little lamb.

She wished he weren't so damned fit. Running away was a lot harder when the guy you were fleeing kept in such an excellent shape. -Cath Talarico

Sometimes plans must change, my love.

Can anything matter, unless there is Somebody who minds?

When suave politeness, tempering bigot zeal, corrected 'I believe' to 'one does feel'.

Order is the cipher by which Mind speaks to mind in the midst of chaos.

Although I never lack the presence and plain image of my own wretched infirmity, yet seeing sin so manifestly abounds in all estates, I am compelled to thunder out the threatenings of God against the obstinate rebels.

We’ve never really been apart. From the moment you bumped into me in those woods, we’ve belonged to each other … I don’t care if we’ve grown up. We’re still Knox and City at the core, and we’ll always love each other. You know why?” I leaned in to whisper … “Because we don’t know how to stop.

You strike me as someone who prefers it when people are upfront.” It was true that Harper had no time or patience for mind games. “So?” Knox leaned forward, wanting her to see the resolve in his expression. “I want you.” And Harper nearly choked on her steak. When she’d finally swallowed it down with the help of her wine, she shrugged. “Thanks for sharing.” “You want me.” She cast him a glare, but didn’t deny it, which soothed his demon slightly. “But you’re going to fight aren’t you?” Every step of the way.

Having a purpose, that's the key.

You brought me here with impure motives?” The idea gave her a stupid thrill. He shook his head. “No. I developed them after you arrived.

It’s different for you,” she said. “You’re a man.” “I was beginning to fear you hadn’t noticed.

Is he actually good?” Judith asked. “He’s incredible.” “Sorry, are we talking about the painting or the shagging?” Nev asked. “The painting!” He grinned. “Right.

there was a difference between eating healthy and eating in hopes of one day becoming a plant.

Knox Masters is exactly the type of guy I want to date. He dominates a sport I love. He’s confident but not arrogant. He’s funny, able to laugh at himself, and… shit, hot as the fires of Mordor. I mean, the One Ring could be forged in his hotness. I want him.

You must believe, sooner or later, in a Mind which brought mind into existence out of matter, unless you are going to sit down before the hopeless metaphysical contradiction of saying that matter somehow managed to develop itself into mind.

John Knox's dying words were, 'Lord, grant true pastors to Thy kirk.' Such was the last prayer of a great man without whom there would have been no America, no Puritans, no Pilgrims, no Scottish covenanters, no Presbyterians, no Patrick Henry, no Samuel Adams, no George Washington. Could it have been so simple? John Knox's agenda was far from political. All he wanted were more pastors and elders. This is our agenda. Lord grant true pastors to Thy church!

It was easy to love your idea of someone - to fall hard for their very best self. The question was whether, once you had to spend some time living with their worst self, you could bear to be with them anymore.

I’m pretty sure you just kissed me.” “Yes, I did. Shall I apologize?” “What for?” “It was terribly impolite. I didn’t ask your permission.

Your past— It’s not a series of mistakes, love. It’s just you. All the things that happened to you that made you who you are.

The smile widened, and she decided it ought to be classified as a misdemeanor. Grinning with Intent to Discombobulate.

Oh! Mengapa manusia harus sombong? Secepat bintang jatuh, awan yang diterbangkan angin, Kilatan petir, ombak yang memecah, Manusia beralih dari hidup ke peristirahatannya di makam.

Mom had considered Cath a bit of a hoochie, but the truth was that Cath always opened her heart when she opened her legs.

The only reason for this treatment was that they were Jews.

The man who stands with God is always in the majority.

The world knows that Catholics have a high standard of purity. But the world is not going to be impressed unless it is assured that Catholics keep it.

A rush age cannot be a reflective age.

Sometimes you have to let your life get messy. That's how you get to the good parts.

Sometimes I imagine a whole future made out of the moment after I've died and you are still sitting beside me.' 'You imagine I'll be there at your deathbed?' 'Yes.' 'And if I stayed away, would you live for ever?

To promote a woman to bear rule, superiority, dominion, or empire above any realm, nation, or city, is repugnant to nature; contumely to God, a thing most contrary to his revealed will and approved ordinance; and finally, it is the subversion of good order, of all equity and justice.

The motor-car, in brining us all closer together, by making it easy to have luncheon two counties away, has driven us all further apart, by making it unnecessary for us to know the people in the next bungalow. And so, once again, we have to thank civilization for nothing.

Cath called all the shots. She seemed more comfortable that way, so Nev had decided not to press. Much. Instead, he looked for the loopholes and exploited them.

What no one else sees, no one else cares about.

Why do you come here?" "I promised." "I release you from your promise!" "It wasn't you I promised," the angel said quietly.

Do you no longer believe in your luck?' 'You're not my luck, fallen angel, or even my dearest friend. You're my love. My true love.

Live, Love, Learn. Then get real.

God, have you got Batman in your blood or something?

People say you should wait to be with someone you love, but I think it's more important to be with someone you like.

When people treat you like a monster, you start to act like one.

After I left here on Saturday, I decided never to see you again.” He was sliding the frittata under the broiler, so she could only see his profile, but damn if he didn’t appear to be smirking. “I know that, darling. It wounds my pride you won’t go out with me, but I can console myself with the knowledge that when you do see me, you can’t keep your knickers on for ten minutes running.” She threw her cookie at him, feigning indignation. “You bastard! Are you calling me easy?” “I like you easy. Besides, you’re not to blame. Who’d want to wear wet knickers?

Let's just run, huh?" Bob picked up the pace, hoping to tire his partner into silence. "That reminds me," Bernie puffed, "you know what you've told me is buried in the Fort Knox of my brain. The whole Gestapo couldn't get it out of me. But--" "But what?" "I'd really like to tell Nance. I mean husbands and wives shouldn't have secrets from each other." Bob did not respond. "Beckwith, I swear, Nancy's the soul of honour. The epitome of discretion. Besides, she'll notice I'm holding something out on her. I mean, God knows what she'll think it is." "She'd never guess," Bob said wryly. "That's just the point. Please, Beckwith, Nance'll be discreet. I swear on my clients' lives." The pressure was too great. "Okay, Bern," he sighed, "but not too many details, huh?" "Don't sweat. Just the essential wild fact--if you know what I mean." "Yeah. When will you tell her?" Three strides later Bernie answered sheepishly, "Last night.

Everywhere in Homer's saga of the rage of Achilles and the battles before Troy we are made conscious at one and the same time of war's ugly brutality and what Yeats called its "terrible beauty." The Iliad accepts violence as a permanent factor in human life and accepts it without sentimentality, for it is just as sentimental to pretend that war does not have its monstrous ugliness as it is to deny that it has its own strange and fatal beauty, a power, which can call out in men resources of endurance, courage and self-sacrifice that peacetime, to our sorrow and loss, can rarely command.

I like authors who experiment with narrative and delve into very specific conditions within their characters in order to expose universal truths about humanity. After reading, I like to feel that I’ve experienced, learned, identified, been challenged and been provided with insight.

Whatever it is we are trying to find out about the strangers in our midst is not robust. The “truth” about Amanda Knox or Jerry Sandusky or KSM is not some hard and shiny object that can be extracted if only we dig deep enough and look hard enough. The thing we want to learn about a stranger is fragile. If we tread carelessly, it will crumple under our feet. And from that follows a second cautionary note: we need to accept that the search to understand a stranger has real limits. We will never know the whole truth. We have to be satisfied with something short of that. The right way to talk to strangers is with caution and humility. How many of the crises and controversies I have described would have been prevented had we taken those lessons to heart?

Hope is something that is demanded of us; it is not, then, a mere reasoned calculation of our chances. Nor is it merely the bubbling up of a sanguine temperament; if it is demanded of us, it lies not in the temperament but in the will... Hoping for what? For delivereance from persecution, for immunity from plague, pestilence, and famine...? No, for the grace of persevering in his Christian profession, and for the consequent achievement of a happy immortality. Strictly speaking, then, the highest exercise of hope, supernaturally speaking, is to hope for perseverance and for Heaven when it looks, when it feels, as if you were going to lose both one and the other.

Are you in?" I roll my eyes and try to kiss him again, but he won't let me. I pinch his nipples, and all he does is wink and growl at me. "Say it." "Fuck you" "We'll get there, Naomi. Be patient. But first, you have to say it." I keep glaring, but I feel my body melting, my shields and my walls crashing down in flames. "Say you're mine, tell me that you're my girlfriend." "You're my boyfriend," I say, and the words nearly kill me. "That's all you get for now. Best I can fucking do.

Many, like Henry Knox, saw at once that with the enemy massing for battle so close at hand and independence at last declared by Congress, the war had entered an entirely new stage. The lines were drawn now as never before, the stakes far higher. “The eyes of all America are upon us,” Knox wrote. “As we play our part posterity will bless or curse us.” By renouncing their allegiance to the King, the delegates at Philadelphia had committed treason and embarked on a course from which there could be no turning back. “We are in the very midst of a revolution,” wrote John Adams, “the most complete, unexpected and remarkable of any in the history of nations.

I watched [her] from the window, my hand pressing hard into the glass. There should be a word for it. That phantom limb, reaching out from your chest, towards things you’ll never have. She crossed the road with wide, lovely strides, and I always wonder what she went on to. The last shred of sunlight caught her hair when she turned the corner, like the start of one thing and the end of another. The dusk itself. I never saw her again.

But… you intrigue me, which is a surprise in and of itself. I can never predict what you’ll say or do next. You’re a quirky, complex, fierce blaze of fire in my otherwise numb, predictable world. See, despite that I have everything I want, it hasn’t made me satisfied. If anything, it has made me bored and restless. There have been no challenges, no obstacles, and nothing I couldn’t manage or control one way or another…until you.” It drove him crazy, but it also energized him. “I like having you in my life. I intend to keep you in it.

Protestants sometimes laugh at us because we address ourselves, now to our Lady of Perpetual Succor, now to our Lady of Good Counsel, now to our Lady of Lourdes, and so on, as if they were so many different people. But the case is much worse than that, if they only knew; every individual Catholic has a separate our Lady to pray to, his Mother, the one who seems to care for him individually, has won him so many favours, has stood by him in so many difficulties, as if she had no other thought or business in heaven but to watch over him.

We can only abandon the Catholic Church for some spiritual home which is more of a home than the Catholic Church . . . Where are we to bind such a revelation, such a spiritual home, such sources of inspiration? Nowhere; there is no other system in the world which does even to claim what the Catholic Church claims. Are we to abandon the Catholic faith for something less than the Catholic faith?

Imagine a very long time passing - and I find my way out, following someone who already knows how to leave Hell. And God says to me on Earth for the first time, "Xas!" in a tone of discovery, as if I'm a misplaced pair of spectacles or a stray dog. And he puts it to me that he wants me in Heaven. But Lucifer has doubled back - it was him I followed - to find me, where I am, in a forest, smitten, because the Lord has noticed me, and I'm overcome, as hopeless as your dog Josie whom you got rid of because she loved me.' Xas glared at Sobran. Then he drew a breath - all had been said on only three. He went on: 'Lucifer says to God the He can't have me. And at this I sit up and tell Lucifer that I didn't even think he knew my name, then say to God no thank you - very insolent this - and that Hell is endurable so long as the books keep appearing.

Oh, don't get me started! I love fantasy, I read it for pleasure, even after all these years. Pat McKillip, Ursula Le Guin and John Crowley are probably my favorite writers in the field, in addition to all the writers in the Endicott Studio group - but there are many others I also admire. In children's fantasy, I'm particularly keen on Philip Pullman, Donna Jo Napoli, David Almond and Jane Yolen - though my favorite novels recently were Midori Snyder's Hannah's Garden, Holly Black's Tithe, and Neil Gaiman's Coraline. I read a lot of mainstream fiction as well - I particularly love Alice Hoffman, A.S. Byatt, Sara Maitland, Sarah Waters, Sebastian Faulks, and Elizabeth Knox. There's also a great deal of magical fiction by Native American authors being published these days - Louise Erdrich's Antelope Wife, Alfredo Vea Jr.'s Maravilla, Linda Hogan's Power, and Susan Power's Grass Dancer are a few recent favorites. I'm a big fan of Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, and Anthony Trollope - I re-read Jane Austen's novels in particular every year.Other fantasists say they read Tolkien every year, but for me it's Austen. I adore biographies, particularly biographies of artists and writers (and particularly those written by Michael Holroyd). And I love books that explore the philosophical side of art, such as Lewis Hyde's The Gift, Carolyn Heilbrun's Writing a Woman's Life, or David Abram's Spell of the Sensuous. (from a 2002 interview)

Really, you’re truly a virgin?” “Does that make me weak in your eyes, less of a man?” He looks at me straight on once again, sees so deep inside me that I feel something ignite. “Because the truth is, Rosie, I never met anyone I wanted after I met you. I made a vow to myself that wasting my time with anyone else was a fool’s mistake. One I wasn’t willing to make. You ruined me for girls. You made me only want a woman.” “Any woman?” “No, Rosie. Not any woman. You. I’ve

Is it possible nevertheless that our consumer culture does make good on its promises, or could do so? Might these, if fulfilled, lead to a more satisfying life? When I put the question to renowned psychologist Tim Krasser, professor emeritus of psychology at Knox College, his response was unequivocal. "Research consistently shows," he told me, "that the more people value materialistic aspirations as goals, the lower their happiness and life satisfaction and the fewer pleasant emotions they experience day to day. Depression, anxiety, and substance abuse also tend to be higher among people who value the aims encouraged by consumer society." He points to four central principles of what he calls ACC — American corporate capitalism: it "fosters and encourages a set of values based on self-interest, a strong desire for financial success, high levels of consumption, and interpersonal styles based on competition." There is a seesaw oscillation, Tim found, between materialistic concerns on the one hand and prosocial values like empathy, generosity, and cooperation on the other: the more the former are elevated, the lower the latter descend. For example, when people strongly endorse money, image, and status as prime concerns, they are less likely to engage in ecologically beneficial activities and the emptier and more insecure they will experience themselves to be. They will have also lower-quality interpersonal relationships. In turn, the more insecure people feel, the more they focus on material things. As materialism promises satisfaction but, instead, yields hollow dissatisfaction, it creates more craving. This massive and self-perpetuating addictive spiral is one of the mechanisms by which consumer society preserves itself by exploiting the very insecurities it generates. Disconnection in all its guises — alienation, loneliness, loss of meaning, and dislocation — is becoming our culture's most plentiful product. No wonder we are more addicted, chronically ill, and mentally disordered than ever before, enfeebled as we are by such malnourishment of mind, body and soul.

It had been a long while since I’d watched any television, and things had only gotten weirder. Beauty pageants for infants; ruddy men in trucker caps fighting over abandoned storage lockers; public shamings of compulsive hoarders and pre-diabetics; affluent suburban women made up like transvestite hookers, competing with each other in feats of coarseness and cruelty; barely literate pregnant teens with tattoos, unfocused eyes, and futures like wrecked cars; apoplectic crypto-fascists spitting bile and paranoia; a carnival midway of weight loss devices, hair growth creams, erectile dysfunction potions, and pottery from which herbs grew like green hair. It was like the day room of a surrealist mental hospital, or any big city ER on a summer Saturday night.

1. The criminal must be mentioned in the early part of the story, but must not be anyone whose thoughts the reader has been allowed to know. 2. All supernatural or preternatural agencies are ruled out as a matter of course. 3. Not more than one secret room or passage is allowable. 4. No hitherto undiscovered poisons may be used, nor any appliance which will need a long scientific explanation at the end. 5. No Chinaman must figure in the story. 6. No accident must ever help the detective, nor must he ever have an unaccountable intuition which proves to be right. 7. The detective himself must not commit the crime. 8. The detective is bound to declare any clues which he may discover. 9. The "sidekick" of the detective, the Watson, must not conceal from the reader any thoughts which pass through his mind: his intelligence must be slightly, but very slightly, below that of the average reader. 10. Twin brothers, and doubles generally, must not appear unless we have been duly prepared for them.

When the dogma of the Assumption was defined a friend of mine, a very intelligent Mohammedan, congratulated me on the gesture which the Holy Father had made; a gesture (said he) against materialism. And I think he was right. When our Lord took his blessed Mother, soul and body, into heaven, he did honour to the poor clay of which our human bodies are fashioned. It was the first step towards reconciling all things in heaven and earth to his eternal Father, towards making all things new. "The whole of nature", St Paul tells us, "groans in a common travail all the while. And not only do we see that, but we ourselves do the same; we ourselves although we have already begun to reap our spiritual harvest, groan in our hearts, waiting for that adoption which is the ransoming of our bodies from their slavery." That transformation of our material bodies to which we look forward one day has been accomplished—we know it now for certain-in her. When the Son of God came to earth, he came to turn our hearts away from earth, Godwards. And as the traveller, shading his eyes while he contemplates some long vista of scenery, searches about for a human figure that will give him the scale of those distant surroundings, so we, with dazzled eyes looking Godwards, identify and welcome one purely human figure close to his throne. One ship has rounded the headland, one destiny is achieved, one human perfection exists. And as we watch it, we see God clearer, see God greater, through this masterpiece of his dealings with mankind.