Kohl Quotes

I donned my armor, lining my eyes with kohl until they were dark as death and patting crushed rose petals on my lips until they were scarlet as blood.

We were fools.” “You were children. Was there no one to protect you?” “Was there anyone to protect you?” “My father. My mother. They would have done anything to keep me from being stolen.” “And they would have been mowed down by slavers.” “Then I guess I was lucky I didn’t have to see that.” How could she still look at the world that way? “Sold into a brothel at age fourteen and you count yourself lucky.” “They loved me. They love me. I believe that.” He saw her draw closer in the mirror. Her black hair was an ink splash against the white tile walls. She paused behind him. “You protected me, Kaz.” “The fact that you’re bleeding through your bandages tells me otherwise.” She glanced down. A red blossom of blood had spread on the bandage tied around her shoulder. She tugged awkwardly at the strip of towel. “I need Nina to fix this one.” He didn’t mean to say it. He meant to let her go. “I can help you.” Her gaze snapped to his in the mirror, wary as if gauging an opponent. I can help you. They were the first words she’d spoken to him, standing in the parlor of the Menagerie, draped in purple silk, eyes lined in kohl. She had helped him. And she’d nearly destroyed him. Maybe he should let her finish the job.

Hands quivering, she reached toward him. "Don't." He turned his back to her, facing the door. That word had stopped her once before. But not now. Not now that she had glimpsed through the funeral front of Varen's own eternal Grim Facade. Despite all the dark armor, the kohl eye liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

Art is a process, not a product.

He turned his head and caught her with his eyes. She froze, locked by the intensity of his stare. His eyes were stark and cold, the concentrated green of pale jade. Outlined in smudged black kohl, those eyes focused on her, unblinking through the feathery strands of his jet black hair, and it was like being watched through a cage by a complacent and calculating cat. Discomfort welled in her, thick and black as an oil spring. Who was this guy and what was his royal problem? Her gaze flicked briefly to the small metal loop that hugged one corner of his bottom lip. He blinked once, then slowly lifted one hand and crooked a beckoning finger at her. Isobel hesitated but then as though spellbound to obey, she found herself leaning in. “What are you staring at?” he whispered.

In tiefen, kalten, hohlen Räumen, Wo Schatten sich mit Schatten paaren, Wo alte Bücher Träume träumen, Von Zeiten, als sie Bäume waren, Wo Kohle Diamant gebiert, Man weder Licht noch Gnade kennt, Dort ist's, wo jener Geist regiert, Den man den Schattenkönig nennt.

Farsi Couplet: Ba khak darat rau ast maara, Gar surmah bechashm dar neaayad. English Translation: The dust of your doorstep is just the right thing to apply, If Surmah (kohl powder) does not show its beauty in the eye!

Thankfully,two old friends stood next to the throne. Horus wore full battle armor and a khopesh sword at his side.is kohl-lined eyes-one gold, one silver-were as piercing as ever. At his side stood Isis in a shimmering white gown, with wings of light. "Welcome," Horus said. "Um, hi," I said. "He has a way with words," Isis muttered, which made Sadie snort.

Confidence did more to enhance a woman’s beauty than any kohl or rouge could manage.

Did you pray?" she asks. "For the last time," I say, narrowing my kohl-lined black eyes at her, "I refuse to pray to my own parents. It's ridiculous.

Despite all the dark armor, the kohl liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She’d peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them... In the corner of my dark soul, her passion is dark like a kohl. She is giving new meaning to these feelings... She is complete, she is whole.

He wants rough, hard, violent, dangerous sex. He craves it. We could psychoanalyze this all night, but I doubt it would do any good. Logan can no more justify his attraction to a smack across the face than I can explain how empty life feels without waterproof kohl liner.

A monster of a man sits on his blood-red steed, a massive sword strapped to his back. There are gold rings in his dark hair and kohl thickly lines his eyes. His cheekbones are high and the scowl he wears makes him look absolutely petrifying.

Masks! I see them everywhere. That dreadful vision of the other night - the deserted town with its masked corpses in every doorway; that nightmare product of morphine and ether - has taken up residence within me. I see masks in the street, I see them on stage in the theatre, I find yet more of them in the boxes. They are on the balcony and in the orchestra-pit. Everywhere I go I am surrounded by masks. The attendants to whom I give my overcoat are masked; masks crowd around me in the foyer as everyone leaves, and the coachman who drives me home has the same cardboard grimace fixed upon his face! It is truly too much to bear: to feel that one is alone and at the mercy of all those enigmatic and deceptive faces, alone amid all the mocking laughs and the threats embodied in those masks. I have tried to persuade myself that I am dreaming, and that I am the victim of a hallucination, but all the powdered and painted faces of women, all the rouged lips and kohl-blackened eyelids... all of that has created around me an atmosphere of trance and mortal agony. Cosmetics: there is the root cause of my illness! But I am happy, now, when there are only masks! Sometimes, I detect the cadavers beneath, and remember that beneath the masks there is a host of spectres.

Bright flashes of memory sparked through Kaz’s mind. A cup of hot chocolate in his mittened hands, Jordie warning him to let it cool before he took a sip. Ink drying on the page as he’d signed the deed to the Crow Club. The first time he’d seen Inej at the Menagerie, in purple silk, her eyes lined with kohl. The bone-handled knife he’d given her. The sobs that had come from behind the door of her room at the Slat the night she’d made her first kill. The sobs he’d ignored. Kaz remembered her perched on the sill of his attic window, sometime during that first year after he’d brought her into the Dregs. She’d been feeding the crows that congregated on the roof. “You shouldn’t make friends with crows,” he’d told her. “Why not?” she asked. He’d looked up from his desk to answer, but whatever he’d been about to say had vanished on his tongue. The sun was out for once, and Inej had turned her face to it. Her eyes were shut, her oil-black lashes fanned over her cheeks. The harbor wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. “Why not?” she’d repeated, eyes still closed. He said the first thing that popped into his head. “They don’t have any manners.” “Neither do you, Kaz.” She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.

I can help you. They were the first words she’d spoken to him, standing in the parlor of the Menagerie, draped in purple silk, eyes lined in kohl. She had helped him. And she’d nearly destroyed him. Maybe he should let her finish the job.

Father Divine said to always establish a ‘we/they’: an ‘us,’ and an enemy on the outside,” explained Laura Johnston Kohl, our Jonestown vet. The goal is to make your people feel like they have all the answers, while the rest of the world is not just foolish, but inferior. When you convince someone that they’re above everyone else, it helps you both distance them from outsiders and also abuse them, because you can paint

The washroom door swung open, and all thoughts of pirates vanished. A tall boy walked inside, dressed in black clothes at least two sizes too tight. His cherry-red hair stood in haphazard spikes, and his eyes were heavily lined in kohl. If a rock star had an affair with a circus clown, this guy would be the result. It took a few moments to recognize him as Doran.

Look, I know the guy, all right? Kohl’s friends with one of my roommates, so he’s been over at my place a few times.” “Goodie for you. You can date him then because I’m not interested.

David Kohl, professor emeritus at Virginia Tech University, has found that individuals who write down their goals will have nine times the success of those who don’t put their goals on paper.

Alice's eyes sparkled, but not with mirth; there was a sinister candescence to them, lined in more black kohl than usual. 'A knife,' she replied calmly. 'A what?' I practically yelped. 'A knife,' she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the intials A.K.W. engraved in a crusive font. 'I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.

Why, then, were there no photographs of Margaret Thatcher and Helmut Kohl holding hands at the Brandenburg Gate to match the pictures of Kohl and François Mitterrand at Verdun in 1984? Because Thatcher literally carried in her handbag maps showing German expansion under the Nazis. This was a mental cartography that English conservatism could not transcend – the map of a Europe that may no longer exist in reality but within which its imagination remains imprisoned. ‘Europe,’ Barnett writes, ‘moved on from the Second World War and Britain didn’t.’ One might go so far as to say that England never got over winning the war.

The black can be sooty, soily, glazed, cindery, blackboard black, kohl black, coal black, noir, schwarz, nero. I don’t know how many words and phrases there are to describe black—slate black, cast-iron black, jet black, flat-screen-TV black, ink black, burnt black, liturgical black, hell black—but the raven’s black is as various and as a dense as there are meanings and values attached to the very idea of black, black representing death, mourning, negation, sin, solemnity, the vacancy of space, and all the horrors of human terror and the exercise of power.

You said that she works, though.” “Yeah, at Arby’s and Kohl’s.” “Two jobs. That’s a decent living, isn’t it?” They passed a sign for the golf course, getting closer to Frank’s street. “I can see how it would comfort you to believe that.

Death stood on the other side of the chamber doors. Today I would not meet it in my usual armor of leather and chain-mail, but in the armor of silk and cosmetics. One might think one armor was stronger than the other, but a red lip was its own scimitar and a kohl darkened eye could aim true as a steel-tipped arrow. Death might be waiting, but I was going to be a queen. I would have my throne if I would have to carve a path of blood and bone to get it back. Death could wait.

The most opportune battle is one not fought at all.

What is awful is at once appealing and repulsive, it fascinates and generates disgust, and those who succumb to the awful can only escape it at the price of ennui, of boredom.

If anyone had bothered to notice me, they would only see a scared fifteen-year-old girl with eyes of sable ringed by kohl liner and black hair that fell to her waist. They wouldn't see someone struggling to remain sane. Only an empty space where a real girl used to live.

She’d fallen for Kohl, wrapping her life around his to the point where it nearly killed her, all because he’d shown her some kindness. He’d promised her the world, he’d promised she’d never fall again—and then he’d removed the world from under feet so all she could do was fall.

Es ist noch keine zwei Jahre her, da konnte Sylvie auch mit ihrem Armen aufwarten, dem Mann ihrer Putzfrau, der seit Jahren zu Hause saß und keinen Finger rührte, aber alle Tricks kannte, um Kohle vom Staat abzuzocken. Inzwischen hat sie keine Putzfrau mehr, und seit sie selbst alle Schritte unternehmen musste, um Sozialhilfe und andere Zuschüsse zu erhalten, auf die sie ein Anrecht hat, ist sie nie auf die legendären Beträge gekommen, von denen die Reichen beim Abendessen erzählen. Sie ist nicht mehr verschwenderisch, seit jede Rechnung ein Schlag ins Kontor ist. Sie traut sich nicht, auf den Tisch zu schlagen und zu sagen, Herrgott, hört endlich auf, solchen Schwachsinn zu erzählen, versucht ihr mal, Geld vom Staat zu bekommen, geht mal zu euren Armen, euren Faulpelzen... probiert selbst aus, wie einfach es ist, mit weniger als tausend Euro im Monat zurande zu kommen. Aber sie schweigt. Sie, die immer so ein großes Maul hatte, entdeckt die Scham.

Bekka treated her role has Frankenstein's bride more like an audition to be Brett's bride. Every part of her body had been colored bright kelly green - even parts that her mother had stressed were 'not to be seen by anyone except God and the inside of a toilet bowl.' Instead of wearing a wig, Bekka had teased and then shellacked her own hair into a windblown cone and she'd used female-mustache bleach to create white streaks. Her seams, made of real suture thread, had been attached to her neck and wrists with clear double-sided costume tape because drawing them on with kohl would not have been 'honoring the character.' Her Costume Castle dress had been exchanged for something 'more authentic' from the Bridal Barn. If Brett didn't see his future in her heavily black-shadowed eyes tonight, he never would. Or so she believed.

Once teachers can forget how a class should be they can discover each year what it must be like with that specific class at that particular moment in their lives.

The fact that someone else loves you doesn't rescue you from the project of loving yourself.

All I’m saying is, Kohl has a type.” “All right, I’ll humor you. What’s his type then? And not because I’m interested in him or anything,

ALCOHOL, n. (Arabic al kohl, a paint for the eyes.) The essential principle of all.

Alice's eyes sparkled, but not with mirth; there was a sinister candescence to them, lined in more black kohl than usual. 'A knife,' she replied calmly. 'A what?' I practically yelped. 'A knife,' she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the intials A.K.W. engraved in a cursive font. 'I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.

and a sleeveless top studded with sapphires. The top was cropped short to show off her midriff, brown skin gleaming with sandalwood oil. Her black hair was pinned elaborately on top of her head and woven through with strands of gold. Her lashes were lined with kohl, her eyelids dusted with shimmering gold powder. Her beauty was unmistakable, untouchable—like a goddess of old. “Eda,” said Talia at last, forcing herself

Feir said, “All we have to do is find Ezra’s secret entrance to Black Barrow, find Ezra’s workshop and his gold tools, find seven broken mistarille swords, rediscover a forging technique every present-day Maker's day Mays is a myth, find one giant ruby, and avoid detection by a couple of hundred Vürdmeisters plotting gods know what.” “Oh,” Antoninus said, waggling his great, single kohled eyebrow, “here I thought it was going to take all winter.

her eyelids were colored purple, lined Cleopatra-style with kohl and fringed with the same heavy black lashes as yesterday. In the clear daylight I saw what I had not seen the night before: along the ruler-straight parting in Miss Winter’s copper curls was a narrow margin of pure white.

Chancellor Juergen Richter sits with his one aide, a fair-haired young man named Dieter Kohl, the head of Germany’s BND, its international intelligence service. Prime Minister Noya Baram brought her chief of staff, a stout, formal, older man who once served as a general in the Israeli army.

In the Old Testament, a person in grief tore his robe and didn’t run out to Kohl’s to get a new one to go to church. Women cut their hair. Men shaved their beards. There was weeping and wailing. For a whole year, nobody expected you to look or be the way you were. How wonderful! But in our nutty society, the person who “keeps it together,” who’s “so brave,” and who “looks so great — you’d never know,” that’s who is applauded. Grief is not the opposite of faith. Mourning is not the opposite of hope. I believe that well-meaning Christians can try to hurry us out of our mourning because we make them uncomfortable. The Bible does not say to cheer up the bereaved, but rather to “mourn with those who mourn.” Christ does not say we grieve because we are deficient in faith, but rather, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted [not rushed]” (Matthew 5:4).

The women showed off new tunic sets and caftans, fringed scarves at their waists or wrapped around their heads like fanciful turbans. Faded traces of their recent henna night lingered on their hands. Silver earrings jangled, kohled eyes flashed, and bangles jostled and clinked with merriment.

On the land adjoining La Grenouillère strollers were sauntering under the gigantic trees which help to make this part of the island one of the most delightful parks imaginable. Busty women with peroxided hair and nipped-in waists could be seen, made up to the nines with blood red lips and black-kohled eyes. Tightly laced into their garish dresses they trailed in all their vulgar glory over the fresh green grass. They were accompanied by men whose fashion-plate accessories, light gloves, patent-leather boots, canes as slender as threads and absurd monocles made them look like complete idiots.

He wore a white girdle that pulled in his waist just above the hips. He was, of necessity, slender. She believed men should take up as little space as possible. He wore his black hair long over his shoulders, tied once with a white ribbon. The men allowed to live were, of course, beautiful, far more beautiful than any of the women Zezili knew. Anavha was clean-shaven, as she wanted him, lightly powdered in gold, his eyes lined in kohl, eyes a stormy grey, set a bit too wide in a broad face whose jaw she has initially found almost vulgar in its squareness. He stood a hand shorter than she; she easily outweighed him by fifty pounds. She liked him just this way.

Not-learning is the conscious decision not to learn something that you could learn.

Ansel let out a breathy chuckle, the air warm on Celaena’s hands as they hovered near her face. She kept quiet while Celaena finished with the powder, then held still as she lined her eyes with kohl and darkened her lashes. “All right,” Celaena said, sitting back so she could see Ansel’s face. “Open.” Ansel opened her eyes, and Celaena frowned. “What?” Ansel said. Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.” “Why?” “Because you look better than I do.

One might think of the discovery and conquest of the farthest ends of the earth, the expanses of space, the labyrinthine recesses of the soul, and the depths of the self. And it is part of the dialectic of modernity that these depths are characterized, not only by positive values such as love, constructive desires, and gaiety, but also by the yawning abysses of horror, fear, and destruction. Conquest is always accompanied by destruction, the optimistic mood of discovery by the anxiety of existence.

was a woman, naked and not long dead. Her staring eyes still showed traces of kohl; her teeth gleamed faintly through half-parted lips. He tried to judge her as he had judged the women whose compliance he had secured for coins, to weigh her breasts with his eyes and applaud or condemn the roundness of her belly; he discovered that he could not do so, that in the way he sought to see her she was beyond his sight, unreachable as the unborn, unreachable as his mother had been when he had once, as a boy, happened upon her

The girl standing before me wore a dress of pure white that made her seem about six feet tall. The dress was heavy enough it pulled her back straight, and she stood proudly, the train of the dress spread neatly behind her. Her lips were as red as roses, her eyes outlined in black kohl. Her dark hair had been bundled at the nape of her neck, braided and folded as required, a few curls springing loose to caress her pale shoulders, which were bare. That girl was one of the most powerful mages to ever live. And that girl was me.

It was a woman, naked and not long dead. Her staring eyes still showed traces of kohl; her teeth gleamed faintly through half-parted lips. He tried to judge her as he had judged the women whose compliance he had secured for coins, to weigh her breasts with his eyes and applaud or condemn the roundness of her belly; he discovered that he could not do so, that in the way he sought to see her she was beyond his sight, unreachable as the unborn, unreachable as his mother had been when he had once, as a boy, happened upon her bathing. Eata’s

I find it difficult to say whether the leadership's 'second echelon' could have preserved the German Democratic Republic. Helmut Kohl later told me he had never believed that Egon Krenz was capable of getting the situation under control. I do not know — we are all wiser after the event, as the saying goes. For my part, I must admit I briefly had a faint hope that the new leaders would be able to change the course of events by establishing a new type of relations between the two German states — based on radical domestic reforms in East Germany.

The July sun blazed in the middle of the sky and the atmosphere was gay and carefree, while in the windless air not a leaf stirred in the poplars and willows lining the banks of the river. In the distance ahead, the conspicuous bulk of Mont-Valérien loomed, rearing the ramparts of its fortifications in the glare of the sun. On the right, the gentle slopes of Louveciennes, following the curve of the river, formed a semi-circle within which could be glimpsed, through the dense and shady greenery of their spacious lawns, the white-painted walls of weekend retreats. On the land adjoining La Grenouillère strollers were sauntering under the gigantic trees which help to make this part of the island one of the most delightful parks imaginable. Busty women with peroxided hair and nipped-in waists could be seen, made up to the nines with blood red lips and black-kohled eyes. Tightly laced into their garish dresses they trailed in all their vulgar glory over the fresh green grass. They were accompanied by men whose fashion-plate accessories, light gloves, patent-leather boots, canes as slender as threads and absurd monocles made them look like complete idiots.

Majnun had said to his Layla. Light the dimness with your glow once the full moon dips and shine in the sun’s stead whilst lazy dawn tarries Your radiance outdoes the brightest sun there be: it can never thieve your smile, steal your pearly mouth The resplendent night, your countenance! tho’ the full moon rise a moon bereft of your breast, of this graceful throat I see Whence would the morning sun ever find a ready kohl-stick to etch for its pale face these languid eyes of yours? What starry siren can mime coy Layla when her form spirals away or her eyes, the winsome startled pools of the sands’ wild mare?

Feen”, erklärte er bereitwillig. “Das versteckte Volk. Die Wesen, die sich gemeinhin am Rande Ihres Gesichtsfelds verbergen und Schabernack mit dieser Welt treiben. Ihre bloße Anwesenheit reicht meistens aus, unsere liebgewonnene Ordnung auf den Kopf zu stellen, denn sehen Sie, unsere Welt ist so voller Beschränkungen! Sie können von einer Fee genauso wenig erwarten, dass sie sich in dieser Welt ausdrückt, wie Sie Monet bitten könnten, mit Kohle und Schmierpapier einen Lilienteich zu malen. Sie prägen sich unserer Wirklichkeit auf wie die Füße eines Wasserläufers, und Kreise wachsen auf ihrem Weg über den Teich, aber Sie erhaschen nie einen Blick auf das Wesen, das sie hinterlässt. Das heißt, bis heute, lieber Freund.

Victoria Pappas stood half in and half out of the light, the shading across her body exactly that of the photograph on page 8 of Lingerie Parisienne. Desdemona (costume lady, stage manager, and director all in one) had pinned up Victoria’s hair, letting ringlets fall over her forehead and warning her to keep her biggish nose in shadow. Perfumed, depilated, moist with emollients, wearing kohl around her eyes, Victoria let Lefty look upon her. She felt the heat of his gaze, heard his heavy breathing, heard him try to speak twice—small squeaks from a dry throat—and then she heard his feet coming toward her, and she turned, making the face Desdemona had taught her; but she was so distracted by the effort to pout her lips like the French lingerie model that she didn’t realize the footsteps weren’t approaching but retreating; and she turned to see that Lefty Stephanides, the only eligible bachelor in town, had taken off . . .

Nun riskierten wir, etwas aufs Maul zu bekommen von den zahlreichen Faschos in ihren Begrüßungsgeld-Bomberjacken und von besoffenen Helmut-Kohl-Fans mit den "Allianz für Deutschland"-Plastebeuteln. Viele von ihnen riefen im Sprechchor "Wie sind stolz, Deutsche zu sein". Wir fragten uns, worauf sie denn eigentlich stolz wären. Auf die Alpen oder den Thüringer Wald? Die hatten die Natur geschaffen. Auf Goethe oder Schiller? Ja haben die Schreihälse an deren Werken etwa mitgeschrieben? Daß sie in einem deutschen Land geboren wurden, war doch purer Zufall, dafür hatten sie doch überhaupt nichts getan. Eigentlich kann man doch nur auf etwas stolz sein, das man selber geschaffen hat. Ich zum Beispiel war auf meine Depeche-Mode-Postersammlung stolz, denn dafür hatte ich echt geschuftet. Auf unsere erste Parole-Emil-Kassette war ich auch mächtig stolz, denn die hatten wir ganz alleine gebastelt. Auf Deutschland wollte ich nicht stolz sein. Das war mir viel zu abstrakt.

She sent Amelie to inform Maydrop that she donned an evening dress made of a heavy, supple olive green silk that gleamed under candlelight. It fell from the bodice, but rather than belling out, the silk was cut on the bias and hugged every curve of her body. The bodice was gathered under her breasts and trimmed with dark copper lace that glimmered with shiny black beads. and widened into short sleeves. Her hair was pulled straight back from her forehead without even a wisp floating at her ears, and she waved away the ruby necklace Amelie offered. She wanted no distraction from her face. She did, however, slide a sparkling ruby onto her right hand, a present she had given to herself when Ryburn Weavers made its first thousand guineas in profit. How better to remember that milestone than to wear a sizable percentage it on one's finger? Finally, Amelie drew out a small brush and skillfully applied a few strategic dabs of face paint. The last thing Theo wanted was to try to look conventionally feminine, but she'd discovered that a thin line of kohl made her eyes look deep and mysterious.

I'll take the contract. He can have the team.

The year had a logic of its own as does every school year, every class of children.

Kennst Du das Land, wo die Kanonen blühn? Du kennst es nicht? Du wirst es kennenlernen! Dort stehn die Prokuristen stolz und kühn in den Büros, als wären es Kasernen. Dort wachsen unterm Schlips Gefreitenknöpfe. Und unsichtbare Helme trägt man dort. Gesichter hat man dort, doch keine Köpfe. Und wer zu Bett geht, pflanzt sich auch schon fort! Wenn dort ein Vorgesetzter etwas will - und es ist sein Beruf etwas zu wollen - steht der Verstand erst stramm und zweitens still. Die Augen rechts! Und mit dem Rückgrat rollen! Die Kinder kommen dort mit kleinen Sporen und mit gezognem Scheitel auf die Welt. Dort wird man nicht als Zivilist geboren. Dort wird befördert, wer die Schnauze hält. Kennst Du das Land? Es könnte glücklich sein. Es könnte glücklich sein und glücklich machen? Dort gibt es Äcker, Kohle, Stahl und Stein und Fleiß und Kraft und andre schöne Sachen. Selbst Geist und Güte gibt´s dort dann und wann! Und wahres Heldentum. Doch nicht bei vielen. Dort steckt ein Kind in jedem zweiten Mann. Das will mit Bleisoldaten spielen. Dort reift die Freiheit nicht. Dort bleibt sie grün. Was man auch baut - es werden stets Kasernen. Kennst Du das Land, wo die Kanonen blühn? Du kennst es nicht? Du wirst es kennenlernen!

Kohl, which was used as eyeliner, was made from frankincense.

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them... In the corner of my dark soul Her passion is dark like a kohl She is giving new meaning to these feelings She is complete she is whole.

in the pages of this book. You are God.  Everything that happens from cover to cover is of your creation.

How do you know that the Gods or lore and from every religion are not just writers in their own worlds that wrote about Earth as a means of escape?

Hair so black it shone blue streamed to her knees, each strand straighter than a soldier’s back. Her age was impossible to gauge beneath the white powder which smoothed her face into a mask. Rouge slashed her cheeks, blood-red ink outlined her lips, and kohl shadowed her almond-shaped eyes. Sapphire powder glittered across her eyelids up to her eyebrows but her eyes were black pits that offered no reassurance.

If I tell you that my days are numbered Would you caress me still? Would you delve into my kohl lined eyes? And beyond that, into my soul And find me beautiful?...Still?

for Bast, but my heart fell. She didn’t seem to be in the crowd. In fact, most of the gods I didn’t recognize. “What have we started?” Sadie murmured. I understood what she meant. The throne room was full of hundreds of gods, major and minor, all darting through the palace, forming new shapes, glowing with power. An entire supernatural army…and they all seemed to be staring at us. Thankfully, two old friends stood next to the throne. Horus wore full battle armor and a khopesh sword at his side. His kohl-lined eyes—one gold, one silver—were as piercing as ever. At his side stood Isis in a shimmering white gown, with wings of light. “Welcome,” Horus said. “Um, hi,” I said. “He has a way with words,” Isis muttered, which

If a body should fall from that window, its flight would be impeded by the stone arms of caryatids and gargoyles, or else impaled. I could see him thinking of his own death, and he was achingly lovely as he did so: the archetype of all the boys ever loved by kings. His hair, unbound, flowed down him like a veil; the colour of dark honey. His eye, in profile, was slightly slanted, its cat-like shape accentuated by a kiss of kohl.

The old man in the opposite seat has gone now. I can see my reflection in the dark glass, broken up every now and then by the flash of a light. A lock of thick, blonde hair has come loose from its up-do, and oh God, the make-up. I’d forgotten about that. I’m wearing way too much of the bloody stuff. Industrial quantities of it. I’ve been sponged and brushed to within an inch of my life. My eyes have been smothered with kohl and mascara. Apparently, it’s the smoky eyed look, but I’m not too sure. I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. If the house-mate hadn’t taken it on herself to give me a make-over first thing this morning, then I wouldn’t be looking like a cross between a tangerine and a clown right now. She’s good at plenty of things, Lucy, such as managing an art gallery and navigating her way around the London Underground, but she’s certainly useless when it comes to make-overs. I’ll swing by a shop when I get off the tube and source a packet of wipes

Himmel und Hölle sind keine weit entfernten Reiche. Der mit glühender Kohle gepflasterte Weg der Hölle beginnt ebenso wie der Spaziergang durch den Garten des Himmels auf der Erde. Auf deinem Lebenspfad wirst du Bewohnern des Höllenschlunds und Stammgästen des Paradieses begegnen. Und du wirst sehr viele treffen, die mit einem Bein in der Hölle und mit dem anderen im Paradies stehen. Die Leute des Feuers brennen ungern allein. Sie werden deshalb versuchen, dich mit ins Feuer zu ziehen. Sie werden dich mit verlockenden Angeboten in Versuchung führen, damit du dich zu ihnen gesellst. Weist du sie ab, werden sie Hohn und Spott über dich ausgießen, bis dein Zorn entflammt ist. Gib ihnen nicht nach! Beantworte ihre Beschimpfungen nicht mit deiner Schmähung, denn sonst fällst du selbst in den Abgrund. Rufe Allah (den einen Gott, Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde) an, der uns erhebt, der alles Schlechte von uns abwendet. Bleibe im Zustand der Ruhe, dann wirst du keinen Schaden erleiden. Selbst wenn ein Feind die Macht erlangt hat, deinen Körper zu verletzen, so kann er doch deinen Geist, dein Herz und deine Seele nicht berühren. (S. 77)

Donato, Donato,” Hannah calls, waving. He comes over to us, kisses his mother and her friend on their cheeks. They laugh and smile, slapping him playfully when he flatters them in Italian. I can tell Hannah is waiting for her turn. She blushes when he spins her. “Bellissima.” He whistles. When he looks at me it’s with the same calculated charm. Only he’s quick about it, he does not mention the silk crepe dress I’m wearing, the one from the shop on Via Condotti. He does offer me a cigarette. “Cilla doesn’t smoke,” Hannah reminds him. He smirks. “Ah, sì. I forget. Ready to go in?” He gives us wristbands that will get us free drinks, and then ushers us from the line, past the bouncers and into the club. It is an instant assault of grinding bodies, of a thick, not unpleasant heat. Flashing lights—blue, white, pink, purple. I can’t make anything out. And then Hannah and her girlfriends are gone. Donato too. I look around, but I’ve been left with Marie and her friend. “Donato reserved us a booth,” Marie shouts to me, and signals that I should follow her. I push my way through the crowd. Everywhere are women, most not older than thirty, all of them red-lipped and kohl-eyed, with delicate sloping noses, bare shoulders and legs. They are dancing almost on top of one another, their teeth bright white and perfect. A bartender comes by with shots for anyone who will kiss him. Marie’s friend leaves a fat lip print on either cheek. Bacio, bacio, she mouths to me. I shake my head. No, thank you. A waitress takes us past a velvet rope, to a big round booth where a bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice. Marie and her friend are beaming. Marie leans over to me. “Is this like Los Angeles clubs?

#Ola Musings Her brow's penciled bow Eyes tinged with kohl wow A mere passing shadow of hers Causes dust dry bloom wow! By nCr

The woman raked her gaze up his body as if checking out livestock. As she reached his face, her kohl-rimmed brown eyes lit with a challenge. “I am the one you know as Hamid Nabil Hassan. The most wanted man in the world.

The woman raked her gaze up his body as if checking out livestock. As she reached his face, her kohl-rimmed brown eyes lit with a challenge. “I am the one you know as Hamid Nabil Hassan. The most wanted man in the world.

Au XVIe siècle, la Russie moscovite fait connaissance avec la vodka. Inventée par les Arabes au IXe siècle (al- kohl), l’eau-de-vie pénètre en Europe occidentale au XIIIe siècle et, jusqu’au XVIe, n’est utilisée que comme médicament ; elle se vend d’ailleurs dans les pharmacies. À la fin du XIVe siècle, les Génois l’apportent enussie méridionale puis, à compter de la première moitié du XVIe siècle, elle se répand dans tout le nord-est.

Aedion, facing her in a fine tunic of deep green, was the first to notice. He let out a low whistle. “Well, if you didn’t already scare the living shit out of me, you’ve certainly done it now.” Rowan turned to her. He went completely and utterly still as he took in the dress. The black velvet hugged every curve and hollow before pooling at her feet, revealing each too-shallow breath as Rowan’s eyes grazed over her body. Down, then up—to the hair she’d swept back with golden bat-wing-shaped combs that rose above either side of her head like a primal headdress; to the face she’d kept mostly clean, save for a sweep of kohl along her upper eyelid and the deep red lips she’d painstakingly colored. With the burning weight of Rowan’s attention upon her, she turned to show them the back—the roaring golden dragon clawing up her body. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Rowan’s eyes again slide south, and linger. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. And she could have sworn that hunger—ravenous hunger—flickered there.

Deutsch ist die Sprache der Macher und des Machens. Das fängt bei der Geburt an (den ersten Schrei machen) und endet mit dem Tod (den Abgang machen). Dazwischen kann man das Frühstück machen und die Wäsche, einen Schritt nach vorn und zwei zurück; man kann Pause machen, Urlaub oder blau, eine Reise ins Ungewisse und plötzlich Halt; man kann eine gute Figur machen und trotzdem einen schlechten Eindruck; man kann den Anfang machen, seinen Abschluss machen, Karriere machen; man kann drei Kreuze machen, Handstand oder Männchen; man kann die Nacht durchmachen, ein Opfer kalt machen, Mäuse, Kies und Kohle und sich ins Hemd machen; man kann andere zur Schnecke machen und sich selbst zum Affen; man kann sogar Unsinn machen - aber Sinn?

It interests me that there is no end of fictions, and facts made over in the forms of fictions. Because we class them under so many different rubrics, and media, and means of delivery, we don't recognize the sheer proliferation and seamlessness of them. I think at some level of scale or perspective, the police drama in which a criminal is shot, the hospital in which the doctors massage a heart back to life, the news video in which jihadists behead a hostage, and the human-interest story of a child who gets his fondest wish (a tourist trip somewhere) become the same sorts of drama. They are representations of strong experience, which, as they multiply, began to dedifferentiate in our uptake of them, despite our names and categories and distinctions... I say I watch the news to "know". But I don't really know anything. Certainly I can't do anything. I know that there is a war in Iraq, but I knew that already. I know that there are fires and car accidents in my state and in my country, but that, too, I knew already. With each particular piece of footage, I know nothing more than I did before. I feel something, or I don't feel something. One way I am likely to feel is virtuous and "responsible" for knowing more of these things that I can do nothing about. Surely this feeling is wrong, even contemptible. I am not sure anymore what I feel. What is it like to watch a human being's beheading? The first showing of the video is bad. The second, fifth, tenth, hundredth are—like one's own experiences—retained, recountable, real, and yet dreamlike. Some describe the repetition as "numbing". "Numbing" is very imprecise. I think the feeling, finally, is of something like envelopment and even satisfaction at having endured the worst without quite caring or being tormented. It is the paradoxically calm satisfaction of having been enveloped in a weak or placid "real" that another person endured as the worst experience imaginable, in his personal frenzy, fear, and desperation, which we view from the outside as the simple occurrence of a death... I see: Severed heads. The Extra Value Meal. Kohl-gray eyelids. A holiday sale at Kohl's. Red seeping between the fingers of the gloved hand that presses the wound. "Doctor, can you save him?" "We'll do our best." The dining room of the newly renovated house, done in red. Often a bold color is best. The kids are grateful for their playroom. The bad guy falls down, shot. The detectives get shot. The new Lexus is now available for lease. On CNN, with a downed helicopter in the background, a peaceful field of reeds waves in the foreground. One after another the reeds are bent, broken, by boot treads advancing with the camera. The cameraman, as savior, locates the surviving American airman. He shoots him dead. It was a terrorist video. They run it again. Scenes from ads: sales, roads, ordinary calm shopping, daily life. Tarpaulined bodies in the street. The blue of the sky advertises the new car's color. Whatever you could suffer will have been recorded in the suffering of someone else. Red Lobster holds a shrimp festival. Clorox gets out blood. Advil stops pain fast. Some of us are going to need something stronger.

We are still managing to waste poor children's time on activities that have no real relationship to intellectual development. We are still driving great, creative teachers out of the field by proscribing their efforts to bring challenging, meaningful instruction to their charges. Kohl rightly says that the sham, the stupidity, is disheartening, but perhaps it can also be a call to resistance and the rebirth of teacher—and let's hope researcher—militancy. Rather than spending time on such "foolishness," what teachers should be doing is developing the knowledge of the outside world that children from less privileged families might lack.

If you want to find a child's weakness, failures, personal problems, or inadequacies, you'll discover them. If you look at a child through the filter of her or his environment or economic status, and make judgments through the filters of your own cultural, gender, and racial biases, you'll find the characteristics you expect.

A major source of conflict is that men sometimes infer sexual interest on the part of a woman when it does not exist. A series of experiments has documented this phenomenon (Abbey, 1982; Lindgren, George, & Shoda, 2007). In one study, 98 male and 102 female college students viewed a 10-minute videotape of a conversation in which a female student visits a male professor’s office to ask for more time to complete a term paper. The actors in the film were a female drama student and a professor in the theater department. Neither the student nor the professor acted flirtatious or overtly sexual, although both were instructed to behave in a friendly manner. People who witnessed the tape then rated the likely intentions of the woman using a seven-point scale. Women watching the interaction were more likely to say that she was trying to be friendly, with an average rating of 6.45, and not sexy (2.00) or seductive (1.89). Men, also perceiving friendliness (6.09), were significantly more likely than women to infer seductive (3.38) and sexual intentions (3.84). A speed-dating laboratory procedure had men rate women’s sexual interest in them a er a brief interaction and compared those ratings to women’s self-reported sexual interest in each of the men (Perilloux et al., 2012). Again, men exhibited a sexual misperception bias, perceiving women as significantly more interested in them than women actually were. Men high in self-perceived attractiveness and female-evaluated mate value are especially vulnerable to the sexual over-perception bias (Kohl & Robertson, 2014; Perilloux et al., 2012). And men who pursue a short-term mating strategy are also more prone to the sexual over-perception bias (Perilloux et al., 2012), likely because this bias facilitates more frequent attempts to initiate sexual overtures.

Sebastien recognized the rangy, beaky man within. He was perhaps thirty-three, thirty-five. His eyes were lined with kohl, his cheeks rouged, his forehead pale with powder. But he wore a dark worsted suit, a good waistcoat crossed with a platinum chair, and his hair was cropped quite short and oiled back from a razor-line part. He moved painfully, as if he had been sitting for too long and he stretched against the stiffness of his muscles.

If our legal systems and national conversations about giving are to be more inclusive and just, we need to open them up to the values and practices that power mutual aid networks and other traditions. However, it is not sufficient for participants in existing White systems just to engage with these practices without examining and changing their assumptions and expectations. Megan Ming Francis and Erika Kohl-Arenas have documented the long history of how this kind of White “discovery” often leads to co-optation and capture.

Less than a month after the fall of the wall, Mitterrand offered a deal to Helmut Kohl, the German chancellor. If Germany agreed to a common currency, France would support reunification. If Germany didn’t agree, France would oppose reunification—and the UK and the Soviet Union would go along with France, leaving Germany surrounded as it was before World War I. “We will return to the world of 1913,” Mitterrand told Kohl.

Just a little humor for my favorite author and the Goodreads community: A little humor for an author I love: Into our dining room strolled James Patterson.“You’re here!” Happy Birthday, Shari," he whispered handing me the latest of the “Women’s Murder Club” series. Anxious to skim through its content but knowing it would be impolite,I escorted him to the table. Mouths gaping, my guests stared in disbelief.“ You’re in the novel.” He smirked.I blurted out, " Is this the 3rd Degree or am I the next victim of your pen? “YES!

Her face was unguarded. Grief transformed her and for a moment, the Mother Dhina I knew sank away. I saw a woman with ruined beauty, kohl-dark eyes ringed with dryness. I saw a woman who had placed her faith in an era that had not treated her any differently, that had taken her children and left her with the double-edged sword of a long life.

Wisps of her kohl pencil drew guidelines around each brow.

Cardan is wearing his usual scowl, accessorised with kohl under his eyes and a circlet of gold in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high, jagged collar, the whole thing stitched with a pattern of constellations. Valerian is in deep red, cabochon rubies sparkling on his cuffs, each like a drop of frozen blood. Nicasia's hair is the blue-green of the ocean, crowned with a diadem of pearls. A glittering cobweb net covers her braids. Locke brings up the rear, looking bored, his hair the precise colour of fox fur.

Stories of a woman in a red-and-gold bridal lehenga, hitching rides. When Arnav had first heard the tale, he’d felt sorry for that bride, picturing her—kohl and lipstick smudged, her eyes wild.

No child should be hurt,” she later told Linda Kohl of the St. Paul Dispatch. “Every adult is responsible for the children’s welfare. If I could assist the police in bringing that person to justice, or assist in making sure that person never touches a child again—then it was right, it was important. We are responsible for our children, whether it’s yours or somebody else’s.” I firmly believe that if Janice Rettman’s attitude was more widely held and acted upon, we’d all be living in a lot safer, more humane society.

From the neck up, I was regal: my face was adorned with cosmetics- rouge on my lips, a smearing of gold dust on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes- and my hair was coiled around a small golden diadem imbedded with lapis lazuli. But from the neck down, I was a heathen god's play-thing. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on my arm, and once the blue-black paint had dried, they placed on me a gauzy white dress. If you could call it a dress. It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover my breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jewelled belt slung low across my hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between my legs and to the floor. It barely covered me, and from the cold air on my skin, I knew that most of my backside was left exposed.

Amazon isn’t the only affiliate program out there. Many different retail stores have programs you can apply for, including Target, Walmart, Kohl’s, Sephora, and Nordstrom.

Cows and yaks are kings of the road in Kathmandu. Drivers would much rather cause a major traffic pile-up involving several human fatalities than harm a hair of a sacred bovine. These animals wander through the main streets with impunity, usually with their eyes traced in thick kohl and their necks adorned with necklaces

Dylan Caruso, the one in all black with silvery-white hair and black roots, rings and tattoos all over his hands, seductive hooded eyes covered in kohl, and a killer smile, flicks a lighter on and off. Alistair King sits next to him in his black netted outfit covered in thick jewelry, his curly, light-brown hair softly swishing in the wind, and a devilish smirk on his pale face as he looks down at the girls. But worst of all is Felix Rivera … a brown-haired guy with a face so sharply cut and intense sanpaku hazel eyes so deeply sunken in that it does honor to his society’s name.

The Allure of Impeccable Skin Across continents and cultures, from ancient civilisations to today’s digital age, our desire for flawless skin remains as strong as ever. It serves not merely as an emblem of one's outer beauty, but also as a reflection of one's health, vitality, and inner harmony. Although some are fortunate to possess naturally pristine complexions, many of us are in a constant battle with blemishes, each imperfection eroding our confidence and well-being. So today, journey with us as we delve into the timeless beauty standards that have shaped our perceptions of flawless skin, the modern remedies at our disposal, and one woman's gorgeous transformative experience. And if you're wondering where the best place is to achieve such results? Look no further than the exceptional Healand Clinic, a hub for these and many other treatments. Through Time’s Lens Historically, human beings have always been in pursuit of perfect beauty. The Ancient Egyptians, with their kohl-lined eyes and exquisite jewellery, weren't just embracing fashion; they were symbolising societal stature and their adoration of the divine. Similarly, Greeks cherished clear skin, turning to nature's gifts like honey and olive oil to retain youthfulness and fight off skin ailments. Fast forward to today, and with the flood of beauty influencers, trends, and products, the narrative is more nuanced than ever. We've started celebrating 'flaws' be it freckles, scars, or birthmarks. They’re seen as unique identifiers, personal badges of one’s journey. Yet, for some, blemishes become profound sources of insecurity, impacting their daily interactions, self-worth, and even mental health.

In Ancient Egypt,’ Aura murmurs, ‘Cleopatra believed that by lining her eyes with kohl, just like yours are, the gods would grant her protection against harm.

The events of 1989 were a seismic upheaval. With the disintegration of the Soviet bloc, which opened up the prospect of enlarging the EC to the East, German unification also became possible. But Kohl needed Mitterrand’s support: both for formal reasons because France, as an occupying power, had the right to veto German unification; and, pursuing the policy initiated by Brandt, to ensure that new eastern relationships did not undermine the EC and the Franco-German partnership. Mitterrand saw the single currency as the way to anchor Germany irrevocably in the EC system, and hence as a condition for German unification; and this ensured for Kohl the necessary support in Germany to proceed with the project (Map 1

The prospect of German unification had alarmed the French, who feared that the larger Germany might downgrade the Franco-German partnership and pursue an autonomous Eastern policy. Just as they promoted the single currency to anchor Germany in the Community, so they wanted a common foreign policy to limit German autonomy in relations with the East; the Germans, far from opposing this, saw it as part of the design for a Europe united on federal lines; and both President Mitterrand and Chancellor Kohl saw a common foreign policy together with the single currency as cementing permanent peace in Europe (Figure 11). So they proposed the IGC on ‘political union’ to run in parallel with the one on economic and monetary union. 11.

Kohl and Mitterrand hold hands at Verdun cemetery where a million French and German soldiers are buried.