Lord Infamous Quotes

So you're the infamous Acheron. (Amanda) Lord and Master of the great barbarian horde that roams the night. (Acheron)

There's no sense drawing attention to yourself, Li." "Hellooooo. I'm aHorseman of the Apocalypse, and I'm betrothed to the most infamous, most powerful demon in existence. I couldn't draw more attention to myself i I wore Lady Gaga's meat dress to a PETA convention.

So, you're the infamous Acheron." A smile played across his devastatingly handsome face. "Lord and master of the great barbarian horde that roams the night.

When we reflect that her century was the brutalest, the wickedest, the rottenest in history since the darkest ages, we are lost in wonder at the miracle of such a product from such a soil. The contrast between her and her century is the contrast between day and night. She was truthful when lying was the common speech of men; she was honest when honesty was become a lost virtue; she was a keeper of promises when the keeping of a promise was expected of no one; she gave her great mind to great thoughts and great purposes when other great minds wasted themselves upon pretty fancies or upon poor ambitions; she was modest, and fine, and delicate when to be loud and coarse might be said to be universal; she was full of pity when a merciless cruelty was the rule; she was steadfast when stability was unknown, and honorable in an age which had forgotten what honor was; she was a rock of convictions in a time when men believed in nothing and scoffed at all things; she was unfailingly true to an age that was false to the core; she maintained her personal dignity unimpaired in an age of fawnings and servilities; she was of a dauntless courage when hope and courage had perished in the hearts of her nation; she was spotlessly pure in mind and body when society in the highest places was foul in both—she was all these things in an age when crime was the common business of lords and princes, and when the highest personages in Christendom were able to astonish even that infamous era and make it stand aghast at the spectacle of their atrocious lives black with unimaginable treacheries, butcheries, and beastialities.

(Amongst those thus enslaved was Lady Johanna Swann, a fifteen-year-old niece of the Lord of Stonehelm. When her infamously niggardly uncle refused to pay the ransom, she was sold to a pillow house, where she rose to become the celebrated courtesan known as the Black Swan, and ruler of Lys in all but name. Alas, her tale, however fascinating, has no bearing upon our present history.)

After Blakely delivered that infamous and muchrepeated set down, he transferred his gaze to the new Marchioness of Blakely. She shook her head, once. Firmly. “Gareth,” she said dryly. “It is your sister’s wedding day. Behave.” Silence. He’d lifted his chin, in typical Blakely arrogance. The crowd waited for the blast. And then Lord Blakely shrugged and grinned helplessly. Grinned. Helpless. A Blakely. “Oh,” said his sister, from where she stood near him. “Is that how it’s done? I’ll have to practice that.” Like that, everything society knew about nine generations of Blakelys went up in smoke. Since that day, there had been no question. Lady Blakely had been granted otherworldly powers at birth. Every smile she coaxed from him, every laugh that she surprised from his lips, stood as testament to her arcane abilities. And those that questioned her worth still had only to see the look in his eyes when he watched her to find all the proof they required.

No one there could possibly have missed its significance. No church in England had ever been disgraced with such a thing. From the shape of the dome, the Corinthian columns – every detail had suddenly fallen into place – this was clearly, if not a copy, then the very brother of that infamous dome that hung over what every Puritan knew was the great house of iniquity itself. “Dear Lord!” he cried. “It’s just like St Peter’s – at the Vatican. It’s the church of Rome.” And, in terror, he ran out of the workshop.

If by ‘discuss this rationally’ you mean talk me out of my current course of action, then, no, thank you, I’d rather not. And you will note, I hope, how I’m not assuming your words are limited to their surface meaning. I’m digging deeper to examine all possible interpretations. I say this as a way of demonstrating how you might approach all your negotiations in the future,” she explained with meticulous condescension. “It’s shocking to me that you’re a member of the House of Lords and don’t understand how slippery oaths can be.

Lord Damerel said that he knew well that it would be *infamous* to take advantage of you, when you knew nothing about the world and had never been beyond Yorkshire, or met any other men - well, only Mr Yardley! - so that you were almost *bound* to have fallen in love with him, and how *could* you understand what it would mean to be married to a man of his reputation?

The focus of that week was “learning how to listen to the voice of God” in what was dubbed “My Quiet Time with God.” You have to admire the camp leaders’ intent, but let’s be honest. Most pre-adolescents are clueless about such deeply spiritual goals, let alone the discipline to follow through on a daily basis. Still, good little camperettes that we were, we trekked across the campground after our counselors told us to find our “special place” to meet with God each day. My special place was beneath a big tree. Like the infamous land-run settlers of Oklahoma’s colorful history, I staked out the perfect location. I busily cleared the dirt beneath my tree and lined it with little rocks, fashioned a cross out of two twigs, stuck it in the ground near the tree, and declared that it was good. I wiped my hands on my madras Bermudas, then plopped down, cross-legged on the dirt, ready to meet God. For an hour. One very long hour. Just me and God. God and me. Every single day of camp. Did I mention these quiet times were supposed to last an entire hour? I tried. Really I did. “Now I lay me down to sleep . . . ” No. Wait. That’s a prayer for babies. I can surely do better than that. Ah! I’ve got it! The Lord’s Prayer! Much more grown-up. So I closed my eyes and recited the familiar words. “Our Father, Who art in heaven . . .” Art? I like art. I hope we get to paint this week. Maybe some watercolor . . . “Hallowed by Thy name.” I’ve never liked my name. Diane. It’s just so plain. Why couldn’t Mom and Dad have named me Veronica? Or Tabitha? Or Maria—like Maria Von Trapp in The Sound of Music. Oh my gosh, I love that movie! “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done . . . ” Be done, be done, be done . . . will this Quiet Time ever BE DONE? I’m sooooo bored! B-O-R-E-D. BORED! BORED! BORED! “On earth as it is in Heaven.” I wonder if Julie Andrews and I will be friends in heaven. I loved her in Mary Poppins. I really liked that bag of hers. All that stuff just kept coming out. “Give us this day, our daily bread . . . ” I’m so hungry, I could puke. I sure hope they don’t have Sloppy Joes today. Those were gross. Maybe we’ll have hot dogs. I’ll take mine with ketchup, no mustard. I hate mustard. “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” What the heck is a trespass anyway? And why should I care if someone tresses past me? “And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil . . . ” I am so tempted to short-sheet Sally’s bed. That would serve her right for stealing the top bunk. “For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.” This hour feels like forever. FOR-E-VERRRR. Amen. There. I prayed. Now what?

Thomas’s heart drummed. Where was Eliza? And then he saw her. His breath stalled in his lungs as she moved toward him, floating over the ground like a pink angel from heaven. The dusty-rose gown she’d worn that infamous night hugged her luscious curves, giving him ample fuel for his imagination, but he pushed those thoughts away for the moment. They would be man and wife soon enough. Never had he seen such beauty, or known such grace. Lord, help me be the kind of man she deserves. He glanced to heaven. Robert, I shall do my best to make you proud and give your daughter the best of my days. A quiet voice brushed behind his ear, and Thomas stilled as Robert’s familiar tone made his heart swell. I know. In that moment Eliza’s dark eyes found his, and she smiled, lifting Thomas from the ground. Her cheeks darkened to the same rosy hue of her gown as she neared. Nathaniel chuckled deep and low. “You’re a lucky man, Thomas.” Nodding, Thomas couldn’t move his eyes away from his bride. “I know.” “Good

Throughout the history of the Church, there have been attempts to disfigure the identity of Christ by detaching the Christ whom we encounter in the Gospels from the God of the Old Testament. The first known and perhaps most infamous attempt was made by Marcion, who argued at the beginning of the second century that Yahweh was a different God than the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, describing the former as violent and wrathful while the latter is loving and compassionate. Views of this sort are most often debunked by demonstrating the love and compassion of Yahweh in the Old Testament. The commands to love God and neighbor are drawn from the Torah, specifically Leviticus and Deuteronomy. His mercy and compassion are continual themes in the Psalms. It can, however, be equally refuted in the opposite direction. The Christ who walked in the Garden and cursed the serpent, who destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, who led the people out of Egypt and commanded Joshua’s armies is the same Christ whom we encounter in the four Gospels. The Christ of love and compassion and mercy whom we encounter in the Gospels and the teaching of the apostles that make up the rest of the New Testament is the same Christ whom we encounter in the judgment of Revelation as the avenger of innocent blood.

Throughout the history of the Church, there have been attempts to disfigure the identity of Christ by detaching the Christ whom we encounter in the Gospels from the God of the Old Testament. The first known and perhaps most infamous attempt was made by Marcion, who argued at the beginning of the second century that Yahweh was a different God than the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, describing the former as violent and wrathful while the latter is loving and compassionate.

It would be very unwise,” I said at last, “for me to ride with you.” “Very unwise,” he agreed. “I’ve no way of knowing your intentions.” “None whatsoever. ” “You may be plotting more wickedness.” “We may, indeed.” “It is doubtless improper, as well as dangerous, for me to remain in such infamous company.” “Doubtless,” he said gravely. “On the other hand,” I said, “my character is reasonably virtuous and untainted. I see no reason to fear it would be corrupted by your guilt.

Obadiah concludes in verse 15 with a devastating uppercut to the jawbone of the Palestinians: “As you have done, it shall be done to you; Your reprisal shall return upon your own head.” This dreadful declaration is actually preceded by “For the day of the LORD upon all the nations is near;” which gives indication of the timing of the reprisal. The knockout punch to the Palestinians occurs prior to the “day of the LORD upon all the nations.” This means the Arab-Israeli conflict will be concluded prior to the infamous seven-year Tribulation Period, otherwise known as Daniel’s Seventieth Week.

Millicent Bagnold 1980-1990 A highly able Minister. Had to answer to the International Confederation of Wizards for the number of breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy on the day and night following Harry Potter’s survival of Lord Voldemort’s attack. Acquitted herself magnificently with the now infamous words: ‘I assert our inalienable right to party’, which drew cheers from all present.

It must be appreciated that Nazi Germany in 1939 was not the place to be a nonconformist. There was no freedom of speech, much music (including American jazz) was banned, and undesirable people often just disappeared. Marseille simply didn't care. He drank, which was a serious offense, and fast became one o f the most infamous womanizers in the Luftwaffe. He was in trouble so often that, according to one of his friends, "it was a noteworthy occasion when he was not on restriction."........... ......Restricted to his quarters, he didn't take that to include the town, so he borrowed (stole) his commander's car and went barhopping. Coming back drunk with two French girls certainly did not endear him to his new commander, Johannes Steinhoff. One could forgive his utter lack of military bearing and even his rebelliousness up to a point, but no his seeming disregard for his fellow pilots. But in studying the man, I don't think that was truly his attitude. He was a warrior and a loner. The cold fact was that he really didn't need anyone's help in the air and was better alone.

What . . . a hopeful precedent for me,” Mark choked. “How did Count Midnight do? Compared to the average count.” “Lord Midnight. Alas, no one found out. The horse predeceased the Vortala, the war petered out, and the son eventually inherited after all. But it was one of the zoological high points of the Council’s varied political history, right up there with the infamous Incendiary Cat Plot.” Count Vorkosigan’s eye glinted with a certain skewed enthusiasm, relating all this. His eye fell on Mark and his momentary animation faded. “We’ve had several centuries to accumulate any precedent you please, from absurdities to horrors. And a few sound saving graces.” The

What you are holding in your hand is the status of our shield walls and a brief explanation to Ardain as to how they got that way. Feel free to read it. This is vital information. There are those who will definitely try to suppress it. So, stay alert.” Ari smiled slightly. “The queen enjoys your company on her morning rides. I would hate to explain to her why I got her favorite riding companion killed if you don’t come back.” Tevon’s mouth quirked up. “No, that is certainly to be avoided. No disrespect intended, High Lord, but life gets uncomfortable for you when she is displeased. I would not want to be the cause of that.” Ari sighed and looked at Doral. “I am never going escape that infamous week, am I?” “She made quite an impression on the men. You could have all of them shot. That would slow down the gossip.” Doral shrugged, seemingly indifferent. “You would lose quite a number of highly skilled commanders and staff.

I've never kissed an art forger before" Lord Huntington to Eliza Somerton in "An Artful Seduction

March 2 MORNING “But all the Israelites went down to the Philistines, to sharpen every man his share, and his coulter, and his ax, and his mattock.” — 1 Samuel 13:20 WE are engaged in a great war with the Philistines of evil. Every weapon within our reach must be used. Preaching, teaching, praying, giving, all must be brought into action, and talents which have been thought too mean for service, must now be employed. Coulter, and axe, and mattock, may all be useful in slaying Philistines; rough tools may deal hard blows, and killing need not be elegantly done, so long as it is done effectually. Each moment of time, in season or out of season; each fragment of ability, educated or untutored; each opportunity, favourable or unfavourable, must be used, for our foes are many and our force but slender. Most of our tools want sharpening; we need quickness of perception, tact, energy, promptness, in a word, complete adaptation for the Lord’s work. Practical common sense is a very scarce thing among the conductors of Christian enterprises. We might learn from our enemies if we would, and so make the Philistines sharpen our weapons. This morning let us note enough to sharpen our zeal during this day by the aid of the Holy Spirit. See the energy of the Papists, how they compass sea and land to make one proselyte, are they to monopolize all the earnestness? Mark the heathen devotees, what tortures they endure in the service of their idols! are they alone to exhibit patience and self-sacrifice? Observe the prince of darkness, how persevering in his endeavours, how unabashed in his attempts, how daring in his plans, how thoughtful in his plots, how energetic in all! The devils are united as one man in their infamous rebellion, while we believers in Jesus are divided in our service of God, and scarcely ever work with unanimity. O that from Satan’s infernal industry we may learn to go about like good Samaritans, seeking whom we may bless!

Put that down, you bloody nit,” Grey said, halting just short of striking range. “What the devil are you doing here?” Twelvetrees straightened up, his expression going from alarm to outrage. “What the devil are you doing here, you infamous fiend?” Fraser laughed, and both Grey and Twelvetrees glared at him. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said mildly, though his broad face still bore a look of amusement. He waved his fingers, in the manner of one urging a small child to go and say hello to an aged relative. “Be going on wi’ your business. Dinna mind me.” Jamie looked around, picked up a small wing chair that Grey had knocked over in his precipitous entry, and sat in it, leaning back with an air of pleased expectation.

If I couldn't escape the guilt, there was nothing left to do but lean into it. And leaning into it is what led me to grabbing the forty dollars my mom leaves out in the front to order food if I ever need it, schlepping miserably down to the bodega, and collecting everything I needed to make Paige's infamous So Sorry Blondies from the summer before she left for college. I pull them out of the oven now, the smell wafting through the kitchen---the brown sugar and butter and toffee against the richness of the dark chocolate chips and toffee against the pockets of dark chocolate caramel sauce. A little bitter and a little sweet.

Jesus did not single out the disciple Judas as the betrayer or as the infamous “son of perdition” (John 17:12 NKJV). Instead, he used the second-person plural, indicating that any of the twelve could feasibly betray him. Knowing this to be true—knowing that the line dividing good and evil cuts through every human heart—none of the disciples responded with an accusation toward another. None said, “Lord, we’ve all been suspecting this for some time and we’re glad you are finally confirming our suspicion. It is Judas, of course! It’s so obvious!” Instead, each disciple became sorrowful and introspective, and each one took his turn asking Jesus, “Is it I?” (Mark 14:19). This “Is it I?” response to the Lord, as opposed to an “It is he!” response, is a key indicator of a healthy, self-aware, non-presumptuous, gentle posture of faith. Sorrow mixed with introspection is, even for the most faithful disciples among us, the most appropriate response when the subject of evil and betrayal is raised.

The first half of the nineteenth century saw Protestant evangelicalism enter India. And while Christian missions did much good – in education, uplifting the marginalized and exposing failures even of the Company – as far as Indian elites were concerned, they were a thorn in the side. In Travancore, for example, converts from low castes, empowered by their new identity, now aspired to equality with their ex-superiors. As a Dewan argued, by ‘violating the existing social distinctions’, the new Christians were bound to ‘annoy the high castes’, who demanded retribution. For generations, battles would be fought on dress, access to roads, temples, and even government buildings, and much of the reform Travancore grew famous for owed to this tension with missionaries, and the confidence they gave disempowered segments. Missionaries, however, also tended to magnify the evils they saw, to gain financial sympathy at home, for example. In 1848, thus, it was alleged that Travancore had a ‘professed torturer’, an expert in ‘twenty-three modes’ of abuse, on its payroll. In 1855 the state was described as ‘a perfect pandemonium of torture and misgovernment’. But the core problem was a clash of moralities, causing even the maharajah ‘great uneasiness’.77 As a Hindu king his duty lay in preserving the way things were; or as he said: ‘As my kingdom was in my predecessors’ time, so let it remain, and so let it descend to my heir.’78 His critics, however, wished to smash that caste-based order with a new conception of justice. Which side prevailed at any given moment depended also on higher-ups – Resident Cullen was sympathetic to the maharajah, while the infamous governor-general, Lord Dalhousie, showed personally an evangelical bent.

A bushy prickle?" I asked before bursting out laughing. "Organic adamantium solution? Now remind me, do we get ours straight from outer space or is that shipped through Amazon?

I wanted to protect you before you were even mine to protect." I felt the pressure building up in my face and I knew that what would come next would be tears. But I didn't want to let them flow. If they did, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop." -Page 242

Looks like someone has daddy issues!” I singsonged, just to twist the knife in a little farther. “At least I have a daddy,” Annabelle shot back, eyes blazing. “You can’t say the same, can you, Frankie?” -Page 144

I hadn't known Uncle Scotty had thought about me at all during the years that Dad and I were traveling. That he cared about me anymore than you did a relative you only saw every few years. But here he was, trying to get me a stop sign just in case I came to visit. He wanted me safe. His niece. And now, in a way, his kid. "Everything I do is to protect you," he said to me quietly. "You've lost so much in your life, I didn't want to bring someone into our world who wasn't going to stick around." -Page 242

Then I collapsed into him, hugging him tightly. "Uh, wow. Okay," Ollie said. "You feeling okay? You're not really a PDA kinda girl." I sniffed, forcing back tears that were threatening to form. "Looks like you're rubbing off on me," I answered before standing back up and adjusting my outfit." -Page 270

He was trying to remind me that I could join Team Hero instead of Team Career Criminal. That I was capable of doing some real good. Too bad he was going to have to settle for something in between the two.

I turned the phone over in my hands and found the smarmy billionaire staring back at me, his smile glowing white and his face wrinkle-free. I cringed as I remembered him flirting with me and fought the urge to smash the jeweled smile off his face.

Number of movies starred in: 60 First car: Burgundy Toyota Corolla

It had a sunrise feature that I preferred to Uncle Scotty's way of waking me up. He liked to blast the song "Friday" by Rebecca Black right outside my door. On repeat. Until I surrendered and came out of my room.

In the annual Feast of Fools at Christmastime, every rite and article of the Church no matter how sacred was celebrated in mockery. A dominus festi, or lord of the revels, was elected from the inferior clergy—the curés, subdeacons, vicars, and choir clerks, mostly ill-educated, ill-paid, and ill-disciplined—whose day it was to turn everything topsy-turvy. They installed their lord as Pope or Bishop or Abbot of Fools in a ceremony of head-shaving accompanied by bawdy talk and lewd acts; dressed him in vestments turned inside out; played dice on the altar and ate black puddings and sausages while mass was celebrated in nonsensical gibberish; swung censers made of old shoes emitting “stinking smoke”; officiated in the various offices of the priest wearing beast masks and dressed as women or minstrels; sang obscene songs in the choir; howled and hooted and jangled bells while the “Pope” recited a doggerel benediction. At his call to follow him on pain of having their breeches split, all rush violently from the church to parade through the town, drawing the dominus in a cart from which he issues mock indulgences while his followers hiss, cackle, jeer, and gesticulate. They rouse the bystanders to laughter with “infamous performances” and parody preachers in scurrilous sermons. Naked men haul carts of manure which they throw at the populace. Drinking bouts and dances accompany the procession. The whole was a burlesque of the too-familiar, tedious, and often meaningless rituals; a release of “the natural lout beneath the cassock.

Christian writers applauded such destruction – and egged their rulers on to greater acts of violence. One gleefully observed that the Christian emperors now ‘spit in the faces of dead idols, trample on the lawless rites of demons, and laugh at the old lies’. An infamous early text instructed emperors to wash away this ‘filth’ and ‘take away, yes, calmly take away . . . the adornments of the temples. Let the fire of the mint or the blaze of the smelters melt them down.’ This was nothing to be ashamed of. The first Commandment could not have been clearer. ‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,’ it said. ‘Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them,’ it continued, ‘nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.' The Greek and Roman temples, no matter how ancient or beautiful, were the homes of false gods and they had to be destroyed. This was not vandalism: it was God’s will. The good Christian had a duty to do nothing less.

Des is no longer just my saviour, he's also my vigilant. And I have to come to terms with the fact the man who let me cry in his arms is also the Bargainer, a wanted criminal known not just for his deals, but also his immense cruelty - the same cruelty the fae are infamous for. And Lord save me, I am just fine with that.

General Hood has betrayed us. This is not the kind of fighting he promised us at Tuscumbia and Florence, Alabama when we started into Tennessee. This was not a fight with equal numbers and choice of the ground.… The wails and cries of widows and orphans made at Franklin, Tennessee, November 30th, 1864 will heat up the fires of the bottomless pit to burn the soul of General J. B. Hood for murdering their husbands and fathers.” Hood’s actions “can’t be called anything else but murder,” he asserted. “He sacrificed those men to make the name of Hood famous; when [and] if the history of [Franklin] is ever written it will make him infamous.” The men had a right to be told the truth; therefore, “Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord, and it will surely overtake him.”38

From the looks of it, Devon’s grip on sanity was not at all certain. His eyes gleamed with violence, and the muscles of his jaw were twitching. The infamous Ravenel temper had begun to burn every civilized layer into bright-edged ash, like the pages of a book cast into a fire. “My lord,” Kathleen began breathlessly, “I thought you’d gone to Hampshire.” “I did.” His wrathful gaze flickered to her. “I just returned to Ravenel House. The twins said they thought you might be here.” “I found it necessary to talk to Mr. Winterborne about Helen--” “You should have left it to me,” Devon said through gritted teeth. “The mere fact of being alone with Winterborne could create a scandal that would haunt you for the rest of your life.” “That doesn’t matter.” His face darkened. “From the first moment I met you, you’ve tortured me and everyone else within reach about the importance of propriety. And now it doesn’t matter?” He gave her an ominous glance before turning to Winterborne. “You should have turned her away at the door, you conniving bastard. The only reason I haven’t throttled you both is that I can’t decide which one of you to start with.” “Start with me,” Winterborne invited gently. The air was charged with masculine hostility. “Later,” Devon said with barely restrained rage. “For now, I’m taking her home. But the next time I see you, I’ll put you in a fucking box.” Turning his attention to Kathleen, he pointed to the doorway. She didn’t like being commanded as if she were a disobedient poodle. When he was in this state, however, she decided it was better not to provoke him.