Nari Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Nari. Here they are! All 100 of them:

Pulvis et umbra sumus. It's a line from Horace. 'We are dust and shadows'. Appropriate, don't you think?" Will said. "It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body - dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all.
Cassandra Clare (Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices, #1))
Oh, 'twould be marvelous if the world and its moral questions were like some game board, with plain black players and white, and fixed rules, and nary a shade of grey.
Glen Cook (Shadows Linger (The Chronicles of the Black Company, #2))
All the worry people expend over not existing after they die, yet nary a one ever seems to spare a moment to worry about not having existed before they were conceived. Or at all. After all, one sperm over and we would have been our sisters, and we'd never have been missed.
Lois McMaster Bujold (CryoBurn (Vorkosigan Saga, #14))
It quickly became a tracking operation, though. My chariot could not keep up with his truck. By the time I caught up with him, his truck was parked in one of those asphalt wastelands. What are they called again"? The Tuatha De Danann have no problem asking Druids for information. That's what we're for, after all. The secret to becoming an Old Druid instead of a dead Druid is to betray nary a hint of condescension when answering even the simplest questions. "They are called parking lots," I replied. "Ah, yes, thank you. He came out of a building called 'Crussh', holding one of these potions. Are you familar with the building, Druid?" "I belive that is a smoothie bar in England." "Quite right. So after I killed him and stowed his body next to the doe, I sampled his smooth concoction in the parking lot and found it to be quite delicious". See, sentences like that are why I nurture a healthy fear of the Tuatha De Danann.
Kevin Hearne (Hounded (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #1))
as jolaha ka maram na jana, jinh jag ani pasarinhh tana; dharti akas dou gad khandaya, chand surya dou nari banaya; sahastra tar le purani puri, ajahu bine kathin hai duri; kahai kabir karm se jori, sut kusut bine bhal kori; No one could understand the secret of this weaver who, coming into existence, spread the warp as the world; He fixed the earth and the sky as the pillars, and he used the sun and the moon as two shuttles; He took thousands of stars and perfected the cloth; but even today he weaves, and the end is difficult to fathom. Kabir says that the weaver, getting good or bad yarn and connecting karmas with it, weaves beautifully.
Kabir (The Bijak of Kabir)
Yay, Old Uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds, an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
Writers are in many ways like demi-gods. With one stroke of a pen they can give life to a character, or strike them from existence, with nary a twinge of grief at their passing.
Steven Lake
I want to tell them, stay in the cage. There are bet­ter things than free­dom. There are worse things than liv­ing a long bored life in some stranger’s house and then dy­ing and go­ing to ca­nary heav­en.
Chuck Palahniuk (Survivor)
Every settlement with two shacks and a saloon gave itself a name: Helltown, Fair Play, Grizzly Flats, Piety Hill, Whiskey Flat, You Bet, Nary Red, Lousy Ravine, Petticoat Slide.
Donald Dale Jackson (Gold Dust)
Sa fi jurat ca sufletul, e si el, un animal cu plamani si nari, ca are nevoie de mult oxigen si ca se inabusa in praf si printre prea numeroase rasuflari
Nikos Kazantzakis (Zorba the Greek)
I love you, Nari Zhang. When I first met you, right now, and forever. No matter what, you’re everything to me.
Rebecca Zanetti (Driven (Deeps Ops, #4))
Nari jumps, and another bank explodes behind her, and for a moment I think our hands will not connect, because she is not tall.
Amie Kaufman (Aurora's End (The Aurora Cycle, #3))
Though she would never admit it to polite Society, Lady Georgette Thorold hated brandy almost as much as she hated husbands. So it was the cruelest of jokes when she awoke with nary a clue to her surroundings, smelling like one and pressed up against the other.
Jennifer McQuiston (What Happens in Scotland (Second Sons, #1))
. When the plague struck Chicago, the townspeople here erected the gargoyles, and nary a soul was lost to the Black Death.” “The bubonic plague predates Chicago by about five hundred years.” He lowered himself to the bench. “I know. I was very disappointed when I found out. Almost as bad as when I learned there were no fairies. The world is much more interesting with goblins and plagues.” “Unless you catch the plague.
Kelley Armstrong (Omens (Cainsville, #1))
Gentlemen?” Dr Nari Zhang appeared at the door. Angus jumped. “Jesus.” He looked down at the thick socks on her feet, which were intriguingly dainty. The new doc was way too appealing for him to be this irritated with her. Which only pissed him off more. “New rule. You keep the loud shoes on all day. No changing into socks.” She rolled her eyes. “I had hoped to talk to all three of you about the shooting yesterday. It had to have brought up difficult memories. How did everyone sleep?” “Fantastic,” West said smoothly. “Never better,” Wolfe agreed. “Like a baby,” Angus said. Nari sighed. “You’re all morons. You can take that as my professional opinion.
Rebecca Zanetti (Hidden (Deep Ops, #1))
She found the page, cleared her throat and began to read, " 'There was nary a doubt that I had ever seen such big ones, round and ripe. My teeth ached to bite them' " God, what tripe!
Johanna Lindsey (Gentle Rogue (Malory-Anderson Family, #3))
By the time I walked down the aisle—or rather, into a judge’s chambers—I had lived fourteen independent years, early adult years that my mother had spent married. I had made friends and fallen out with friends, had moved in and out of apartments, had been hired, fired, promoted, and quit. I had had roommates I liked and roommates I didn’t like and I had lived on my own; I’d been on several forms of birth control and navigated a few serious medical questions; I’d paid my own bills and failed to pay my own bills; I’d fallen in love and fallen out of love and spent five consecutive years with nary a fling. I’d learned my way around new neighborhoods, felt scared and felt completely at home; I’d been heartbroken, afraid, jubilant, and bored. I was a grown-up: a reasonably complicated person. I’d become that person not in the company of any one man, but alongside my friends, my family, my city, my work, and, simply, by myself. I was not alone.
Rebecca Traister (All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation)
Modern wheat, despite all the genetic alterations to modify hundreds, if not thousands, of its genetically determined characteristics, made its way to the worldwide human food supply with nary a question surrounding its suitability for human consumption.
William Davis (Wheat Belly: Lose the Wheat, Lose the Weight, and Find Your Path Back to Health)
buku adalah tempat pikiran menari-nari didalamnya .. #magnificent imagination come from Allah
hariayati
How it hurts to see you Achingly beyond my craving touch! Perhaps, that's the agony Of a bird with a broken wing The world seemingly at her feet Yet not; And nary a song to sing
Mona Soorma (Unrequited: Poetry From The Hurting Heart)
Them as work hardest get no respect for it – women, ranch hands, sharecroppers, factory help, domestics – and them as spend all their time talking about how hard they work have no idea what an honest day’s labor for nary enough pay to put beans in your family’s bellies is all about.
Elizabeth Bear (Karen Memory (Karen Memory, #1))
In the early twentieth century, the Congress of our great nation debated a glorious plan to resolve a meat shortage in America. The idea was this: import hippos and raise them in Louisiana’s bayous. The hippos would eat the ruinously invasive water hyacinth; the American people would eat the hippos; everyone would go home happy. Well, except the hippos. They’d go home eaten. Much to everyone’s disappointment, Congress didn’t follow through on the plan, and today America lives a cursed life—a beef life, with nary a free-range hippo within the borders of our country.
Sarah Gailey (River of Teeth (River of Teeth, #1))
Loki was now captured, and with no thought of mercy he was taken to a cave. They [the Æsir] took three flat stones and, setting them on their edges, broke a hole through each of them. Then they caught Loki’s sons, Vali and Nari or Narfi. The Æsir changed Vali into a wolf, and he ripped apart his brother Narfi. Next the Æsir took his guts, and with them they bound Loki on to the top of the three stones – one under his shoulders, a second under his loins and the third under his knees. The fetters became iron. ‘Then Skadi took a poisonous snake and fastened it above Loki so that its poison drips on to his face. But Sigyn, his wife, placed herself beside him from where she holds a bowl to catch the drops of venom. When the bowl becomes full, she leaves to pour out the poison, and at that moment the poison drips on to Loki’s face. He convulses so violently that the whole earth shakes – it is what is known as an earthquake. He will lie bound there until Ragnarok.
Snorri Sturluson (The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics))
Bahkan tentu saja, ia juga bisa merasa bebas untuk ngapain saja di depan laki laki yang ia sukai. Ia bisa dengan suka hati menari nari sambil mendengarkan musik dangdut, lalu melepas pakaiannya satu persatu. Setelah itu ia akan menggonggong sambil menggoyang goyangkan pantatnya. Seperti anjing yang kesenangan menggoyang goyang ekornya. Dan tentu saja, ia melakukan hal itu tidak cuma sekali dua. Ia hampir melakukannya saban malam di mana ia merasa dapat menemukan kegembiraan dengan cara mempertontonkan dirinya sendiri. Katanya sambil tertawa cekikikan, "Saatnya untuk pertunjukan.
Titon Rahmawan - Kisah Tentang Kawanan Anjing
How do people get to this clandestine Archipelago? Hour by hour planes fly there, ships steer their course there, and trains thunder off to it--but all with nary a mark on them to tell of their destination. And at ticket windows or at travel bureaus for Soviet or foreign tourists the employees would be astounded if you were to ask for a ticket to go there. They know nothing and they've never heard of the Archipelago as a whole or any one of its innumerable islands. Those who go to the Archipelago to administer it get there via the training schools of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Those who go there to be guards are conscripted via the military conscription centers. And those who, like you and me, dear reader, go there to die, must get there solely and compulsorily via arrest. Arrest! Need it be said that it is a breaking point in your life, a bolt of lightning which has scored a direct hit on you? That it is an unassimilable spiritual earthquake not every person can cope with, as a result of which people often slip into insanity? The Universe has as many different centers as there are living beings in it. Each of us is a center of the Universe, and that Universe is shattered when they hiss at you: "You are under arrest." If you are arrested, can anything else remain unshattered by this cataclysm? But the darkened mind is incapable of embracing these dis­placements in our universe, and both the most sophisticated and the veriest simpleton among us, drawing on all life's experience, can gasp out only: "Me? What for?" And this is a question which, though repeated millions and millions of times before, has yet to receive an answer. Arrest is an instantaneous, shattering thrust, expulsion, somer­sault from one state into another. We have been happily borne—or perhaps have unhappily dragged our weary way—down the long and crooked streets of our lives, past all kinds of walls and fences made of rotting wood, rammed earth, brick, concrete, iron railings. We have never given a thought to what lies behind them. We have never tried to pene­trate them with our vision or our understanding. But there is where the Gulag country begins, right next to us, two yards away from us. In addition, we have failed to notice an enormous num­ber of closely fitted, well-disguised doors and gates in these fences. All those gates were prepared for us, every last one! And all of a sudden the fateful gate swings quickly open, and four white male hands, unaccustomed to physical labor but none­theless strong and tenacious, grab us by the leg, arm, collar, cap, ear, and drag us in like a sack, and the gate behind us, the gate to our past life, is slammed shut once and for all. That's all there is to it! You are arrested! And you'll find nothing better to respond with than a lamblike bleat: "Me? What for?" That's what arrest is: it's a blinding flash and a blow which shifts the present instantly into the past and the impossible into omnipotent actuality. That's all. And neither for the first hour nor for the first day will you be able to grasp anything else.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (The Gulag Archipelago, 1918-1956: An Experiment in Literary Investigation V-VII)
Bond is now the Bond Girl of the opening credits. It’s his silhouette we see – and nary a dancing naked babe in sight. Perhaps to compensate for this, in the actual film he gets his tits out a lot. He emerges from the sea glistening, showing off his pumped boobs, like Ursula Andress in ‘Dr No’ — save his nipples are more prominent. Bond has finally become his own Bond Girl.
Mark Simpson (Metrosexy)
Some people harbour so much thorns inside, it strangles out all the beauty. The kingdom under yer aunt’s keep – smothered by nettles and vines – be a reflection of her heart. A rosebush with nary a rose. It weren’t ye that caused it. It were her own dark devices and hatred that drived her. That ugliness be makin‘ bits way out as we speak. It’ll be what vanquishes her in the end.
A.G. Howard (Stain)
Hit don’t make no difference what a man perfesses. I been in a heap o’ churches. There’s the Nazarene Church and the Pentecost and the Holy Rollers and the Baptists and I don’t know what-all. I cain’t see much difference to nary one of ‘em. There’s a good to all of ‘em and there’s a bad.
Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (South Moon Under)
The internet. Can we trust in that? Of course not. Give it six months and we'll probably discover Google's sewn together by orphans in sweatshops. Or that Wi-Fi does something horrible to your brain, like eating your fondest memories and replacing them with drawings of cross-eyed bats and a strong smell of puke. There's surely a great dystopian sci-fi novel yet to be written about a world in which it's suddenly discovered that wireless broadband signals deaden the human brain, slowly robbing us of all emotion, until after 10 years of exposure we're all either rutting in stairwells or listlessly reversing our cars over our own offspring with nary the merest glimmer of sympathy or pain on our faces. It'll be set in Basingstoke and called, "Cuh, Typical.
Charlie Brooker
A man needs but two things: a reliable moral compass to guide him and a strong dose of integrity to see him through all manner of troubles," Pensive said, raising his untensil with a wink. Tibbs stared doubtfully at the fork and said, "That not integrity. That's boiled potato with cream sauce." Pensive paused before answering, taking a delicate bite and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Nary a whit of difference, Tibbs, " he said decidedly. "Nary a whit.
Jessica Lawson (Nooks & Crannies)
Will you pour out tea, Miss Brent?' The el­der wom­an replied: 'No, you do it, dear. That tea-​pot is so heavy. And I have lost two skeins of my grey knitting-​wool. So an­noy­ing.' Ve­ra moved to the tea-​ta­ble. There was a cheer­ful rat­tle and clink of chi­na. Nor­mal­ity returned. Tea! Blessed or­di­nary everyday af­ter­noon tea! Philip Lom­bard made a cheery re­mark. Blore re­spond­ed. Dr. Arm­strong told a hu­mor­ous sto­ry. Mr. Jus­tice War­grave, who or­di­nar­ily hat­ed tea, sipped ap­prov­ing­ly. In­to this re­laxed at­mo­sphere came Rogers. And Rogers was up­set. He said ner­vous­ly and at ran­dom: 'Ex­cuse me, sir, but does any one know what's become of the bath­room cur­tain?' Lom­bard's head went up with a jerk. 'The bath­room cur­tain? What the dev­il do you mean, Rogers?' 'It's gone, sir, clean van­ished. I was go­ing round draw­ing all the cur­tai­ns and the one in the lav -​ bath­room wasn't there any longer.' Mr. Jus­tice War­grave asked: 'Was it there this morn­ing?' 'Oh, yes, sir.' Blore said: 'What kind of a cur­tain was it?' 'Scar­let oil­silk, sir. It went with the scar­let tiles.' Lom­bard said: 'And it's gone?' 'Gone, Sir.' They stared at each oth­er. Blore said heav­ily: 'Well - af­ter all-​what of it? It's mad - ​but so's everything else. Any­way, it doesn't matter. You can't kill any­body with an oil­silk cur­tain. For­get about it.' Rogers said: 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir.' He went out, shut­ting the door.
Agatha Christie (And Then There Were None)
Loki hid in the Falls of Frananger in the shape of a salmon, but the gods caught him. He was tied up with the intestines of his son Nari... Skathi took a poisonous snake and tied it up over Loki; poison dripped on his face from its mouth... this hurt him so badly that he trembled, and all the world with him. This is what is called an earthquake.
Jackson Crawford (The Poetic Edda: Stories of the Norse Gods and Heroes)
Minutes turn into hours, and lifetimes into moments. Universes are created and destroyed with nary a pop. What was saved, no longer ex- ists. What was lost, no longer matters.
D.L. Orton (Crossing in Time (Between Two Evils, #1))
Not bleedin’ likely, Aunt Nanny Goat. I toughened my feet for karate—I can break a four-by-nine with my feet and get nary a bruise. Or run on sharp gravel.
Robert A. Heinlein (The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes)
Those crazy pot-lickers of mine don’t miss nary a thing that moves around here.
Alfred Dennis (Blood on the Lance: Crow Killer Series - Book 5)
Yay, Old Uns’ Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an’ made miracles ord’nary, but it din’t master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o’ humans, yay, a hunger for more.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
Oh, ’twould be marvelous if the world and its moral questions were like some game board, with plain black players and white, and fixed rules, and nary a shade of grey.
Glen Cook (Chronicles of the Black Company (The Chronicles of the Black Company, #1-3))
Being a growed woman, it turned out, was harder work than it looked. But that’s a thing, too, ain’t it? Them as work hardest get no respect for it—women, ranch hands, sharecroppers, factory help, domestics—and them as spend all their time talking about how hard they work have no idea what an honest day’s labor for nary enough pay to put beans in your family’s bellies is all about.
Elizabeth Bear (Karen Memory (Karen Memory, #1))
P.S. Mrs. Maugery lent me a book last week. It’s called The Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892–1935. They let a man named Yeats make the choosings. They shouldn’t have. Who is he—and what does he know about verse? I hunted all through that book for poems by Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon. There weren’t any—nary a one. And do you know why not? Because this Mr. Yeats said—he said, “I deliberately chose NOT to include any poems from World War I. I have a distaste for them. Passive suffering is not a theme for poetry.” Passive Suffering? Passive Suffering! I nearly seized up. What ailed the man? Lieutenant Owen, he wrote a line, “What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.” What’s passive about that, I’d like to know? That’s exactly how they do die. I saw it with my own eyes, and I say to hell with Mr. Yeats.
Mary Ann Shaffer (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society)
Well, I was looking for Justice," said Simple. "I was tired." "Tired of what?" "Of hearing the radio talking about the Four Freedoms all day long during the war and me living in Harlem where nary one of them freedoms worked--nor the ceiling prices either.
Langston Hughes (The Return of Simple)
Some thoughts on heaven? I have this theory that heaven is different for everyone. It has to be, or it wouldn’t be heaven. My grandmother’s heaven? In her heaven she doesn’t have to share the remote with anyone, and it is Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune on all the time, with nary a rerun ever, and the old lady always wins the big money and a trip to Europe to tour a castle or somewhere warm but not too hot with nice churches. In her heaven your knees don’t hurt and your back doesn’t hurt and you get to be whatever age was your favourite age to be and you still have all your teeth and there are bingo games right after dinner and raspberry hard candies and no one ever has to do the dishes. In my gran’s heaven, you can still have yourself a proper smoke in the living room and it doesn’t ruin the new paint job and the lawn never gets too long and the foxes don’t chase the birds off the birdfeeder. In her heaven, a nice bit of cheese won’t give you the bad stomach and real men don’t beat their wives or fuck their children, and every day is payday, and the Friday of a long weekend. Floors wax themselves, but you still get to hang the laundry, but only if you feel like it.
Ivan E. Coyote (Tomboy Survival Guide)
fishing, my philosophy is that men will treat women like one of these two things: a sports fish or a keeper. How we meet, how the conversation goes, how the relationship develops, and the demands you make on a man will all determine whether you’ll be treated like a sports fish—a throwback—or a keeper, the kind of woman a man can envision settling down with. And the way we separate the two is very simple, as I explain next. A SPORTS FISH . . . Doesn’t have any rules, requirements, respect for herself, or guidelines, and we men can pick up her scent a mile away. She’s the party girl who takes a sip of her Long Island iced tea or a shot of her Patrón, then announces to her suitor that she just wants to “date and see how it goes,” and she’s the conservatively dressed woman at the office who is a master at networking, but clueless about how to approach men. She has no plans for any ongoing relationships, is not expecting anything in particular from a man, and sets absolutely not nary one condition or restriction on anyone standing before her—she makes it very clear that she’s just along for whatever is getting ready to happen. For sure, as soon as she lets a man know through words and action that he can treat her just any old kind of way, he will do just
Steve Harvey (Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, Expanded Edition: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment)
Yay, Old Uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more. More what? I asked. Old Uns'd got ev'rythin'. Oh, more gear, more food, faster speeds, longer lifes, easier lifes, more power, yay. Now the Hole World is big, but it weren't big 'nuff for that hunger what made Old Uns rip out the skies an' boil up the seas an' poison soil with crazed atoms an' donkey 'bout with rotted seeds so new plagues was borned an' babbits was freak-birthed. Fin'ly, bit'ly, then quicksharp, states busted into bar'bric tribes an' the Civ'lize Days ended, 'cept for a few folds'n'pockets here'n'there, where its last embers glimmer.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
Mano mintis visada buvo ta, kad, šalia ekonominių ar gynybinių šalies galių, valstybės stiprybė glūdi visuomenės mąstyme, o tą mąstymą labiausiai kelia ir ugdo būtent kultūra. O atskiram žmogui būtent tai suteikia tikrųjų vertybių sistemą. Čia - ir savęs suvokimas, ir įsipareigojimas... Taip žmogus auga - ir kaip asmenybė, ir kaip visuomenės narys. Tauta be kultūros - kaip medis be šaknų.
Valdas Adamkus (Valdas Adamkus. Pokalbiai nesilaikant protokolo)
Kate?” Anthony yelled again. He couldn’t see anyone; a dislodged bench was blocking the opening. “Can you hear me?” Still no response. “Try the other side,” came Edwina’s frantic voice. “The opening isn’t as crushed.” Anthony jumped to his feet and ran around the back of the carriage to the other side. The door had already come off its hinges, leaving a hole just large enough for him to stuff his upper body into. “Kate?” he called out, trying not to notice the sharp sound of panic in his voice. Every breath from his lips seemed overloud, reverberating in the tight space, reminding him that he wasn’t hearing the same sounds from Kate. And then, as he carefully moved a seat cushion that had turned sideways, he saw her. She was terrifyingly still, but her head didn’t appear to be stuck in an unnatural position, and he didn’t see any blood. That had to be a good sign. He didn’t know much of medicine, but he held on to that thought like a miracle. “You can’t die, Kate,” he said as his terrified fingers yanked away at the wreckage, desperate to open the hole until it was wide enough to pull her through. “Do you hear me? You can’t die!” A jagged piece of wood sliced open the back of his hand, but Anthony didn’t notice the blood running over his skin as he pulled on another broken beam. “You had better be breathing,” he warned, his voice shaking and precariously close to a sob. “This wasn’t supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you. It isn’t your time. Do you understand me?” He tore away another broken piece of wood and reached through the newly widened hole to grasp her hand. His fingers found her pulse, which seemed steady enough to him, but it was still impossible to tell if she was bleeding, or had broken her back, or had hit her head, or had . . . His heart shuddered. There were so many ways to die. If a bee could bring down a man in his prime, surely a carriage accident could steal the life of one small woman. Anthony grabbed the last piece of wood that stood in his way and heaved, but it didn’t budge. “Don’t do this to me,” he muttered. “Not now. It isn’t her time. Do you hear me? It isn’t her time!” He felt something wet on his cheeks and dimly realized that it was tears. “It was supposed to be me,” he said, choking on the words. “It was always supposed to be me.” And then, just as he was preparing to give that last piece of wood another desperate yank, Kate’s fingers tightened like a claw around his wrist. His eyes flew to her face, just in time to see her eyes open wide and clear, with nary a blink. “What the devil,” she asked, sounding quite lucid and utterly awake, “are you talking about?” Relief flooded his chest so quickly it was almost painful. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice wobbling on every syllable. She grimaced, then said, “I’ll be fine.” Anthony paused for the barest of seconds as he considered her choice of words. “But are you fine right now?” She let out a little cough, and he fancied he could hear her wince with pain. “I did something to my leg,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’m bleeding.” “Are you faint? Dizzy? Weak?” She shook her head. “Just in pain. What are you doing here?” He smiled through his tears. “I came to find you.” “You did?” she whispered. He nodded. “I came to— That is to say, I realized . . .” He swallowed convulsively. He’d never dreamed that the day would come when he’d say these words to a woman, and they’d grown so big in his heart he could barely squeeze them out. “I love you, Kate,” he said chokingly. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I do, and I had to tell you. Today.” Her lips wobbled into a shaky smile as she motioned to the rest of her body with her chin. “You’ve bloody good timing.
Julia Quinn (The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2))
Of all the Founders, Adams may have been the most churchgoing. But as a Unitarian, he did not believe in the Holy Trinity, the Holy Ghost, or the divinity of Jesus.XII Adams was a staunch, lifelong believer in religious liberty. As the primary author of the Massachusetts State Constitution, he wrote, “No subject shall be hurt, molested, or restrained in his person . . . for worshipping God in the manner most agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience.” And nary a word about the Judeo-Christian tradition.
Ed Asner (The Grouchy Historian: An Old-Time Lefty Defends Our Constitution Against Right-Wing Hypocrites and Nutjobs)
Insofar as his patterns of speech reflect his predominant patterns of thought, Mr. Trump knows no second best, second worst, or second thought, no caveat or concession. His is a worldview painted in blackest black and whitest white, at whose center he and he alone rightly reigns. He grades nary a person, platform, or policy as anything other than the absolute best or worst of all time, which is to say he dips hardly a toe into the gray area that makes up the bulk of our reality—after all, the world is made of more than capstones.
Shmuel Pernicone (Why We Resist: Letter From a Young Patriot in the Age of Trump)
The T is the oldest subway system in the United States, and I figure if it has lasted this long, it must have been built right in the first place. The train I took from the airport gradually filled with students. They all seemed to be wearing T-shirts with messages on them. Signaling each other like fireflies. NERD PRIDE, said one, and on the back: A WELL-ROUNDED PERSON HAS NO POINT. Another one: THERE ARE ONLY 10 KINDS OF PEOPLE IN THE WORLD. THOSE WHO UNDERSTAND THE BI-NARY SYSTEM AND THOSE WHO DON’T. Both got off at the MIT stop.
Geraldine Brooks (People of the Book)
After waking from that magical dream ages ago, little Alice had devoted all her free time to searching the town for anything that reminded her of Wonderland. No place was safe from her explorations: every bell tower she could sneak into, every alleyway she could slip down when her parents' backs were turned. Top to bottom, high and low, nary a stone unturned. (Mostly low: rabbit holes and mushrooms, tiny caterpillars and large spiderwebs, dumbwaiters and surprisingly small doors in other people's houses she really ought not to have explored and opened.)
Liz Braswell (Unbirthday)
I liken modern scientists to conquistadors. They have no idea what they're dealing with, but they're going to conquer it, whatever it is --- all in the name of God. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to scientific discovery and exploration. I love this stuff. What I despise is reckless disregard for how little we know. We create trans fats with nary a question about whether they're good for us or not. We develop a food pyramid with carbohydrates on the bottom and thirty years later we realize it created an obesity and type 2 diabetes epidemic. It should give us all pause that we would be a much healthier nation if the government had never told us how to eat.
Joel Salatin (The Marvelous Pigness of Pigs: Respecting and Caring for All God's Creation)
I recken Nunn's gone, too,” Lureenie said as they walked along. Her voice rose in shrill anger. “Rans went a fox-hunten with th others, an him with nary a hound, an I heared em a comen an I went to th door an he stopped jist long enough to tell me he wasnt' comen in. Aimen to foller that gigglen fool of a Willie Cooksey over th river to J. D. Duffey's still; that's where they was a goen.” She added bitterly, “An in all this cold an th youngens all croupy an not but two sticks a wood for th fireplace, an th ax so dull I cain't make it cut, an him spenden money for that foxhound, an then liquor an hardly a bite to eat in th—” She stopped and bit her lip and walked quickly ahead.
Harriette Simpson Arnow (Hunter's Horn)
Menuju Kamu Saat nama indah mu disebut-sebut mentari pun meredup rembulan pun menunduk alunan nama mu umpama ritma dengan bait-bait keindahan seakan ada tangan-tangan yang menjemput siapa pun yang mendengarkan terkumat-kamit menyanyi-nyanyi meliuk-lentok menari-nari bertemasya aku dengan nama mu biar kamu tak aku temukan namun kamu yang aku rasakan biar kamu tak mereka pedulikan namun kamu yang aku bicarakan kerana ini barangkali bukti mengerti kerana ini barangkali erti memahami masih berbicara tentang mu semilir angin menyinggahi waktu menyapa bahuku dingin dan nyaman ini umpama ilusi sayangku umpama titis embun yang terlihatkan di padang pasir yang bosan dan menghampakan umpama bintang timur yang bergemerlapan di langit hitam yang hujan dan mengecewakan apa ilusi-ilusi ini hadiah aku kerana bekerja keras menuju kamu? dan semestinya ilusi yang paling menenangkan adalah menemui kamu lantas terus jatuh cinta yang paling dalam hingga kedalaman muka bumi aku ragukan jatuh cinta yang paling besar hingga besarnya alam ini aku bimbangkan Aku yakini yang mencari lantas menemui hingga akhir nanti tetap sahaja dengan nama mu menyanyi aku menari aku deria-deria lantas bertumbuh melawan aras mencari cinta yang paling deras; Kamu pancaindera pantas bercambah lebih tegal menuju rindu yang paling tebal; Tetap Kamu, Penciptaku Rumah Gapena, 4 April 2015
Nuratiqah Jani
I know for a fact that I would be awful if I was built like Serena Williams or Jennifer Lopez... If I had a body remotely close to what they have, I would be a terror. My ass would cause me to do really inappropriate and rude things. I'd be so ridiculous that people would be able to pick my labia out of a lineup. I'd wear zero clothes any- and everywhere, every day. I'd show up at church rocking a denim thong and a cropped T-shirt and have the nerve to sit right next to the head usher and dare her to say anything to me. And if anyone did say something to me, I'd tell them, "Jesus blessed me in many ways, and I am just showing off His works. HALLELUJAH." People would be disgusted and appalled by me and I wouldn't care. All insults would bounce off my ample backside. To whom much is given, much is required, and I'd require that my much would be given nary an inch of fabric. I'd hire a band whose sole job would be to follow me around and play theme music for my yansh, based on the mood I was in... I might opt to walk backwards into any room I entered, because why not?... I might also declare my booty its own limited liability corporation, assigning myself as CEO and chairman of the Donk. My jeans would be tax-deductible business expenses, and I would add my ass to my LinkedIn profile's Skills section. Everyone would throw hate ration in my dancery, and I wouldn't even see it, protected as I would be by the throne I sat atop.
Luvvie Ajayi Jones (I'm Judging You: The Do-Better Manual)
Despite Imbry's demurrals, Ghyll never missed an opportunity to expound on his creed, and was now again launched upon a lecture. "Life, after all," he said, "is but a succession of greater and lesser probabilities—a melange of maybes, as the Grand Prognosticator so aptly put it. Look at you, here in the supposed security of Bolly's Snug, supping and swilling with nary a care. Yet can you deny that a fragment of some asteroid, shattered in a collision far out in thither space back when humankind was still adrip with the primordial slime, having spent millions of years looming toward us, might now, its moment come, lance down through the atmosphere at immense speed and obliterate you where you stand?" "I do not deny the possibility," said Imbry. "I say that the likelihood is remote." "Yet still it exists! And if we couple that existence to a divine appetite for upsetting mortal plans—" "I can think of other, less far-fetched scenarios that might lead to the obliteration of someone in this room," said the thief. He accompanied the remark with an unwinking stare that ought to have caused Ghyll to stop to consider that, though Imbry was so corpulent as to be almost spherical, he was capable of sudden and conclusive acts of violence. And that consideration would have led, in turn, to a change of subject. But the Computant was too deeply set in his philosophy to take note of how others responded to it, and continued to discourse on abstruse concerns.
Gordon van Gelder (Fantasy & Science Fiction, November/December 2011)
After Wilmington, the daily drinking stopped. He’d go a week, sometimes two, without anything stronger than diet soda. He’d wake up without a hangover, which was good. He’d wake up thirsty and miserable—wanting—which wasn’t. Then there would come a night. Or a weekend. Sometimes it was a Budweiser ad on TV that set him off—fresh-faced young people with nary a beergut among them, having cold ones after a vigorous volleyball game. Sometimes it was seeing a couple of nice-looking women having after-work drinks outside some pleasant little café, the kind of place with a French name and lots of hanging plants. The drinks were almost always the kind that came with little umbrellas. Sometimes it was a song on the radio. Once it was Styx, singing “Mr. Roboto.” When he was dry, he was completely dry. When he drank, he got drunk. If he
Stephen King (Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2))
The path was a familiar one. Over the years she’d resided in Spindle Cove, Susanna must have walked it thousands of times. She knew each curve of the land, every last mottled depression in the road. More than once, she’d covered this distance in the dark of night with nary a misstep. Today, she stumbled. He was there, catching her elbow in his strong, sure grip. She hadn’t realized he was following so close. Just when she thought she’d regained her balance, his heat and presence unsteadied her all over again. “Are you well?” “Yes. I think so.” In an effort to dispel the awkwardness, she joked, “Mondays are country walks; Tuesdays, sea bathing…” He didn’t laugh. Nor even smile. He released her without comment, moving on ahead to take the lead. His strides were long, but she noticed he was still favoring that right leg. She did what a good healer ought never do. She hoped it hurt.
Tessa Dare (A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove, #1))
The Mystery of Futile Debate: Why do we engage endlessly in futile political debates? We can argue politics forever, with nary a hint of progress. The likelihood of anyone changing his or her mind as the result of a political argument is negligible, but we debate anyway. Whether on street corners or on "Meet the Press," political discussions go on and on, and are only rarely resolved by polite compromise. It would be astonishing if a presidential candidate were to decide, mid-debate, that the other candidate was right: CANDIDATE: You know, Senator, I never looked at it that way before, but you're actually completely right! Since it's such an important point, I guess I'll just concede the whole election to you right now -- you are definitely the better candidate. Congratulations! If a candidate actually did say something like that, he or she would soon face overpowering citizen anger** -- at having violated the unspoken rule that debates are supposed to be futile. ** Not to mention, a free one-way ticket to a psychiatric institution.
Guillermo Jiménez
But as soon as you enter a university, we witness a radical and communal face of Communism. Here, they propagate the weaknesses and evils of Hindu culture. They manipulate and twist ancient books to misrepresent them and provoke students. For example, they use Tulsidas’ chaupai, without mentioning the rest of the Ramcharitmanas, which is the real context. “ढोल गंवार शूद्र पशु नारी, सकल ताडना के अधिकारी.” Dhol ganvar shudra pashu nari, sakal tadana ke adhikari. ‘The above lines are spoken by the Sea Deity Samudra to Ram. When Lord Ram got angry and took out his weapon in order to evaporate the whole sea, the deity appeared and said the above lines in the context of boundaries that are created by God himself in order to hold his creations.  ‘What Leftists do is that they very cleverly translate it literally in Hindi, ignoring the fact that Ramcharitmanas is written in Awadhi and the same word means one thing in Hindi and another in Awadhi. While the literal meaning of the line in Hindi is ‘Drums, the illiterate, lower caste, animals and women deserve a beating to straighten up and get the acts together’, its real meaning in Awadhi is different. In Awadhi, tadna means to take care, to protect. Whereas, in Hindi, the same word means punishment, torture, oppression. Samudra meant that like drums, the illiterate, Shudra, animals and women need special care and need to be protected in the boundary of a social safety net. In the same way, the sea also needs to reside within the boundaries created by God. And hence, Samudra gave the suggestion to create the iconic Ram Setu. ‘Here, Shudra doesn’t mean lower caste or today’s Dalit. It meant people employed in cottage industries.’ I remember there is a book by R.C. Dutta, Economic Interpretation of History, in which he has said that when the Indian economy was based on the principles of Varna, handicrafts accounted for over twenty-five percent of the economy. Artisans and labour who were involved in the handicraft business were called ‘Shudra’. If there was so much caste-based discrimination, why would Brahmins use their produce? Both Dutta and Dadabhai Naoroji have written that the terminology of ‘caste discrimination’ was used by the British to divide Indian society on those lines.
Vivek Agnihotri (Urban Naxals: The Making of Buddha in a Traffic Jam)
So now Nathan had a new partner, who, by all accounts, was a dour old drudge with nary a daughter to his name. She’d seen Nathan in town once since then. He had not looked happy. But she was insanely happy, especially after what the doctor had hold her yesterday. With only a few days left at home, she and Freddy had dragged Jane and Oliver on a romantic picnic. So far, it wasn’t going all that well. Poor Jane darted up at every sound. Freddy’s mischievous brothers had convinced her that wild Indians might descend upon them any minute, and no amount of Freddy’s posturing with the sword could relieve her fears. Oliver was no help, either. He kept pretending to see feather headdresses behind every bush, though Maria had told him repeatedly that the only tribes in their area had left long ago. He was every bit as devilish as her cousins, who’d embraced him instantly as a man after their own heats. Aunt Rose had pronounced Oliver a smooth-tongued rogue the first time he told her how fetching she looked in her peacock bonnet. Little did she know. “Are you sure there’s a fish pond back there, Freddy?” Jane asked skeptically as Freddy led her around a deserted cabin. “Quite sure.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve caught many a fine trout in that pond.” “More like trout bait,” Maria told Oliver, who was stretched out on the blanket beside her, reading a letter from Jarret. “I’ve never seen a fish longer than my thumb in that pond.
Sabrina Jeffries (The Truth About Lord Stoneville (Hellions of Halstead Hall, #1))
Whenever that tiny bulb of revelation flashes over your head, it almost always follows a period of uncertainty. These periods are usually dark and distorted, with nary a sliver of light, yet they serve us because they contribute to understanding.
Nichole Beamer
I’m the mean girl. My personality is razor wire drenched in lemon juice. I was raised with a sword in my hand and nary a kind thought in my head.
Robert J. Crane (Destiny (The Girl in the Box, #9))
Wait a minute!" you say. "Didn't Jesus answer, Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's when the Pharisees tried to trick him into denouncing a Roman-imposed tax?" Yes indeed, he did say that. It's found first in the Gospel of Matthew, 22:15–22, and later in the Gospel of Mark, 12:13–17. But notice that everything depends on just what truly did belong to Caesar and what didn't, which is actually a rather powerful endorsement of property rights. Jesus said nothing like "It belongs to Caesar if Caesar simply says it does, no matter how much he wants, how he gets it, or how he chooses to spend it." The fact is, one can scour the Scriptures with a fine-tooth comb and find nary a word from Jesus that endorses the forcible redistribution of wealth by political authorities. None, period.
Anonymous
Most of us stumble into the kingdom with nary a clue how to do this. So we thrash about, make reckless attempts, arm ourselves with slogans, goad ourselves with guilt, fail and fail and fail, and finally settle for spiritual mediocrity. Our inner lives remain cramped and musty. We resort to mere conformity, to a masquerade of piety to cover up for our lack of real Christlikeness.
Stephen A. Macchia (Crafting a Rule of Life: An Invitation to the Well-Ordered Way)
Slavery, that was a kind of alchemy for such White folk, or so they reckoned. They calculated a way of turning each bead of a Black man's sweat into gold and each moan of despair from a Black woman's throat into the sweet clear sound of a silver coin ringing on the money-changer's table. There was buying and selling of souls in that place. Yet there was nary a one of them who understood the whole price they paid for owning other folk.
Orson Scott Card (Prentice Alvin (Tales of Alvin Maker, #3))
Any soul who has survived to the age of eighty - two with nary a secret would be extremely dull. I, for one, would have very little interest in making their acquaintance.
Ruth Reichl (Delicious!)
When a book, any sort of book, reaches a certain intensity of artistic performance, it becomes literature. That intensity may be a matter of style, situation, character, emotional tone, or idea, or half a dozen other things. It may also be a perfection of control over the movement of a story similar to the control a great pitcher has over the ball. That is to me what you have more than anything else and more than anyone else. . . . The character that lasts is an ordinary guy with some extraordi-nary qualities. Perry Mason is the perfect detective because he has the intellectual approach of the juridical mind and at the same time the restless quality of the adventurer who won’t stay put. I think he is just about perfect. So let’s not have any more of that phooey about “as literature my stuff still stinks.” Who says so—William Dean Howells? Raymond Chandler to Erle Stanley Gardner, 1946
Richard B. Schwartz (Nice and Noir: Contemporary American Crime Fiction (Volume 1))
Nary a peep about it even during the 1960s when ALL GRIEVANCES WERE AIRED and if it wasn’t brought up then it shouldn’t be an issue today. But people are being TOLD it’s an issue today, which is triggering them to action.
J. Micha-el Thomas Hays (Book Series Update and Urgent Status Report: Vol. 3 (Rise of the New World Order Status Report))
Unlike the standard model and general relativity, nary a shred of evidence has turned up in support of supersymmetry, superstring theory, M-theory, or extra dimensions. Why, then, do these ideas have so much backing among theorists? Factors such as mathematical beauty, symmetry, and completeness_ strikingly similar to some of Einstein's criteria_ all come into play. Plus there aren't many other credible alternatives.
Paul Halpern
Environmental influences almost invariably point investors down the path to investment failure. Advertisements flog stocks at equity market peaks, with nary a mention of diversifying fixed-income assets. After stocks suffer bear-market losses, the media tout the beneficial effects of owning bonds as an important part of a well-balanced portfolio. The overwhelming bulk of messages to investors suggest owning yesterday’s darling and avoiding yesterday’s goat.
David F. Swensen (Unconventional Success: A Fundamental Approach to Personal Investment)
Malcolm looked around the room. “Just so we have this straight. I’m going undercover in a cult that might be planning to use explosives to harm a lot of people in the name of the Bible.” He tried to quiet the rioting in his head. “I’ve slept with the mark, who we all know I want to save. The new shrink wants to get into my head, and I don’t want that.” “I really do want inside your head,” Nari said, her eyes lighting up. Mal ignored her and looked at Wolfe. “You’re a little nuts and now have a kitten in your pocket.” Wolfe nodded. “And you, our leader.” Mal focused on Angus. “Not only are you obsessed with a serial killer case that might just exist in your mind and splits your focus, but you have a high-heel-loving dog that’s also an alcoholic.” “What’s your point?” Force asked, his dark eyebrows slashing down. His point? What the hell was his point? He scrubbed both hands down his whiskered jaw. “I’m not going to ask what could go wrong. You know why? I just want to know what’s going to go right.” “Probably not much,” Wolfe said cheerfully. Then he fed another Goldfish Cracker to his kitten while the dog clip-clopped around the room and scratched up something called Jimmy Choos.
Rebecca Zanetti (Hidden (Deep Ops, #1))
The fact that similar figurations and the relationships they serve to articulate are found within the Kabbalistic, Gnostic, and Hermetic imagi- naries would only have confirmed in Leibniz’s mind that he was “on the right track” in delineating a rational reconstruction of the phenomenal world that was undergirded by figurations derived from a metaphysical imaginary.
Leon Marvell (The Physics of Transfigured Light: The Imaginal Realm and the Hermetic Foundations of Science)
nary the twain
Penny Reid (Beauty and the Mustache (Knitting in the City, #4; Winston Brothers, #0))
It was other studios, however, that were most damaged by Feige’s success. Why, their corporate bosses wanted to know, couldn’t they be as successful as Marvel? Of course other studios had hits, but nobody was pumping out two surefire blockbusters per year (soon to be three) like Marvel, with nary a flop in the bunch. Even the movies that clearly weren’t as good as the rest, like the second Avengers film, seemed to get a pass from audiences and critics, engendering no small amount of bitterness throughout the rest of Hollywood. “Marvel could have made a movie about someone picking his nose and it would have been 98 on Rotten Tomatoes,” complained Arad, who as a producer of Sony’s Spider-Man films now competed with his former employer.
Ben Fritz (The Big Picture: The Fight for the Future of Movies)
Lilian?” Kevin needed a moment to register that, indeed, Lilian was standing before him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking a bath with the others.” “I was going to,” Lilian admitted, “but then I realized that my mate and I haven’t been able to spend much time alone together because my family kept getting in the way, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for us to bond.” “Bond?” He studied the girl, and eventually realized that she wasn’t looking at his face. Feeling a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, Kevin looked down. His face grew red. He let out a loud “eep!” and tried to cover himself with his hands. “Ufufufu,” Lilian chuckled. “You’re still too cute when you get embarrassed like that.” Kevin tried to glare at her, but the blush on his face lessened the effect. “It’s got nothing to do with being embarrassed and everything to do with common decency,” he insisted, lying through his teeth. “Most people don’t stand around in the nude while someone else is present, not even if they’re dating that person.” “Most people aren’t mated to a kitsune.” “Ugh…” She had him there. “Kevin” Lilian’s eyes were warm and so incredibly earnest that Kevin was unable to look away, “you are my mate; the person I love more than anyone else in this world.” Delicate hands reached up and cupped his face. “This isn’t some random person wanting to see you naked. This is me, your mate, who wants to become more intimate with you. If it helps, I promise not to touch anything below the belt.” Staring at the girl with an uncomprehending gaze, Kevin’s mind became a warzone, a battle the likes of which no one had ever seen before—mostly because it was all happening in his mind. *** The desolate wasteland spread out for miles, its borders traveling far beyond the distant horizon. Cracks traversed the ground like a myriad system of interconnecting spiderwebs. There was no flora or fauna in this wasteland. It was the perfect place… for war. Two forces stood on opposite ends of each other, armies of nearly equal might. Multi-segmented plates clicked together as figures moved and jostled each other. Horned helms adorned the many heads, their faceplates masking their identities. Hands gripped massive halberds with leaf-shaped blades that gleamed like a thousand suns. The army on the northern border wore white armor, while those in the southern quadrant wore red. A moment of silence swept through the clearing. A tumbleweed rolled across the ground. It was the unspoken signal for the battle to start, and the two forces rushed in toward the center, yelling out their battle cries. “For Lilian!!” “For chastity!!” Thunder struck the earth as these two titanic armies fought. Bodies were thrown into the air with impunity. Halberds clashed, the sound of metal on metal, steel ringing against steel, rang out in a symphony of chaos. Sparks flew and shouts accompanied the maelstrom of combat. It was, indeed, a battle worthy of being placed within the annals of history. A third party soon entered the fray. From one of the many cliffs surrounding the battlefield, an army appeared. Unlike the two forces duking it out down below, this army was bereft of nearly all their clothes. Wearing nothing but simple loincloths and bandoleers similar to Tarzan’s, the group of individuals looked identical. Messy blond hair framed bright blue eyes that glared down at the battlefield. With nary a thought, this force surged down the cliff, their own battle cry echoing across the land. “DEATH TO THE CHERRY!!” And so more chaos was unleashed upon the battlefield. ***
Brandon Varnell (A Fox's Family (American Kitsune #4))
in 1620, when the pilgrims landed at what is now Provincetown at the lower tip of Cape Cod, they found the potable water they had been looking for, but they also found a near continuous span of well-spaced mature trees. By the early 1800s, however, the entire cape had been clearcut for settlement and sheep herding, with nary a tree remaining.
Douglas W. Tallamy (Nature's Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation that Starts in Your Yard)
This corner typically saw three accidents a week, but since its installation, we hadn’t nary a one.
Honor Raconteur (Charms and Death and Explosions (oh my!) (Case Files of Henri Davenforth, #2))
A journey of inquiry that (hopefully) culminates in change can be a long road, with pitfalls and detours and often nary an answer in sight. That’s why it can be helpful to approach inquiry systematically, as a step-by-step progression. The best innovators are able to live with not having the answer right away because they’re focused on just trying to get to the next question.
Warren Berger (A More Beautiful Question: The Power of Inquiry to Spark Breakthrough Ideas)
What are you doing tonight?” Myron asked. Win shrugged. “I’m not sure.” “I can get you a ticket to the game,” Myron said. Win said nothing. “Do you want to go?” “No.” Without another word, Win slipped behind the wheel of his Jag, started the engine, peeled out with nary a squeal. Myron stood and watched him speed away, puzzled by his friend’s abruptness. But then again, to paraphrase one of the four questions of Passover: why should today be different than any other day? He
Harlan Coben (Fade Away (Myron Bolitar, #3))
were your men treated?” Ashby shrugged. “There were so many from so many different countries, I don’t think we stood out. When we got back, the palace staff looked like they wanted to spit on us, but the people down below knew nothing of our arrival. Nary a word about it.” “Thank you, Ashby,” Owen said, finishing his work. He stood and buckled his scabbard around his waist. “So what you’re saying is the kingdom is vulnerable.
Jeff Wheeler (The King's Traitor (Kingfountain, #3))
You would think that after fifteen years of war on terror, waged by a country with nuclear submarines, all terror on earth would be destroyed. I’m shocked that nary a nightmare has made it out alive. Yet somehow, killing the shit out of people – thousands and thousands of people – doesn’t make the living not scared. What you do wind up with are millions of refugees and armies of genocidal fanatics.
Brian Huskie (A White Rose: A Soldier's Story of Love, War, and School)
If wishing could make men die, there’d be nary a live one left.” As suddenly
Jennifer Egan (Manhattan Beach)
When I saw it, I was reminded of a passage by my favorite writer, Jang Jeongil: “We must kill the prodigal son. He brings worse things with him. Nothing makes us feel quite so small as the son who has returned. The true prodigal son must go, with nary a drop of water nor a crumb of bread, without even a camel, he must go to the ends of the desert and die there. And not just there, but everywhere!
Gong Jiyoung (Our Happy Time)
I turned to Nari. “But getting back to the big picture,” I continued, “without your intervention, the odds we’d unleash some kind of WMD on ourselves were basically a hundred percent, right? So what are the odds now, given that we do have your help?” “Still fairly high,” admitted the alien. “About eighteen percent.” “Why?” “Mainly due to social media,” replied Brad. “It’s the most divisive technology the world has ever seen. It’s polarizing and promotes our worst tendencies. Mistrust, tribalism, zealotry. And it fosters and aids in the mobilization of those intent on violence. We’ve been working on ways to eliminate social media for years, but short of killing the internet—which would cripple the world—we haven’t come up with any solutions. So we just have to continue battling the violence it inspires.
Douglas E. Richards (Unidentified)
Hug the earth, now! as a child it's mother letting nary a moment by chance pass by; As surely as it will akin a loving mother give solace, embrace you when time comes to die.
Fakeer Ishavardas
Modern wheat, despite all the genetic alterations to modify thousands of its genetically determined characteristics, made its way to the worldwide human food supply with nary a question surrounding its suitability for human consumption.
William Davis (Wheat Belly: Lose the Wheat, Lose the Weight, and Find Your Path Back to Health)
Why bother trying to emulate her, when even my hair defied her ladylike expectations? That’s why I both envied and pitied my friend’s glossy-smooth hair—so lovely and compliant, with nary a single strand escaping its thick black
Angela Mi Young Hur (Folklorn)
So, the wish I was gonna make was... that the four of us don’t part ways and have a happy highschool life!
Morangg (Odd Girl Out)
What have I done to deserve this’ if a cry of pride. What did Jesus do? What did Mary do? Let there be no complaint against God for sending a cross; let there only be wisdom enough to see that Nary is there making it lighter, making it sweeter, making it hers
Fulton J. Sheen (The Priest Is Not His Own)
I’m slick as a Slip ’N Slide down there. And should he feel so inclined to eat ass, nary a hair survived that Brutal Brunhilda wax-a-thon I endured on all fours at the spa. I’m ready for anything. I’ve practically been
Kennedy Ryan (Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1))
Masih adakah lagu yang ingin kau nyanyikan untukku, seperti desah suara angin yang sejuk dan membuatku terlena. Jemari tangan embun yang basah menari nari di atas rambutmu. Dan celoteh riangnya bergema di sela sela rerumputan jauh hingga ke tengah perkebunan tebu. Sudah lama sekali rasanya kuingat kembali perasaan serupa itu. Seperti melupakan himpitan kemarau berdebu yang terlanjur menenggelamkan kita pada pecah tanah rengkah. Melumatkan perasaan perasaan yang dulu pernah membuat kita berdua mengecap rasa bahagia dalam sebongkah batok kelapa. Ingin mengingat kembali manis perjalanan, bahwa kita tidak pernah sendirian. Bagiku, suaramu masih seperti dulu. Serupa ricik air dingin yang mengalir dari belik di perbukitan. Kicauan burung yang menghampiriku seperti desau angin yang berhembus dari hutan menerabas pokok pohon sengon dan dedaunan jati. Menyentuh seluruh pori pori tubuhku dengan kenangan dan kerinduan menyibak selimut mimpi yang merebak saat subuh dini hari. Seperti hangat mentari yang turun ke bilik pemandian. Bening air sendang memeluk sepenuh tubuhku dengan cinta yang selamanya mengalir. Membawa kesenangan kecil, kegembiraan sederhana. Perasaan yang aku tahu, tak akan pernah pergi meninggalkan diriku.
Titon Rahmawan
The majority of PSSU systems won’t be in dire straits if they’re cut off from other systems. For a political structure like that, there’s nary any point to having a federal government. For all intents and purposes, that federal government exists to maintain the military.
Hiroyuki Morioka (Banner of the Stars: Volume 6)
Oh, Mattie an’ de baby jes’ a-layin’ in de shade, A-waitin’ for yo’ dollar, an’ you ain’ got nary one cent. Shake, shake, Mattie, shake, a-rattle an’ a-roll, Oh, shake, shake, Mattie, Mattie want to win my gol’.
John A. Lomax (American Ballads and Folk Songs (Dover Books On Music: Folk Songs))
Only a fool wouldn't be terrified of the beast I sensed lurking beneath his skin. He radiated power - vast and ancient. I had little doubt he could end my life with nary a thought. All the same, the corner of my mouth twitched. Then, without warning, I bent over and began laughing.
Kerri Maniscalco (Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1))
He tasted like bourbon with an aftertaste of unrefrigerated cheese,
Cait Nary (Contract Season (Trade Season #2))
Thirty-six is an age one looks back on as young. But at the time, living in thirty-six-year-old skin, it doesn’t feel young. Women start believing themselves old so soon, don’t they? Agatha didn’t realize it was her youth that allowed her to sit for hours in that comfortless rock of a chair, staring at her pages without need of spectacles, nary a twinge from the small of her back. One day far into the future she would look back on this time in her life and understand she had not been old, or even middle-aged, but young, with the bulk of her life ahead of her, not to mention the best of it.
Nina de Gramont (The Christie Affair)
Years where nary a blade of grass. Nary birdsong. But one day a small seed took hold. Then anchor. Soon, beetles and spiders came back, and then, and then, the birds were chatting in the new growth.
Ross Gay (Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude (Pitt Poetry Series))
If an HJ space is all or mostly white queers, it’s no different from any “mainstream alternative” white space. Healing justice was created as a term and a movement in part because a lot of “alternative healing” was dominated by white middle- to upper-middle-class people doing culturally appropriative work with nary an analysis of race and a high fee for service.
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha (Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice)
The cunning woman of the village becomes a witch only when her powers to heal do not work. Before that, she is everyone's good sorceress, and there is nary the slightest talk of devils.
Anne Rice (The Witching Hour)
I am no longer the faerie prince with soft words. My poetry for you is a vow. The world may burn down around us, but nary a flame shall touch thy beloved flesh. The ocean may swallow the land, but I shall be your ship and feed you sweet air. A sword may try to cut you down, but I will bear all your wounds. I have lived a thousand years in the dark, waiting for the rays of your sunlight.
Emma Hamm (Veins of Magic (The Otherworld, #2))
Wanita Tua Menukil Kata hingga dinding erti ditabraki hingga itulah rasa-rasa empati menari-nari di permukaan nurani hingga suatu saat aku mendewasa nanti hingga itulah aku bakal berhenti menyoal diri Usah dipanggil aku wanita tua yang hanya menukil kata cuma aku jua ingin berjasa pada dunia hentilah menabraki dinding mimpi yang tidak kau punyai Subang Jaya, 22 Jan 2015
Nuratiqah Jani