Orb Mother Quotes

Like a deep sad note played beneath the ocean waving through the orb the memories of you the bittersweet echoes infixed forever in my heart

To Selene (Moon) Hear, Goddess queen, diffusing silver light, bull-horn'd and wand'ring thro' the gloom of Night. With stars surrounded, and with circuit wide Night's torch extending, thro' the heav'ns you ride: Female and Male with borrow'd rays you shine, and now full-orb'd, now tending to decline. Mother of ages, fruit-producing Moon [Mene], whose amber orb makes Night's reflected noon: Lover of horses, splendid, queen of Night, all-seeing pow'r bedeck'd with starry light. Lover of vigilance, the foe of strife, in peace rejoicing, and a prudent life: Fair lamp of Night, its ornament and friend, who giv'st to Nature's works their destin'd end. Queen of the stars, all-wife Diana hail! Deck'd with a graceful robe and shining veil; Come, blessed Goddess, prudent, starry, bright, come moony-lamp with chaste and splendid light, Shine on these sacred rites with prosp'rous rays, and pleas'd accept thy suppliant's mystic praise.

When your mother had confronted your brother about Mrs. del Orbe he didn't deny it. What do you want, Ma? Se metío por mis ojos. Por mis ojos my ass, she had said. Tú te metiste por su culo. That's true, your brother admitted cheerily. Y por su boca. And then your mother puched him, helpless with shame and fury, which only made him laugh.

When your mother had confronted your brother about Mrs. del Orbe he didn't deny it. What do you want, Ma? Se metío por mis ojos. Por mis ojos my ass, she had said. Tú te metiste por su culo. That's true, your brother admitted cheerily. Y por su boca. And then your mother punched him, helpless with shame and fury, which only made him laugh.

As a child, my mother had cautioned me against looking directly at the sun, telling me the brightness of its glare could blind me. Perhaps it was something her own mother had told her. While it might be true for mortals, I now doubted such a thing could harm an immortal's sight. Still, her warning stuck - whenever I saw the fiery orb in the sky I would instinctively turn or shield myself. Today, I had finally dared to gaze at the sun, allowing its radiance to blaze through me unhindered, spilling through my veins until I was aglow. Never did I imagine such luminous joy existed, and never again would I be content to remain in the shadows.

Luke could've easily cut this scene between Mary and Elizabeth without disrupting the narrative. But he gives space for us to hear prophetic words from both these women--words that have echoed through the centuries--because Mary and Elizabeth are not only the biological mothers of Jesus and John. They also act as prophetesses in their own right. When it comes to women's unique ability to bear children, it's easy to make one of two mistakes: to overvalue childbearing, as if it's the primary reason why women exist, or to undervalue it, as if creating new life doesn't matter. The full-orbed picture Luke gives us of these two pregnant women helps us not to fall into either trap.

Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have help’d me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employ’d to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.

Your mother was a fool to give you away,” Hilde grumbled. Lidia arched a brow. “Is that a compliment?” “Take it as you will.” The hag flashed her rotting teeth in a nightmare of a smile. “You’re a born killer—like any true witch. That girl on the throne is as softhearted as your mother. She’ll bring down the entire Valbaran witch-dynasty.” “Alas, my father was a smart negotiator,” Lidia said, making a good show of admiring the ruby ring on her finger, the stone as red as Irithys’s flame. “But enough about me.” She gestured to the hag, then to the sprite. “Irithys, Queen of the Sprites. Hilde, Grand Hag of the Imperial Coven.” “I know who you are,” Irithys said, her voice quiet with leashed rage. She now floated in the center of the orb, her body bloodred. “You put this collar on me.” Hilde again smiled, wide enough to reveal her blackened gums. A lesser person would have cowered at that smile. “I had the honor of doing it to the little bitch who bore the crown before you, too.” Hilde didn’t mean Irithys’s mother, who had never been queen at all. No, when the last Sprite Queen had died, the line had passed to a different branch of the family, with Irithys first to inherit.

Mother I need answers Is it a curse mother to be a female? Is it a taboo to be female? Don`t we have the same spirit like males? Don’t we have the same flesh like the male? Nights are harsh, nights are haunted hours gushing my tears on my hazel skin mother I‘m torn apart. Mother did my ancient mothers feel the same abuse? Mother did my ancient mothers carry the same burdens like the one I’m carrying? Mother remove your old breast, I want to suckle freedom, mother remove your breast I want some solace and protection from the screams of the world. He comes home smelling the pub, he comes with anger written on his forehead and his eyes magma henna. He opens the door and he starts to shout, vandalize the property and he wrestles me. Do I have some value under this hot sun? Mother I need The disk of the orb breaks down, seeds of tears are planted on the floor. He roughly and vigorously opens my legs and he enjoys the sex whilst I enjoy the pain. Blood flows on my legs, a pool of blood on the floor that needs to be mopped. He is snoring and he dreams of another battle where he is always victorious. Why do man abuse women? Mother I need answers.

The heart of the issue is the modern principle, that does not hold much water, death of us, sever from the bosom thine breast and dispersed, surmounted morals by sadist of uncivil. Mammoth falling gradually dying without remorse, history hidden on the hills and caves, decipher not, roots abandoned for modern indulgence, eyes see not, civilization dying in the orb of beauty when wine blinds us. Rivers moving upstream, oceans feeding rivers, deserts with dense pine trees, oasis with mackerels, the amazons’ sands with camel foot prints, the Savanah snow rain paint beauty of pandas. Mother is blinded by mammon, father drunk with savory of rum while it digs, it destroys the spirit while it penetrates the cudgel spell.

At four Petie took to yelling at the heavenly bodies: —Hey, orbs! Wait for me! or, Orbs…listen to this! A genius, Lou thought; he commanded constellations. Clearly a poet.

A grey squirrel is crouched at the back of the cage. She is utterly still, as if she thinks they will not see her. The black orbs of her eyes gleam, gathering together all the light of the forest into two pristine points. She’s fat, isn’t she, Dad? She’s going to have babies, Dickie says, then wishes he hadn’t, suddenly remembering what the point of this is. He offers the sack to PJ. Do you want to do the honours? The boy doesn’t move, seems to dwindle in some incalculable way. Dickie sighs. You understand why we have to do this? PJ swallows. He is staring at the squirrel in the cage. The babies will have pox, the pox will kill the baby reds. If she has her babies, everything will get worse. But it’s not her fault, PJ says in a shaky voice. What? It’s not her fault she has pox. No, it’s not her fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just nature. But if we don’t kill the greys, then the reds will die. And they’ll die out completely. You see? You’re killing them by not taking action. He rests the cage into the sack, reaches in to undo the latch. The boy covers his face with his hands. But he has to understand, sometimes doing what is right means having to make hard choices. It’s the whole reason they’re out here, so he can teach him these tough lessons. Lessons. For a moment he is back in the summer garden, among the lilies and azaleas, fists swinging fruitlessly through the air, his father dancing in front of him, always somehow out of reach. He sighs again. Tell you what, he says. He sets the sack down on the ground and lifts out the cage and opens the door. The squirrel remains in a huddle at the back. He picks it up again and shakes it gently. Finally the squirrel tumbles out and dashes, with her load, her mother-load, zigzagging through the trees. Till she is gone.

This is it?” Iajqa said, quietly. “It is. My collections of artifacts are quite extensive, you see. It took months of searching to locate this. But alas…” He unclasped the box and opened it. There, in a bed of black silk, sat a glass orb. Mist swirled within it like storm clouds, subtle and yet eerily unsettling. The hairs stood on the back of my neck, a strange sensation nagging deep inside of me. It was the sort of gut feeling I hadn’t gotten in months—not since my magic eluded me after the Aran war. “So this is the thing that King Caduan lays so many hopes upon,” Lord Zorokov murmured, transfixed. Iajqa said nothing. She reached out to touch the orb, and sparks and clouds collected under the glass beneath her fingertips.

Tell me again what happened,” he said. I did, describing the orb that Farimov had presented to the Fey, and what it had done when I tried to touch it. Ishqa was silent. My palm tingled as his magic reached for mine, as if testing the thing on my skin. Then suddenly, he dropped my hand and straightened. His eyes leapt to mine, and I saw something very strange on Ishqa’s face—panic. “We need to leave,” he said. “Why?” I asked. “What did you—” That was when the screaming started.