Paul Cuffe Quotes

Third, theology is being done today by ordinary people. Like the character in Moliere's play who was surprised to learn that he was speaking prose all the time, the serious but non-clergy Christian may be surprised to find he or she is doing theology much of the time.J3 This `people' theology proliferates in films and books, as well as private conversations: vernacular theology, spur-of-the-moment theology, off-the-cuff theology and indigenous theology. For example, my young granddaughter was told by her `atheist' friend that there is no God and no heaven. `Well', she said, `if there's no heaven, then what's the point of dying?' - pure theology!

What is it, Cass?” Falco asked. “What just happened?” Cass realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled slowly. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said. Falco twisted her around to face him. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You can tell me anything, Cassandra.” “I’m, I have, when I was young, my parents--” She couldn’t figure out how to tell him the truth: that she was Luca’s, even though she didn’t want to be, that she and Falco could never be together the way they wanted. “I’m engaged,” she finally blurted out, feeling simultaneously terrified and relieved. “My fiancé is away, studying in France.” Falco nodded. “Of course you are. You’re a beautiful woman from a noble family. I’d be shocked to find out that your aunt hadn’t secured your future.” He looked at her expectantly as if he were waiting to hear more. “So you aren’t angry with me?” Cass buried her shaking hands in the folds of her skirts. How could he not be furious? She had lied to him. Well, practically. She had let him kiss her, even though she couldn’t be his bride. She had even kissed him back. Falco smiled at her through the dark. “Is that what’s been worrying you? No, starling. I’m not angry.” He pulled her body close to his again, burying his face in her hair. “You smell amazing,” he said. “Like roses and butterflies and cool spring mornings.” He held her hand up to his mouth, his fingers untying one of her lacy cuffs. Cass’s relief started to fade as Falco’s lips found the bare skin of her wrist. “Wait a minute.” She pulled away. “Why aren’t you angry with me? You and I, we kissed, we might have--” Cass couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Exactly how far would she have let things go if she hadn’t been ripped from her moment of fantasy by the stranger on the bridge? When he had loosened her bodice and reached beneath her chemise to stroke the skin of her upper back, all she had wanted was for him to loosen the rest of the laces. She definitely hadn’t been thinking about telling him to stop. Falco’s eyes gleamed in the night. “Go on. We might have what?

So you aren’t angry with me?” Cass buried her shaking hands in the folds of her skirts. How could he not be furious? She had lied to him. Well, practically. She had let him kiss her, even though she couldn’t be his bride. She had even kissed him back. Falco smiled at her through the dark. “Is that what’s been worrying you? No, starling. I’m not angry.” He pulled her body close to his again, burying his face in her hair. “You smell amazing,” he said. “Like roses and butterflies and cool spring mornings.” He held her hand up to his mouth, his fingers untying one of her lacy cuffs. Cass’s relief started to fade as Falco’s lips found the bare skin of her wrist. “Wait a minute.” She pulled away. “Why aren’t you angry with me? You and I, we kissed, we might have--” Cass couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Exactly how far would she have let things go if she hadn’t been ripped from her moment of fantasy by the stranger on the bridge? When he had loosened her bodice and reached beneath her chemise to stroke the skin of her upper back, all she had wanted was for him to loosen the rest of the laces. She definitely hadn’t been thinking about telling him to stop. Falco’s eyes gleamed in the night. “Go on. We might have what?” Coldness filled Cass’s whole body. She reached out and pushed Falco away from her. “I think I understand.” She pulled the lace on her cuff tight so that her wrist disappeared beneath the fabric. “All you wanted was a sordid little tryst? You were just going to keep going until I stopped you? That is so--so…” She struggled to find the correct words, but the cold fury that filled her made it difficult to speak. “Improper?” Falco said. “Fun?” “Fun?” Cass had half a mind to push Falco out of the boat and right into the murky water of the canal. She reached behind her back and made a futile attempt to retighten her bodice. “You’re disgusting,” she spat out. “Would you like help with that?” Falco reached toward her. “Don’t touch me.” Cass gave up on the bodice. She wrapped herself tightly in the woolen blanket. Falco laughed aloud. “You’re the one with the fiancé, and I’m disgusting?” He shook his head. “Women.

In the heat of the 2000 election, then Governor George W. Bush of Texas made an off-the-cuff statement that we ought to take the log out of our own eye before calling attention to the speck in the eye of our neighbor. The New York Times reported the remark as a minor gaffe -- what it termed "an interesting variation on the saying about the pot and the kettle."The reporter -- actually a fine and balanced journalist -- did not recognize the biblical reference. Neither did his editors. And this, of course, was not an obscure biblical reference. Not only is it found in the red letters of the New Testament, it is taken from the Sermon on the Mount.

Shelby looked horrified. “What are you doing?” she screamed. “Joe saved me from drowning. Greg Robinson tried to pull me down under the ice.” Her voice cracked, but her eyes blazed. “You let him go, right now.” I loved how powerful she sounded. It made me proud. The tall one faltered under her glare. “Uh, are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure, you moron,” Shelby said evenly. “Take those cuffs off Joe. He’s a hero, not a felon.” The ferocity in her eyes reminded me of Camille. “You heard her. Let him go,” Camille echoed. Pride flashed across her face as she put one hand on Shelby’s shoulder. The red-head mumbled and unlocked the cuffs. “Sorry. Our mistake.

Paul's off-the-cuff quip about disability insurance is really more than half wrong John Locher/Associated Press Sen. Rand Paul (R-Ky.) implied that many disability recipients could work but aren't. Statistics suggest that isn't likely. Glenn Kessler | 1041 words "What I tell people is, if you look like me and you hop out of your truck, you shouldn't be getting a disability check. Over half of the people on disability are either anxious or their back hurts - join the club. Who doesn't get a little anxious for work and their back hurts? Everybody over 40 has a back pain." - Sen. Rand Paul (R-Ky.), remarks in New Hampshire, Jan. 14, 2015

Some toy you give,” he said, gritty-voiced, and now the two tears in the corners of his eyes began to slide down his cheeks. “You remembered the day Daddy said he would give me this when I became a doctor.” “How could I forget? That little catalog was the one thing you took of yours that wasn’t clothes, when we went to Foxworth Hall. And every time he swatted a fly, or killed a spider, Paul, Chris would long to have a John Cuff microscope. And once he said he wanted to be the Mouseman of the Attic, and discover for himself why mice die so young.” “Do mice die young?” asked Paul seriously. “How did you know they were young? Did you capture baby ones, and mark them in some way?” Chris and I met eyes. Yeah, we’d lived in another world back when we were young and imprisoned, so that we could look at the mice who came to steal and nibble on our food, especially the one named Mickey.

Getting comfortable again, I grab one of the magazines that I keep stuffed under my thin mattress. Flipping to the article the guard Paul told me about, I’m just getting to the part about how chandeliers are a necessity in creating an awesome she-shed, when two prison guards come running in. They take one look at my open cell door, the magic smoke still polluting the air, the unconscious male on the ground, and turn gaping looks at me. I give them a bright smile and point down at Scarface. “Hey, Paul. Could you clean that up for me? I think he wet himself.” Paul lowers his gun and pulls off his SWAT-style helmet. “Another one?” he asks, jerking his chin toward my uninvited cell guest. I shrug my shoulders and give him an apologetic smile. He shakes his head and nudges the unconscious jail-breaker with his boot. “Damn. We need to up our security. We aren’t used to so many supernaturals trying to break someone out of here,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he frowns in thought. “Yeah, it’s very disruptive,” I tell him. He grunts in agreement. “Good thing your ride is here,” Paul mentions casually as my unwelcome cell guest groans loudly from the floor. I squeal and start clapping excitedly, which startles both guards. “Yes, finally!” I shoot up from my cot and thrust both arms out, ready for the required shackles whenever a prisoner is being transported. Paul releases an amused chuckle, and Terrence—the other guard in my cell right now—gives me some judgement-laced side-eye as I giggle and wait like a kid on Christmas morning for the cuffs to click into place. I’m finally going to be sentenced and booked into Nightmare Penitentiary. I can’t fucking wait.

As she wiped her eyes with one of her lacy cuffs, her despair became rage. Rage became strength. Strength became focus.