Pix Of Quotes

Why the war paint, Pix? Because I can't stand the girl underneath.... "Why the tattoos ?" Because I can't bear seeing the scars of my past.

Some nasty bitch of a woman from the coven of moral and ethical standards tried to fry Rache" the pixy said apparently proud of it. "I pixed the Tink-blasted dildo, and Rache's black-arts boyfriend blew her right out the front door. "Bam!

Jenks: “I can’t even pix anyone. I sweat now instead of dusting, did you know that? I’ve got water coming off me instead of dust. What the hell can I do with sweat? Rub up against someone and make them puke in disgust? I’ve seen you sweat, and it’s not pretty. I don’t even want to think about sex, two sweaty bodies pressed against each other like that? Disgusting. Talk about birth control—it’s no wonder you only have a handful of kids.

Poezia s-a sinucis avînd grijă să-și facă un nod foarte estetic la ștreang.

This is about Ku’Sox, isn’t it,” I said, more of a statement than a question. He made a sighing groan, and I knew it was. “Then you’ve met,” he said, his thoughts clearly on the day-walking demon. “Funny, you don’t look dead.” His hand touched my chin, shifting it so he could see where I’d been pixed, the blisters itchy and red. “I’m surprised you survived the little designer dump. I nearly didn’t.

No, thanks, we’re not keen on cat pix.

You see, Pix, I have scars too. It’s just mine are on the outside where everyone can see.

You fuckin’ bulldozed me, Pix. You, my tiny dark pixie, made all my defences crumble to dust.

One of the first questions I get about the skeleton is... is it real? Usually they're plastic, but this one is the real deal. It was a private donation to the academy, and every year, someone attempts to steal it. It is alarmed. Don't steal the skeleton. His name is Mr. Nelson. Be nice to Mr. Nelson. - Pix

Our family became spelled after my ancestor pixed off two evil witch sisters. The witches’ curse was supposed to doom my great- great- great grandmother to turn evil and torch the world— except the spell wasn’t worded right. It didn’t spec-ify which Emerald princess. So ever since, all the girls in the Emerald family have been stuck inside, since there’s no way to know what generation will inherit the curse.

Pix, I need you”… “I think…I think I might need you too.

Why the War Paint Pix? Why the Tattoo's Austin?

Ow! That…” A little ball of fur chewed on my slippers, not caring that my feet were still inside. I’d never seen another creature like it. It had the auburn- colored body of a lion cub, but it also had nubby horns, wings, and a dragon’s tail. Its little black talons scratched at my leg; then it stared at me with accusa-tory ice- water blue eyes. “No pixing way! Prince Kato?

I just figure I’ll never let you outta my sight for a while.” Giggling, Lexi replied, “Careful, Carillo, that’s sounding scarily like a declaration of commitment.” “Call it what you like, Pix. All I know is I like you. And I wanna see you more. I’m a Heighter from the boonies with a rap sheet--” “And I’m an emo-anorexic virgin that can’t be touched,” she finished off. “Match made in heaven, huh?” I said with a wink. “What could possibly go wrong?” Lexi joked.

Oh. Really? Smith? The most common, boring name in the world? - Evaline, to Pix

She looked at me like I was suddenly her whole world. I felt that look sear right into my heart. Ain’t no one ever looked up on me with such grace, with such trust before, and I felt humbled that she chose to gift it to me … All anyone ever saw when they looked at me was the white trash ex-gang member from the Heighter-famed trailer park across town. But not her. Fuck knows why, but Pix only ever saw more.

Pix?” I said. “Pretend for a second that I’m not a hacker.” “I’m a jobber in a tag-team cage match against John Cena and The Rock. My partner just got laid out cold with a folding chair, and the referee is looking the other way.

Maybe he'll go away if we don't answer," I said, and Jenks rose - sixty feet in a mere second. In another second, he dropped back down. "He's coming around back," he said, his gold dust looking black through my sunglasses. Damn it back to the Turn. "Pix the sucker," I said, then waved my hand in negation when Jumoke clearly thought I was serious. The small pixy looked about six, and he took everything literally. [...] "Let him come back," I finally said. "If this is about that paper of his, he can suck my toes and die.

You can have all the information on culture in the world–’ Pix continues. 'We don’t possess all the information on culture, just three thousand, five hundred and thirty-four petabytes of data on human culture,’ I correct. Pix smiles and finishes, ’…But unless the words become a part of you, you never really understand, do you?

Uneori am impresia că nimic important nu se mai întâmplă în lume. În sensul că nimic din ceea ce se declară a fi important nu mă atinge. Oamenii își comunică de regulă lucruri neimportante și care îi caracterizează pre apuțin sau deloc. Oamenii își comunică știri, pentru că știrile sunt considerate importante. Pentru ca ceva să fie important este nevoie ca cineva să considere important acel lucru. Cum arată un lucru important? Nicicum. Pentru cineva e important că plouă, pentru altcineva - că nu plouă. Pentru cineva e important că se căsătorește, pentru altcineva - că se desparte. Dar ce este cu adevărat important și ce face ca ceva să fie important? Cred că ceea ce face ca un lucru să fie important este bucuria. Dacă ceva îți aduce bucurie - este important. Când sufletul este apăsat sau amărât, nimic nu i se mai pare important. Dar bucuria poate atribui importanță și lucrurilor celor mai mărunte. Am văzut oameni care se bucură de bomboane, de o pereche de pantaloni, de o călătorie, de o bătaie în ușă. Pentru că, într-adevăr, ce poate fi mai important decât o bătaie în ușă, decât o pereche de pantaloni sau decât niște bomboane? Poate doar un cuțitaș, un pix, o portocală, un zâmbet, o pasăre care se izbește în geam... Păziți-vă bucuria - e ceea ce face viața importantă!

It’s you, Pix. You and everybody like you. Everybody who reaches out a hand when they don’t have to. Everybody who helps somebody get up on their feet, or gets in the way of a fist so somebody weaker doesn’t have to take the pain. Everybody who stands up in the face of evil and says ‘no more.’ Everybody who does what they can to make this shithole of a planet a little less miserable for everybody else. You are who’s fighting for us.

Mystery is good." He drummed his fingertips on my thigh. "Maybe.Maybe not. But I'll let it go. How about this: If I were to open the top drawer of your dresser, what would I find?" "Are we back to discussing my underwear again?" "Only in graphic detail..." He flicked my sore knee, but not where the bruise was. "I keep loose change and my oldest comic books in mine. Some people have journals or photographs or awards..." "Okay,okay." I sighed. "Underwear," I said. "Two ancient swimsuits, and a magazine file." "Of...?" "Pictures I've pulled out of magazines." "Yes,thank you. I gathered that. What's in it?" I squirmed a little and contemplated lying. Travel pix, shoes, hints on getting glue off of Ultrasuede... "Mostly pictures of models with short hair," I confessed finally. "It's sort of a goal of mine." Alex reached up and wrapped a strand around his finger. "I like your hair," he said quietly, "but I think you'd look great whatever you did with it.

There was a time when a traveller, if he had the will and knew only a few of the secrets, could send his barge out into the Summer Sea and arrive not at Glastonbury of the monks, but at the Holy Isle of Avalon; for at that time the gates between the worlds drifted within the mists, and were open, one to another, as the traveller thought and willed. For this is the great secret, which was known to all educated men in our day: that by what men think, we create the world around us, daily new.

Pixie was still looking a little shell-shocked when they walked over to the desk. “This is Pixie, our studio manager. She’ll take your details when you’re ready.” “Hey, Pixie, pleased to meet you.” Trent had never seen Pixie so inanimate. She didn’t move to take the hand Dred had offered. “Pix?” Trent smirked as she quickly collected herself with a shake of her head, reaching her hand out. “Sorry. Miles away. Welcome to Second Circle.” “Nice tattoo you got there, Pixie. What are those?” “Flowers,” she mumbled. What the hell was up with Pixie? They’d had famous people in the studio before. Dred laughed. “I can see that. I was curious what kind.” The phone rang and Pixie jumped all over it, effectively cutting Dred off. “Sorry,” Trent apologized. “Fortunately, we’re generally pretty busy here. Want to take a seat and we can figure out what you’re looking for?” Trent started to walk to one of the beds toward the back of the studio. “We have a setup in the room back here if you want a bit more privacy.” Realizing Dred was no longer with him, he turned to see him still staring at Pixie’s back. “Hey dude,” he whispered, “we charge extra for checking out the staff’s asses.” “What? Oh … right, yeah. How much? I’d definitely pay extra for a closer view.

You know what's weird?" David said as Stevie was lost in thought. "What's weird is making a hobby out of the death of your classmate. You know what's also weird? Going through people's rooms, including the room of your dead classmate. Because you seem crazy." People might be dismissive of someone obsessed with mystery stories, as if the line between fiction and reality was so distinct. They didn't know, perhaps, that Sherlock Holmes was based on a a real man, Dr. Joseph Bell, and that the methods Arthur Conan Doyle created for his fictional detective inspired generations of real-world detectives. Did they know that Arthur Conan Doyle went on to investigate mysteries in his real life and even absolved a man of a crime for which he had been convicted? Did they know how Agatha Christie brilliantly staged her own disappearance in order to exact an elegant revenge on a cheating husband? They probably did not. And no one was going to discount Stevie Bell, who had gotten into this school on the wings of her interest in the Ellingham case, and who had been a bystander at a death that was now looking more and more suspicious. She was not crazy. And Hayes's key was in her pocket and Pix was on her way back. Stevie turned away and left David's room without saying anything else. Because she was also not going to let him see her cry.

At the time that he had seriously begun to consolidate his organization, Parker was working in a custom photo lab. The reader who is not much taken by audiovisual pastimes may have a deficient picture of that place where Parker was employed; or perhaps not so much a deficient picture--the dyes faded, shoddily spotted, brutishly burned in and doltishly dodged by subhuman technicians under the glare of the enlargers--as an image which had been misfiled in the archives of the memory, representing instead one of those bleak Photo Drive-Ups and Presto Printses located nowadays on the corner of almost every large parking lot, in which the clerks wait sadly behind their glass counters, but no one comes in, and the air becomes darker and darker over the course of the morning as a result of exhaust fumes (there goes another brain cell; ping! - THAT thought will never be completed now); and the pink chubby tots smiling at your from the walls in sample enlargements become steadily more grimy, and by the lunch break they are brown; and the day ticks off on the loud digital clock; and then finally a car creeps into the lot, and a popeyed couple locks that vehicle doors listlessly; they request a reprint of a washed-out snapshot of their son who was killed in the Indian Wars, and they go away; and after a long time here comes a slick-haired teenager who once took a few pix of his girlfriend holding a balloon at the zoo in front of the monkey cage on a dirty overcast day, and the clerk can tell just by looking at this customer that they won’t come out, because the guy’s a loser if the clerk knows anything at all about losers and in fact he knows a hell of a lot about losers because why else would he be stuck with this job?

Ai fost vreodată atentă la dialogul tău interior? Ți-ai scris în jurnal gândurile care-ți veneau automat? S-ar putea să fii surprinsă. S-ar putea să descoperi cât de crudă și negativă este cu adevărat vocea ta interioară. Ia un pix și varsă-ți toate gândurile pe foaie. Dacă nu te poți gândi la nimic în acest moment, amintește-ți ceva negativ și lasă-ți gândurile să curgă. Observă cum vorbești despre tine și ce cuvinte folosești. S-ar putea să fii șocată de cât de severă ești cu tine însăți. Vei observa lipsa de compasiune cu sine. Am fost condiționate să credem că trebuie să exprimăm compasiune doar pentru ceilalți, rareori gândindu-ne să o îndreptăm și către sine. Poate că asociem compasiunea de sine cu aroganța, trufia sau cu narcisismul. Compasiunea nu are nicio legătură cu vreuna dintre ele. Compasiunea, la baza ei, are legătură cu înțelegerea și acceptarea de sine, fără a te judeca. Ne este ușor să avem compasiune pentru sine sau pentru ceilalți atunci când lucrurile se întâmplă așa cum ne dorim noi. Adevărata provocare este să avem compasiune atunci când lucrurile nu se întâmplă așa cum ne dorim. Ești capabilă să vezi părțile din tine care sunt mai puțin plăcute, în timp ce rămâi într-o stare de acceptare și înțelegere față de sine? Dacă da, atunci ai atins compasiunea de sine. Nu există compasiune pentru ceilalți fără compasiune pentru sine. Toată compasiunea pentru ceilalți începe și se termină cu cea pentru noi. Dacă nu ne iubim pe noi, cum am putea spera să-i iubim pe ceilalți?

Redemption Choir. Half-demons who want to be human,” I said. “So they’re the good guys.” “No,” I said. “They’re nuts, and they just kidnapped a priest. They’re the bad guys.” “Who’s AB?” “Special Agent Harmony Black. FBI agent, trying to bust Nicky Agnelli. Honest cop, as far as I know. Straight shooter.” “So she’s a good guy.” “No, because she also wants to bust everyone who Nicky’s ever done business with, including me, and Lauren Carmichael’s pulling her strings. So she’s also a bad guy.” “Who’s S?” Pixie asked. “Sitri. Demon prince.” “Definitely a bad guy.” I sighed. “No. My girlfriend works for him, and she just helped save the world.” “So let me get this straight,” Pixie said. “Some of the bad guys are bad guys, some of the bad guys are the good guys, and there aren’t any good good guys.” “That’s right.” “Hey, Faust?” “Yeah, Pix?” “You ever think,” she said, “your moral compass might be just a little bit fucked up?” “Every damn day.

The teachings of ECK define the nature of Soul. You are Soul, a particle of God sent into this world to gain spiritual experience.

Play with me , Pix. Please.

You’ll cave eventually Pix. I give good date, among other things.

I want to make you melt for me so bad it hurts … But I want to leave you as perfect as you are. I can’t help but think I’ll be bad for you, Pix.” His words were heartfelt, and she knew it was up to her to decide to take the next step. “I pick melting.

The Sugmad supplies what is necessary for each Soul as well as for every other aspect of the person. The Sugmad knows whom It has called, and Its call is based on that knowledge of the individual, of his needs as well as his gifts. But in the case of the person who has reached up to God, if he is honest and sincere with himself, it is his recognition of weakness and inadequacy which makes it posible for him to act in the strength of God. Anyone who counts his gifts and volunteers from a position of strength to do service in the name of the Living ECK Master, he would not know what obedience or holiness is about. He must, as said before, work from the position of his weakness and inadequacy. The Shariyat-Ki-Sugmad Book One & Two Chapter 6-The Records of the Kros P.356 By Paul Twitchell

Many philosophers and historians of culture have come to the conclusion that the western world is entering a new epoch of history. The changes that are sweeping the westernised cultures are similar to those which swept across it with the coming of Christianity and the onset of the Middle Ages (in the early part of the first millenium CE), or the triumph of Scientism following the Renaissance (around 1500 CE). This later development led to what we call the Modern world today. More recent changes, mainly in the 20th century, have laid the groundwork for another epochal change, another "paradigm shift." In fact worlds come to an end, and worlds are generated constantly. "Bubba theologians" who watch the skies for signs of the coming apocalypse are wasting their time grasping at shadows. In reality the apocalypse is an ongoing phenomenon. In fact we are in the midst of a major apocalyptic event at the present "moment in history." Changes which have occurred in the western world over the last half of the 20th century point to an epochal shift. One of the current names for this shift is "postmodernism." Postmodernism is characterized by freedom from the oppressive modern myth of progress- the idea that as time goes on, by applying ever increasing rationality and scientific methodology the problems of the world will universally evaporate in the light of pure reason. The Magian Tarok:The Key Linking the Mithraic, Greek, Roman, Hebrew and Runic Traditions with that of the Tarot, p.ix

«Falle vedere i sorci verdi anche per noi, Pix». E Pix, che fino ad allora Harry non aveva mai visto prendere ordini da nessuno, levò il berretto a sonagli e scattò sull'attenti mentre, fra gli applausi tumultuosi degli altri studenti, Fred e George eseguivano un'inversione di marcia e sfrecciavano fuori dal protone, verso il tramonto.

Addirittura, una settimana dopo la fuga di Fred e Gerge, Harry vide la professoressa McGranitt passare accanto a Pix che trafficava intorno a un lampadario di cristallo, e poteva giurare di averrla sentita sussurrare al poltergeist: «Si svita dall'altra parte».

TakeOne TakeTwo SceneOne SceneTwo Flix.com Fastforward NowShowing Directpix Videopix E-Flix.com NetFlix CinemaCenter WebFlix CinemaDirect NetPix

Gagiule, nu te prosti – îmi bâzîie el în urechea dreaptă, aia cu care interceptez audibilul – texticolele tale noi se adeverează tot încercări, da-ţi explodează la fix chiar la ieşire din pix. [Mec, fais pas le con – me glisse-t-il dans l'oreille droite, celle avec laquelle j'intercepte l'audible – tes texticules nouveaux s'avènèrent toujours des essais, mais explosent à pic juste à la sortie du bic.]

Finally Pix-Kyle Weaver shrugged and said, “Pm kinda interested in Vietnam.

If something feels wrong to you, it's probably because something about the energy is wrong. And because you are a sensitive person, you need to pay attention to what that means for you." -Pix

...but it became clear that anything that we did was actually just about intention. And intention is about energy. That's all that magic is." -Pix

Being so sensitive is how we know we are witches" -Pix

Being so sensitive is how we know we are witches. We're already in conversation with everything around us whether we want to be or not - people, places, animals, the time of year, time of day, the phase of the moon. We may as well figure out what to do with all of that information. Otherwise it'll just overwhelm us" -Pix

And once I stopped being scared of the way that I was feeling and started just letting myself feel, it was impossible to go back" -Pix

Yeah, I mean there's such a thing as an energy vampire, someone who lives off the energy of other people. Haven't you ever know someone like that? Where they take and don't give and just sort of exhaust people?" -Pix

I have no quarrel with the Christ, only with his priests, who call the Great Goddess a demon and deny that she ever held power in this world.

Film crew shooting Supernatural near you tonight, Crashpad texted. Attaching map & bus routes. Take lots of pix.

You'll like it here," she said. "Pix is nice." "She's an archaeologist?" "And anthropologist. She collects teeth." "Who doesn't?" he said.

Poetii ar trebui sa fie fericiti cand n-au voie sa scrie. Pentru ca unii au scris chiar si din inchisoare, folosind doar bete de chibrit, fara pix, fara hartie. Cate un bat pentru fiecare vers, altfel aranjat pentru fiecare rima.

Yeah, we took initiative,” Pix said. “That’s on our job performance review.” I leaned forward, a sense of foreboding washing over me. “What initiative?” “We kidnapped him,” Pix blurted out.