Quake 1 Quotes

The light in his eyes was like the sun rising. My knees trembled and my heart quaked. It was powerful and beautiful and perfect.

The way you move is incredible.” Ren drew me back to press against him. His fingers slid down to the curve of my hips, rocking our bodies in rhythm with the heavy bass. The sensation of being molded against the hard narrow line of his hips threatened to overwhelm me. We were hidden in the mass of people, right? The Keepers couldn’t see? I tried to steady my breath as Ren kept us locked together in the excruciatingly slow pulse of the music. I closed my eyes and leaned back into his body; his fingers kneaded my hips, caressed my stomach. God, it felt good. My lips parted and the misty veil slipped between them, playing along my tongue. The taste of flower buds about to burst into bloom filled my mouth. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to melt into Ren. The surge of desire terrified me. I had no idea if the compulsion to draw him more tightly around my body emerged from my own heart or from the succubi’s spellcraft. This couldn’t happen! I started to panic when he bent his head, pressing his lips against my neck. My eyes fluttered and I struggled to focus despite the suffocating heat that pressed down all around me. His sharpened canines traced my skin, scratching but not breaking the surface. My body quaked and I pivoted in his arms, pushing against his chest, making space between us. “I’m a fighter, not a lover,” I gasped. “You can’t be both?” His smile made my knees buckle.

Ian Gittings: The Los Angeles earthquake of October 1,1987 measured 5.9 on the Richter scale. It killed eight people, injured scores more, and left 2,200 people homeless and more than 10,000 buildings badly damaged. However, Nikki Sixx was by far the most infamous Los Angeleno to react to the quake by running out of his house butt-naked and waving a crack pipe.

Every night in my dreams, a man appeared from the darkest recesses of my mind, as if he'd been waiting for me to fall asleep. His mouth, full, masculine, would sear my flesh. His tongue, like flames across my skin, would send tiny sparks quaking through my body. Then he would dip south, and the heavens would open and a chorus singing hallelujah would ring out in perfect harmony.

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,’ said Gimli. ‘Maybe,’ said Elrond, ‘but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.’ ‘Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,’ said Gimli. ‘Or break it,’ said Elrond.

A reckoning awoke in me. The more I gave, the more he returned. We traded kisses like blows. And if this were a fight, I wouldn't know who was winning. I understood why some thought kissing one of the Wicked was addictive. Each time his tongue touched mine, it felt as if the ground beneath me quaked. Like we were a cataclysmic event that shouldn't be.

Losing a chunk of your memory is a tricky thing, a deep-sea quake triggering shifts and upheavals too far distant from the epicenter to be easily predictable.

A deity does not quake simply because the crowd yells. An empress stands fixed, immutable: the calm that continues on, even as the world rages.

Ooooh!” said Chris mockingly. “She uses my whole first name. I’m so very scared. I’m quaking in my little boots.” -Christian Lyke

He thought it was funny that she could hack a bloodthirsty demon to death, but something as natural as having a baby made her quake. Not that Kynan blamed her. He’d happily choose taking a bullet to the gut over squeezing a bowling ball out of his ass. Women were amazing.

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,' said Gimli. 'Maybe,' said Elrond, 'but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.' 'Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,' said Gimli. 'Or break it,' said Elrond.

Most people have no reason to know how memory can turn rogue and feral, becoming a force of its own and one to be reckoned with. Losing a chunk of your memory is a tricky thing, a deep-sea quake triggering shifts and upheavals too far distant from the epicenter to be easily predictable.

When I look down into this fucked-out cunt of a whore I feel the whole world beneath me, a world tottering and crumbling, a world used up and polished like a leper's skull. If there were a man who dared to say all that he thought of this world there would not be left him a square foot of ground to stand on. When a man appears the world bears down on him and breaks his back. There are always too many rotten pillars left standing, too much festering humanity for man to bloom. The superstructure is a lie and the foundation is a huge quaking fear. If at intervals of centuries there does appear a man with a desperate, hungry look in his eye, a man that would turn the world upside down in order to create a new race, the love that he brings to the world is turned to bile and he becomes a scourge. If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger than the lying, crushing weight of the world, stronger than all the racks and wheels which the cowardly invent to crush out the miracle of personality. If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces, the atoms, the indestructible elements that have gone to make up the world.

Striking a snake with a short stake is a mistake. Instead, take a long rake and break its head, if it quakes or shakes, strike again and again till it can’t wake to make trouble.

Fuck," he gasped. Alex blinked. "I think that's the first time I've heard you swear." Chills shook him and he tried to control the tremors that quaked through his body. "I c-c-class p-p-profanity with declarations of love. Best used sparingly and only when wholeheartedly m-m-meant.

Sounding hoarse, Dare whispered, "Tell me what you want." The feel of his broad, strong hand against her left her quaking inside - in a good way. The tremble sounded in her tone as she tried to explain. "I want to be whole again. I want to be me, the person I was before I was taken to Tijuana." Dare said nothing. Molly felt his hesitation, his indecision. God love the man, he didn't want to take advantage of her. "I know what I want, Dare." She covered his hand with her own, pressed him closer. "I want to replace the bad memories with new ones. Better ones." His hand curved around her, but he said nothing. Watching his face, Molly whispered, "I want to do that now, with you.

Asher,” she said, eyes closed, nuzzling his neck lovingly. “Yeah,” he finally managed, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. “You stayed alive, Asher. I think maybe you stayed alive for me.” The impact of her words made him quake in her arms, and he exhaled like the wind had been knocked out of him.

She was the type who chased, who danced into your life like a spring storm, and left you battered and quaking in the wake.

That’s not a quake. That’s my sister.

And just like that, I was caught in another moment of awe. Even the back of the man was enough to make my legs quake, but what stilled me was the stunning ink he wore

I kissed the living shit out of her as I came harder than I ever had in my life. I kissed her until neither of us could breathe. Kissed her until she was pulling at my ears to get me to let her go. Kissed her until I felt her start to shimmy and quake around my dick. Kissed her until I sent her back over the edge while I tried to get my wits and rationality back. I kissed her like I knew there were only a limited number of times she was going to let me do it, and I was going to make each one a memory.

We share a groan when I’m fully seated. She starts squeezing immediately with those goddamn muscles of hers. I gasp. “Give me a minute, baby. I need to catch my breath.” Her body quakes against mine as she laughs. “I thought you were this big strong athlete with loads of stamina and discipline.” “I practice football, not sexual Olympics,” I retort. She squeezes me again.

I come shackled with shadow, consumed with rage and fire, I’m close to breaking, the urge is quaking, raping, I’m the devil, and there’s no hope.

Does the ground frequently shake here?” I quietly asked Gabby behind me. She shook her head. “That’s not a quake. That’s my sister.

So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk.

What you seem to forget is that I'm not one of the embodiments of evil. I'm one of the embodiments of fear. That means I know what makes evil quake in the light of the sun.

And the entire country will fucking quake under our rule

They came to see Glinda the Good Witch, but after midnight, they found the Wicked Witch of the West and left quaking in fear of flying monkeys.

The Knight of Courage turns his back to you, Sigoso Vetalda,” he said, voice quaking. . . . “Damn you to the Womb of Fire.” Sigoso smiled. “I am there,” he said, “and it is paradise.

We should probably head back. You and Fi aren’t too close yet, and I don’t want you facing her wrath.” “Yeah she terrifies me. Quaking in fear over here.” He smirks at me. “I think that’s truer of a statement than you’d like it to be.” I roll my eyes and punch his arm as he walks by, but I’m smiling anyway. Unfortunately he’s kind of right. The girl is violent, what do you want from me?

His reaction to the idea was not simple. He felt a great warmth that they should want to give him a party and at the same time he quaked inwardly remembering the last one they had given. Now everything fell into place-Mack's question and the silences when he was about. He thought of it a lot that night sitting beside his desk. He glanced about considering what things would have to be locked up. He knew the party was going to cost him plenty.

I'm more dangerous than you think,' I flat-out bluster. 'So I see. I'm quaking in my boots.' The corner of his mouth rises in a mocking smile. Fucking. Asshole. I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the trunk of the tree behind him. 'You missed.' He doesn't even flinch. 'Did I?' I reach for my last two blades. 'Why don't you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?' Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it's gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference. Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don't slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears. 'Tell me again that I missed,' I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. 'Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?' An appreciative smile curves his perfect lips as shadows dance up the trunk of the oak, taking the form of fingers. They pluck the daggers from the tree and bring them to Xaden's waiting hands.

He laughs harder now, broad shoulders quaking as he crouches between my thighs. “It’s…” His tongue finds me again, tickling the underside of my shaft. “Different.” He wraps his hand around my base and closes his mouth around my cockhead, giving a slow, decadent suck. “It’s…” He sucks again, taking me deeper this time, and my cock pulses uncontrollably. He must feel it on his tongue because he groans, loudly, desperately. He lifts his head, his expression foggy with lust, cloudy with confusion.

When I got to his seat, I stood in back of his chair and waited. It took a couple of minutes before his head jerked up. He sniffed the air, then slowly turned. “Boo,” I said. He reacted as all mutts react when I confront them. He leapt from his chair and dove for the nearest exit, shaking in terror. In my dreams. He glanced at me and started looking for Clay. It never failed. Mutts only quaked when I appeared because it usually meant Clayton wasn’t far behind. I was nothing but a harbinger of doom.

The Press. -- If we consider how even to-day all great political transactions glide upon the stage secretly and stealthily; how they are hidden by unimportant events, and seem small when close at hand; how they only show their far-reaching effect, and leave the soil still quaking, long after they have taken place; -- what significance can we attach to the Press in its present position, with its daily expenditure of lung-power in order to bawl, to deafen, to excite, to terrify? Is it anything more than an everlasting false alarm, which tries to lead our ears and our wits into a false direction?

She sucked in a tremulous breath. The subsequent damage since the fatal wreck was cosmic. One celestial quake and the timeline belonging to her had imploded in the heavens like a dying star. It was like falling into oblivion, the tattered remains of her life drifting aimlessly—unanchored in a vacuum of what was and what little remained.

We should probably head back. You and Fi aren’t too close yet, and I don’t want you facing her wrath.” “Yeah she terrifies me. Quaking in fear over here.” He smirks at me. “I think that’s truer of a statement than you’d like it to be.” I roll my eyes and punch his arm as he walks by, but I’m smiling anyway. Unfortunately he’s kind of right. The girl is violent, what do you want from me?

God, you’re such a safe and powerful place to find refuge! You’re a proven help in time of trouble— more than enough and always available whenever I need you. So we will never fear even if every structure of support were to crumble away. We will not fear even when the earth quakes and shakes, moving mountains and casting them into the sea For the raging roar of stormy winds and crashing waves cannot erode our faith in you.” (Psalm 46:1–3, TPT)

What can I be thinking of? Just imagine my not having presented myself to you even yet! But as a matter of fact I do not want to tell you my name out loud; it is a romantic one, utterly inappropriate to the typically modern environment in which we now stand. Ah, if we were only on the steep side of some mountain with the moon like a great lamp above us, or by the shore of some wild ocean, there would be some glamour in proclaiming my identity in the silence of the night, or in the midst of lightning and thunder as a hurricane swept the seas! But here in a third-floor suite of the Royal Palace Hotel, surrounded by telephones and electric lights, and standing by a window overlooking the Champs Elysees-> it would be positively anachronistic!" He took a card out of his pocket and drew near the little writing desk. "Allow me, Princess, to slip my card into this drawer, left open on purpose, it would seem," and while the princess uttered a little cry she could not repress, he did just that. "And now, Princess," he went on, compelling her to retreat before him as he moved to the door of the anteroom opening on to the corridor, "you are too well bred, I am sure, not to wish to conduct your visitor to the door of your suite." His tone altered abruptly, and in a deep imperious voice that made the princess quake he ordered her: "And now, not a word, not a cry, not a movement until I am outside, or I will kill you!

Before He called me forth from the grave, Jesus wept. His was not the loud, frantic keening of the women who mourned outside my tomb. His was a sigh and a groan and a single salty tear. It was, at first, almost imperceptible, even to those standing closest to Him. But His sigh shook the universe, and the place where I was quaked. I stood in the midst of those who watched and waited for all things to be set right. Jesus groaned, and the heads of angels and saints turned to look down upon the earth in wonder. His tear trickled down his cheek, and a spring burst forth at my feet. Pure, clear water spilled from its banks and flowed down a mountainside, leaving a myriad of new stars, like flowers, blooming and rising in its wake. I remember thinking, On a clear night, constellations above the earth reflect on the still surface of the sea. But here? Only one of Jesus’ tears contains a galaxy. My eternal companions and I listened. We heard His voice echo from Bethany across the universe! He commanded, “Roll away the stone!” We all waited in anticipation for the next word from His lips. Then Jesus spoke my name: “Lazarus!” Surely He could not mean me, I thought. But all the same, I whispered, “Here I am, Lord.” Centuries have come and gone since His holy sob ripped me loose from timeless conversation with the ageless ones. Ten thousand, thousand scholars and saints have asked, “Why? What made the King of Heaven bow His head and cover His eyes and spill holy tears onto the earth? Why? Why did Jesus weep?

Many lose their paths, blinded by evolution. Addiction to power is like any other addiction; you’ll just want it more. That earthquake, ninety years ago, spared few to record it for the next generation. Humans sinned. Persistently existing in clogged colonies was their sin. The series of quakes lasted a week; each shake came in between long intervals. Oh! Those intervals! A week of despair and questions. Why did I survive? Why did fate save me and not them? Will fate save me the next time? Uncertainty—not for food or shelter, but for life. Fear of death. Fear of living alone. He was a child back then. Him and Ruem. “Win your fear, and you’ll evolve.” Their Master’s voice lulls the Monk in his mind.

Before he called me forth from the grave, Jesus wept. His was not the loud, frantic keening of the women who mourned outside my tomb. His was a sigh and a groan and a single salty tear. It was, at first, almost imperceptible, even to those standing closest to him. But his sigh shook the universe, and the place where I was quaked. I stood in the midst of those who watched and waited for all things to be set right. Jesus groaned, and the heads of angels and saints turned to look down upon the earth in wonder. His tear trickled down his cheek, and a spring burst forth at my feet. Pure, clear water spilled from its banks and flowed down a mountainside, leaving a myriad of new stars, like flowers, blooming and rising in its wake.

Her long blue sleeve was hiked past her elbow and I followed her gaze to the exposed skin. She attempted to yank her hand away, but I tightened my grip and swallowed my disgust. In all the horror-show homes I’d lived in, I never once saw mutilation like that. White and pale red, raised scars zigzagged up her arm. “What the f*ck is that?” I tore my eyes away from the scars and searched her face for answers. She sucked in several shallow gasps before yanking a second time and successfully jerking out of my grasp. “Nothing.” “That ain’t nothing.” And that something had to hurt like hell when it happened. Echo stretched her sleeve past her wrist to her fingertips. She resembled a corpse. The blood rushed out of her cheeks and her body quaked with silent tremors. “Leave me alone.” She turned away and stumbled back to the library.

The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes.  The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara’s back.  Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air.  Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace.  Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths.  A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside. Silhara called a sudden halt.  Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path.  The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously. “What’s wrong?” “You’re quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle.”  He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle.  “Get down.” She slid off Gnat’s back.  Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet.  “Here.  Wrap this around you.” She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat’s back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle.  She clutched the horse’s mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other.  Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins. “Better,” he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn’t agree more.  The blanket’s warmth and Silhara’s body heat soaked through her clothing and into her bones.  She leaned into his chest.  “This is nice.” An amused rumble vibrated near her ear.  “So glad you approve.”  His hand slipped under the blanket, wandered over her belly and cupped her breast.  Martise sucked in a breath as his fingers teased her nipple through her shawl and tunic.  The heat surrounding her turned scorching.  “I agree,” he murmured in her ear.  “This is nice.” He stopped his teasing when she squirmed hard enough in the saddle to nearly unseat them both, but left his hand on her breast, content to just hold her.  Martise was ready to toss off the blanket and her shawl.  Silhara’s touch had left her with a throbbing ache between her thighs.  She smiled a little at the feel of him hard against her back.  She wasn’t the only one affected by his teasing.

The LORD Is My Rock and My Fortress To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David,  f the servant of the LORD,  g who addressed the words of this  h song to the LORD on the day when the LORD delivered him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul. He said: PSALM 18 I love you, O LORD, my strength. 2 The LORD is my  i rock and my  j fortress and my deliverer, my God, my i rock, in k whom I take refuge, my l shield, and m the horn of my salvation, my n stronghold. 3 I call upon the LORD, who is  o worthy to be praised, and I am saved from my enemies. 4  p The cords of death encompassed me; q the torrents of destruction assailed me; [1] 5  p the cords of Sheol entangled me; the snares of death confronted me. 6  r In my distress I called upon the LORD; to my God I cried for help. From his  s temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears. 7 Then the earth  t reeled and rocked; the foundations also of the mountains trembled and quaked, because he was angry. 8 Smoke went up from his nostrils, [2] and devouring  u fire from his mouth; glowing coals flamed forth from him. 9 He v bowed the heavens and w came down;  x thick darkness was under his feet. 10 He rode on a cherub and flew; he came swiftly on  z the wings of the wind. 11 He made darkness his covering, his  a canopy around him, thick clouds b dark with water.

Alexander carried her into the house and kicked the door closed behind them. Inside was shadowy like a dream. They needed a kerosene lamp. Forgot to buy one. Tomorrow they’d have to get one in Lazarevo. “Now what?” she said, rubbing her cheek against his. “I see you’ve made the bed. Very thoughtful.” His stubble was already growing in from this morning. “I do what I can.” He carried her to the bed he had made for them above the stove, stepped onto the hearth, and set her down, opening her legs and standing between them, nuzzling his head in her chest. He lifted her dress. All Tatiana wanted to do was watch him, but desire kept gluing her eyes shut. “Aren’t you going to come up here?” she asked. “Not yet,” he said. “Lie back. Like this.” Pulling off her panties, Alexander brought her hips to his face. For a moment all Tatiana heard was his rapid breathing. Reaching down, she touched his head. “Shura?” His eyes on her, his hands on her, his breath on her were weakening her. His fingers stroked her. “All this underneath your white dress with red roses…” Alexander whispered. “Look at you…” He kissed her softly. “Tania, you are such a lovely girl.” She felt his warm, wet lips on her. His hair and stubble rubbed against the insides of her thighs. It was too much. The burn and the melt were near-instant. She was still quaking with aftershocks when Alexander climbed onto the bed, placing his soothing hand on her trembling lower stomach. “Dear God, Alexander,” she said breathlessly. “What are you doing to me?” “You’re unbelievable.” “I am?” Tatiana murmured, nudging him downward. “Please?…Again?” She glanced at him and closed her eyes when she saw his grin. “What?” She smiled herself. “Unlike you, I don’t need a rest period.” Her hands clasped his head. “Tatia…you’re very blonde…have I mentioned how much I love that?” She moaned in a whisper; his mouth, his tongue felt so tenderly, exceedingly arousing. “Oh, Shura…” “Yes?” Tatiana couldn’t ask for a moment, unable to stop her soft exultation. “What did you think the first time you saw me in this dress?” “What did I think?” She moaned. “I thought—Can you hear me?” “Oh, yes…” “I thought—” “Oh, Shura…” “If there is a God, I thought…Please someday let me make love to this girl while she wears that dress.” “Oh…” “Tatiasha…isn’t it nice to know there is a God?” “Oh, yes, Shura, yes…

Without imagination, things were only as they appeared - and that was blindness. Things were more than they appeared, so much more. When he considered an oak tree, it was not just a tree. To someone small, like an ant, it was a whole landscape of rugged barky cliffs and big green leaf-plains that quaked when the sky was restless, a place of many strange creatures where fearsome winged beasts could pluck and devour someone in a blink.

Isa. 34:4 All the host of heaven shall rot away, and the skies roll up like a scroll. All their host shall fall, as leaves fall from the vine.   Rev. 6:13-14 [An earthquake occurs] and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as the fig tree sheds its winter fruit when shaken by a gale. The sky vanished like a scroll that is being rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place.   Matt. 24:29 “The stars will fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”   Job 26:11 “The pillars of heaven tremble, and are astounded at His rebuke.   2Sam. 22:8 Then the earth reeled and rocked; the foundations of the heavens trembled and quaked.   Is. 13:13 Therefore I shall make the heavens tremble, and the earth will be shaken out of its place at the wrath of the LORD of hosts.   Joel 2:10 The earth quakes before them, the heavens tremble.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” —Psalm 46:1-3

believe

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. PSALM 46 : 1 – 3

She nods, seemingly pleased with herself. “I already knew your name. Girls scream it so loud it practically makes my bedroom wall quake in orgasm along with them.” The hell did she just say?

I didn't know,' I said. 'Didn't know about that part of the treaty.' Faeries couldn't lie- and he spoke plainly enough, no word-twisting. 'Most of you mortals have chosen to forget that part of the Treaty,' he said, 'which makes punishing you far more enjoyable.' My knees quaked. I couldn't escape this, couldn't outrun this. Couldn't even try to run, since he blocked the way to the door. 'Do it outside,' I whispered, my voice trembling. 'Not... here.' Not where my family would have to wash away my blood and gore. If he even let them live. The faerie huffed a vicious laugh. 'Willing to accept your fate so easily?' When I just stared at him, he said, 'For having the nerve to request where I slaughter you, I'll let you in on a secret, human. Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it. So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like swine, or... you can cross the wall and live out the remainder of your days in Prythian.' I blinked. 'What?' He said slowly, as if I were indeed as stupid as a swine, 'You can either die tonight or offer your life to Prythian by living in it forever, forsaking the human realm.

Quake and tremble at my majestic destructive power!” M-Bot added.

you have never seen the real thing.” His eyes got round in the telling, his voice low and full of passion. “I have seen a true Seeker make a king quake in his boots with the asking of a single question. When a real Seeker draws the Sword of Truth…” He held his hands up and rolled his eyes in delight. “Righteous anger can be an extraordinary thing to behold.” Kahlan smiled at his excitement. “It can make the good tremble with joy, and the wicked shiver in fear.” The smile left his face. “But people rarely believe the truth when they see it and less so when they don’t want to, and that makes the position of Seeker a dangerous one. He is an obstacle to those who would subvert power. He draws lightning from many sides. Most often he stands alone, and frequently not long.

I don’t want sunny days. I want the thunderstorm that makes your soul shake. I want the lightning that rips through even the darkest moments and steals your breath as it brings them to life and light. And I want the rain—the rain that drenches you and washes away your hurt, the rain that fuels you and makes you grow. I don’t want sunshine and rainbows romance. I want earth-quaking and sky-splitting love.

If he was mine, I would want his cock in my mouth all the time. I’d suck until those muscle-corded thighs quaked, till he lost control and started fucking my throat like a savage. I would tease him till he writhed and whimpered, and then I’d just stop. I’d straddle his lap and rub my aching dick against his.

The best way to be rid of quaking knees is to keep a busy mind.

Something evil dwells in this castle, something wicked enough to make the stars quake. Its malice echoes into all worlds,

It’s more like spell magick. They call them mages. They have gifts from their god, the Fate. Their magick is solarbound, like the celestials, however, so they were affected when the quake happened. The king sought them out at first too, but I don’t think there are many of them left. They’re the only ones who can spell the prized Starlight Matter into various enhancing potions.

I was once uncertain whether it was right to love you, when the whole world seemed to quake in fear of you, and a thousand voices told me what was the right thing to do. But Mado was right: In all things that matter, faith in the heart is the only measure. But our mortal hearts are small; they are limited in what they can contain. What joy did it give me to hear that a thousand men lived to glory, when my heart grieved only for the loss of my brother? What does it matter if ten thousand men think the man I care for a tyrant, as long as I see him in a different light? Our lives are too brief to worry about the judgment of others, let alone that of history.

I was once uncertain whether it was right to love you, when the whole world seemed to quake in fear of you, and a thousand voices told me what was the right thing to do. But Mado was right: In all things that matter, faith in the heart is the only measure. But our mortal hearts are small; they are limited in what they can contain. What joy did it give me to hear that a thousand men lived to glory, when my heart grieved only for the loss of my brother? What does it matter if ten thousand men think the man I care for a tyrant, as long as I see him in a different light? Our lives are too brief to worry about the judgment of others, let alone that of history. You think my embroidery trivial, and yet all the works of men must be trivial in the fullness of time. There is no need for either of us to be afraid.

The strange thing about this was that it wasn’t even a large quake for the area. The only real damage was to the three ancient temples.” Images of the ancient ruins flashed up on the screen. They were similar to others that had appeared on Onuna at the end of the Gods War. My stomach sank, and I stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the coffee table. My phone—where was my phone? “Dianna? Is everything okay?” I heard Gabby’s voice from the living room as I ran toward her bedroom. Fuck, I had to find my phone! What if Kaden had called and I’d missed it? A quake in Ecanus? It was rare, to say the least, and the temples couldn’t be a coincidence.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. Psalm 46:1–3

He doesn't know how lucky he is that I didn't come sooner to obliterate him until he was chunks of meat ground into the floor. It's only because I'm the bigger man and carry actual respect for pack hierarchy. You don't deserve disrespect, not when you're one of the most caring, intelligent, brave Omegas in the pack." He reached out tentatively to touch my cheek where tears had dampened it. His fingers were warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. "If he does a damn thing…Aria, I won't let him touch you again. We'll figure it out, okay? This isn't permanent." Without thinking about it, I leaned into him, seeking solace in his strength. He pulled me up to my feet, straightening me as I wobbled a bit. Unable to meet his concerned gaze, I swore under my breath. "Ugh, I'm a mess. I'm sorry. I just need a second." "Shh, it's no problem. You take your time. Don't worry about it or me." He wrapped his arms around me gently, pulling me close until we were chest-to-chest. I numbly wrapped my arms around his slightly squishy waist and nuzzled into him. The scent of his cologne wafted up, mingling with the earthy undertones of his natural musk. Each breath seemed like coming home. His scent was intoxicating, making my head spin with safety, comfort, joy. My nose filled with him. I had smelled him a million times, this was nothing new. But now? Something inside me unclenched, while at the same time, my cells twisted with a new emotion. Something deeper, darker, primal. An urge that unlocked inside me, twisting a sense of familiarity into something so much more. From hot tears to a cellular connection that quaked all the way down to the tips of my toes. My fingers spasmed around him. My mouth both dry and salivating as the same time. Was I losing my mind? Had I finally hit a mental breakdown?

The prophecy remains. One falls, one rises, and the end begins. It was foretold and will remain. One carved from darkness, one carved from light. The world will shudder.” I felt the room quake as Liam’s power seeped from him. “Was this all part of another godsdamned test?” “A test indeed, but to solidify the realms. That is how it is, and how it shall be. The universe needed to see, needed to know.” “Needed to know what?” The room shook once more, and the floating heads spun counterclockwise and then back. “You are running out of time, Samkiel.

I’m quaking in my boots.

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,’ said Gimli. ‘Maybe,’ said Elrond, ‘but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.’ ‘Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,’ said Gimli. ‘Or break it,’ said Elrond. ‘Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you.

Dallas latched on to the forearm of my hand curled around her throat and plastered her back against the hood of the car as I continued fucking her hard. The door behind us opened, and Jared walked in. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—” “Get the fuck out,” I roared. My demand shook the walls so hard I was surprised they hadn’t cracked. The door promptly closed. Perhaps because it was, by far, the most pleasurable experience I’d ever had, the orgasm wasn’t instant. It skulked forward, gripping each of my limbs with its claws, taking over me like a drug. I knew I’d regret what was about to happen. Yet, I could not even entertain the idea of stopping. Dallas quaked beneath me. The muscles of her thighs strained. Sliding into her hot tightness a few more times, I finally erupted inside her. It was glorious. And at the same time, felt as if someone had sucked my chest empty. I came, and I came, and I came into Dallas’s cunt. When I finally pulled out, everything between us was sticky. I peered down between her legs. My thick white cum dripped from her swollen red slit to the hood of my car. Pink flakes of blood scattered inside the cloudy, milky liquid. Panting and out of breath, I realized this marked the first time that I’d lost myself to a moment. That I’d forgotten everything. Including the fact that she was present. My gaze rode up her bruised pussy to her torso. Sometime during sex, I’d torn the top of her dress without even noticing. Red marks covered her exposed breasts. Full of scratches and bites. Her neck still bore the imprints of my fingers—how hard had I grabbed her? And though I dreaded seeing the aftermath on her face, I couldn’t stop myself. I looked up and nearly keeled over to vomit. Flushed pink cloaked her face. A single silent tear traveled down her cheek. A glossy sheen coated her hazel eyes, almost golden in their tone and empty as my chest. The corner of her lips had produced a thin line of blood. Her doing. Not mine. She’d bitten them to tamp down her pained cries. Shortbread wanted me to fuck her bareback so badly, she’d suffered through the entire ordeal. Incomparable guilt slammed into me. Bitterness hit the back of my throat. I’d taken her without considering her pleasure. Against my better judgment. And in the process, I’d ruined her first genuine experience of sex. “Sorry.” I jerked away from Dallas, shoved my dripping half-mast cock back into my pants, and zipped up. “Jesus. Fuck. I’m so—” The rest of the sentence vanished in my throat. I shook my head, still in disbelief that I’d fucked her to the point of blood and tears. Without even sparing her a glance. She sat up. That lone tear still shimmered from her cheek, somehow even worse than a loud sob. “Do you have any gum?” The perfect, even composure braided into her voice rattled me. In fact, everything about Dallas rattled me. On autopilot, I produced two pieces of gum from my tin container, forking them over to her. She tucked both into her pretty pink mouth that I would never kiss and fuck again. “Shortbread…” I stopped. An apology wouldn’t even begin to cover it. “No. It’s my time to speak.” She made no move to flee. To slap me. To call the police, her parents, her sister. My cum still dripped fat white drops through her exposed pussy. A single streak of blood smeared across the hood of my car. I stood far enough from her that I wasn’t a threat and listened.(Chapter 44)

Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his scowl fierce enough to make grown men quake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” “Alex—” “No. What the hell were you thinking? Did you think we would fuck in the kitchen while your friends are in the other room?” “If this is about Josh—” “It’s not about Josh. Not entirely.” “Then what is it?” He wanted me. I knew he did; I felt it, and I’m not just talking about the massive bulge straining his pants.

His rough-pad fingers travel down my throat, across my collarbone, down the swell of my chest, a simple caress which has me quaking inside. My flesh aches for him, burns for his touch.

He furrowed his brow, and the disinterest on his face lessened for the first time. “What?” He eyed me for a long second and took a deep breath, blowing it in my face again. I frowned at him. “Can you stop that? It’s kind of really, really strange.” He jerked, eyes widening, and took a step back, almost seeming to stumble as he whispered something in a different language, not taking his eyes off my quaking form. Drak, I should’ve kept pretending, maybe I could salvage the situation. I smirked at him, feigning unfocused eyes, and said, “I can take you to meet Syla if you’d like?” “Stop pretending.” He growled. “I can tell.” A snicker escaped. As soon as it sounded, I slapped my trembling hands over my mouth. Mistress Moons! What was wrong with me?

What You Pray Toward “The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and the image of fulfillment.” —Malcolm Muggeridge, 1966 I. Hubbie 1 used to get wholly pissed when I made myself come. I’m right here!, he’d sputter, blood popping to the surface of his fuzzed cheeks, goddamn it, I’m right here! By that time, I was in no mood to discuss the myriad merits of my pointer, or to jam the brakes on the express train slicing through my blood, It was easier to suffer the practiced professorial huff, the hissed invectives and the cold old shoulder, liver-dotted, quaking with rage. Shall we pause to bless professors and codgers and their bellowed, unquestioned ownership of things? I was sneaking time with my own body. I know I signed something over, but it wasn’t that. II. No matter how I angle this history, it’s weird, so let’s just say Bringing Up Baby was on the telly and suddenly my lips pressing against the couch cushions felt spectacular and I thought wow this is strange, what the hell, I’m 30 years old, am I dying down there is this the feel, does the cunt go to heaven first, ooh, snapped river, ooh shimmy I had never had it never knew, oh i clamored and lurched beneath my little succession of boys I cried writhed hissed, ooh wee, suffered their flat lapping and machine-gun diddling their insistent c’mon girl c’mon until I memorized the blueprint for drawing blood from their shoulders, until there was nothing left but the self-satisfied liquidy snore of he who has rocked she, he who has made she weep with script. But this, oh Cary, gee Katherine, hallelujah Baby, the fur do fly, all gush and kaboom on the wind. III. Don’t hate me because I am multiple, hurtling. As long as there is still skin on the pad of my finger, as long as I’m awake, as long as my (new) husband’s mouth holds out, I am the spinner, the unbridled, the bellowing freak. When I have emptied him, he leans back, coos, edges me along, keeps wondering count. He falls to his knees in front of it, marvels at my yelps and carousing spine, stares unflinching as I bleed spittle unto the pillows. He has married a witness. My body bucks, slave to its selfish engine, and love is the dim miracle of these little deaths, fracturing, speeding for the surface. IV. We know the record. As it taunts us, we have giggled, considered stopwatches, little laboratories. Somewhere beneath the suffering clean, swathed in eyes and silver, she came 134 times in one hour. I imagine wires holding her tight, her throat a rattling window. Searching scrubbed places for her name, I find only reams of numbers. I ask the quietest of them: V. Are we God?

One celestial quake and the timeline belonging to her had imploded in the heavens like a dying star. It was like falling into oblivion, she thought wearily, the tattered remains of her life floated—unanchored in a vacuum of what was and what little remained.

Mr. Tibble bowed his head, and Amanda was immediately sorry she’d spoken with such cool disdain. She did not like to see timid Mr. Tibble quake, but she was having a hard time controlling her displeasure. The envelope she’d let fall to her lap, standing out so glaringly white against the skirt of her black bombazine gown, might contain a letter from her deceased parents using just the sort of tender words she’d longed to hear from them

The Los Angeles earthquake of October 1, 1987, measured 5.9 on the Richter scale. It killed eight people, injured scores more, and left 2,200 people homeless and more than 10,000 buildings badly damaged. However, Nikki Sixx was by far the most infamous Los Angeleno to react to the quake by running out of his house butt-haked and waving a crack pipe.

The question arises as to whether man is reconciled to God, or God to man. There is a sense in which both occur. Since “the mind set on the flesh is hostile toward God” (Rom. 8:7), and “those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom. 8:8), reconciliation cannot take place until man is transformed. “Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come. Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ” (2 Cor. 5:17-18). There is also God’s side to reconciliation. From His holy perspective, His just wrath against sin must be appeased. Far from being the harmless, tolerant grandfather that many today imagine Him to be, God “takes vengeance on His adversaries, and He reserves wrath for His enemies” (Nah. 1:2). “At His wrath the earth quakes, and the nations cannot endure His indignation” (Jer. 10:10). The one who refuses to obey the Son will find that “the wrath of God abides on him” (John 3:36).

Just as Adaira was taking a step forward to beseech the spirits, their gathering parted to make way for one of their own to come forward. Jack saw the threads of gold in the air; he felt the rock tremble beneath him. He watched as the south, the east, and the west drew in their wings, watched the spirits quiver and bow to the one who was coming to meet Adaira. He was taller than the others. His skin was pale, as if he had forged himself from the clouds, his wings were the shade of blood, veined with silver, and his hair was long, the color of the moon. His face was beautiful, terrifying to look upon, and his eyes smoldered. A lance was in his hand; its arrowhead flickered with tendrils of lightning. A chain of stars crowned him, and the longer he stood, held by Jack’s music, the stormier the sky churned and the deeper the mountain quaked. It was Bane, king of the northern wind. A name that Jack had only heard whispered in children’s stories, in old legends that flowed with fear and reverence. Bane brought storms, death, famine. He was a wind one wanted to evade. And yet, Jack knew the answers they sought were held in his hands; he had been the one to seal the mouths of the other spirits, to keep the truth concealed from them. Bane motioned for Adaira to approach him, and Jack’s heart blazed with fear. “Come, mortal woman. You have been clever, tricking this bard into summoning me. Come and speak to me, for I have long awaited this moment.

Gandalf laughed. ‘Don’t be afraid!’ he said. ‘I did not bite, and I barked very little. So overjoyed was I by the news that I got out of him, when he stopped quaking, that I embraced the old fellow. How it had happened I could not then guess, but I learned that you had been in Bree the night before, and had gone off that morning with Strider.

I may say, without undue egotism, that when I make up my mind to do something, it is done quickly. The lethargic old city of the Popes fairly quaked under my ruthless hand during the following week.

She had always been so indomitable, with her "damn the torpedoes" spirit. She was slight and delicately made, but in her own eyes she had been invincible. Because the very idea of defeat was foreign to her, she had blithely moved through life arranging it to suit herself and accepted it as only natural that shopkeepers quaked before her wagging finger. That attitude had sometimes irritated, but more often entranced, him. The kitten thought herself a tiger, and because she acted like a tiger, other people had given way.

Dragonvale Cheatss Quake Dragon [34468] Follow the instructions: Step 1) Search Google.com For "special keygens and hacks" Step 2) Click the 1st or 2nd place result which is a Facebook Page or Pagebin Enjoy! :)

And then the screaming throngs were rushing the stage, the Den members were vaulting in over the ropes, and Lucien, his face thunderous, was heading straight to where Gareth, sporting a silly little grin, stood swaying dizzily. "Guess what, Luce ... I'm a landowner now!" He blinked as a slight form brushed past his brother and came running across the stage, skirts flying, tears streaming down her face. "Juliet?" he managed, in stunned disbelief. And as Gareth's tenuous hold on consciousness finally broke, it was she who caught him and, holding him until Lucien could pick him up and lift him over his shoulder, silently followed the brothers back across the stage to where Armageddon waited — leaving Sir Roger Foxcote, and the constable, to approach a suddenly quaking Snelling.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

hand-made quilt

When I think of Stavrogin for example, I think of some divine monster standing on a high place and flinging to us his torn bowels. In The Possessed the earth quakes: it is not the catastrophe that befalls the imaginative individual, but a cataclysm in which a large portion of humanity is buried, wiped out forever. Stavrogin was Dostoevski and Dostoevski was the sum of all those contradictions which either paralyze a man or lead him to the heights. There was no world too low for him to enter, no place too high for him to fear to ascend. He went the whole gamut, from the abyss to the starts. It is a pity that we shall never again have the opportunity to see a man placed a the very core of mystery and, by his flashes, illuminating for us the depth and immensity of the darkness.

BRANGIAN collects the sheets to wash. BRANGIAN: I shook like a leaf. He whispered, ‘Be calm, sweet one’ – But of course I could not speak. He inhaled the scent of my flesh As if he wanted to remember it. And then… and then I felt the weight of him, Oh Lord! My knees quaked, my hands trembled, My stomach turned somersaults. And – servant though I am – I did not want to leave, To slip out from under him and be replaced: Bugger duty! This morning, with rings under my eyes I took the wedding breakfast in And removed the sheets with my own blood on them. What of my wedding night? Will a queen take my place for me? Not likely. Not bloody likely. But last night it was me who was the beloved.

His books - his good books - lined two walls. None of the volumes were worth much. He was a book owner rather than a collector. He was a hoarder. That was the truth of the matter. His books added something to his existence - a sort of atmosphere. No, it was more than that. They were a barrier of sorts. They were like a concrete foundation on a house; they kept the structure of his life up out of the dirt. They kept the termites out of the sill and kept the whole place from shaking to bits when the earth quaked. Looking at them was satisfactory, even when he was in a foul mood.

Quaking, his whole body seized up in an orgasm of blazing luminance. A rapture of colors swirled across his sight and dissolved to a blowing of bright particles. His hand fell away, and he swayed on his heels, entranced in soulful absorption, listening to the silver hum of blood far back in the valleys of his brain.

He keeps his eyes on mine while he speaks, his stare is so direct it’s intimidating. It makes it seem like he wants me spread out on top of the table so he can do immoral things to me.

shoulder to where Brad lay. "That range, and the bullet just grazed Clint. A blessing, for sure." Did she hear him right? "So, he's just knocked out?" "Appears so. But, blunt force trauma can cause internal hemorrhage and damage still. We need to get him back to my clinic." The doctor glanced back at

Xavier would compare the land to his God, I knew, and His faithfulness and steadfast love. He would say how no matter what, God was always there. God had no mountains and valleys or storms and quakes. He could not erode or wash away. Eventually land would do that, I knew. But while I roamed the earth for my short life, I could rely on land to remain as it was. I could rely on God for all eternity. He never changed. He was the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And His faith never faltered, His trust never faded, and His love never failed. But what I was unsure of was whether I believed in such amazing love and faith. If I believed that Someone so great could actually forgive someone so wretched. Xavier would tell me He would, if only I let Him. Yet how I would reply to that, I knew not either.

Out of the silence came a faint voice, both familiar and loving. The voice was singing a song with words that he had never heard. Yet he knew that the words were true. And he began singing them softly as they came to him out of the silence. “Some sleep beneath the heavy earth,Some higher than the sky,All waiting for a timely birth,The Seven Sleepers lie. “The house of Goél will be filled,The earth itself will quake!The beast will be forever stilled,When Seven Sleepers wake!