Rhapsody Quotes

It doesn't have to be on Valentine's Day. It doesn't have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn't have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn't have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third date. It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirit. It just has to be.

Love doesn’t have to be on Valentine’s Day. It doesn’t have to be by the time you turn eighteen or thirty-three or fifty-nine. It doesn’t have to conform to whatever is usual. It doesn’t have to be kismet at once, or rhapsody by the third day. It just has to be. In time. In place. In spirt. It just has to be.

The real ordeal is not leaving those you love but learning to live without those who don't love you.

LITTLE DOGS RHAPSODY IN THE NIGHT (PERCY THREE) He puts his cheek against mine and makes small, expressive sounds. And when I'm awake, or awake enough he turns upside down, his four paws in the air and his eyes dark and fervent. Tell me you love me, he says. Tell me again. Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over he gets to ask it. I get to tell.

You may flunk your exams in school and still make it in life, but if you flunk life's exams, you're sunk!

Until you prevail with God, you cannot prevail with men; your victory has to be spiritual first, before it is physical.

She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, “Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die—die, sweetly die—into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit.” And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek.

Ryle Hira: Life is what it is

Describing yourself by your earthly nativity is carnality. Being born again, your nativity is of divinity.

Second, and far more important: tuck your chin. You're going to get hurt, so expect it and be ready. You may as well see it coming.

Success is causing the world around you to aspire to your inspiration.

There is nothing wrong with being poor; but there is everything wrong with remaining poor after you have discovered your riches in Christ.

Kings don't beg, they decree. They have only one destiny and that's to reign. God has made you king. Reign and rule, refuse to beg!

What you see with the eyes of faith is more real than what you see with your optical eyes.

People think that children don't know anything. It's enough to make you wonder if grownups were ever children once upon a time.

Other people look at me and think: That poor woman; she has a child with a disability. But all I see when I look at you is that girl who had memorized all the words to Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' by the time she was three, the girl who crawls into bed with me whenever there's a thunderstorm - not because you're afraid but because I am, the girl whose laugh has always vibrated inside my own body like a tuning fork. I would never have wished for an able-bodied child, because that child would have been someone who wasn't you.

Revelation without a relationship produces rebellion.

God has never made a failure; that he gave birth to you means you are a success. Success is in your DNA.

To become great, you have to be born great. If you are born again then you are the seed of Abraham. That means you have greatness in you!

The goal of the Christian is not to become like Jesus; because as He is, so are we in this world.

I know that they're all unhappy because nobody loves the right person the way they should and because they don't understand that it's really their own self that they're mad at.

Begging in the Name of Jesus is an insult to His Name. Use His Name as a king, with boldness!

As a child of God, you must realize that you are on the winning side of prophecy; until you win it is not over!

The devil has been defeated, stop trying to defeat him. What we have left is the fight of faith, and it's a good fight!

A pastor can teach you on TV, but he can't pastor you on TV. There's so much to gain by belonging to a church.

We don’t get to choose what happens to us—but we always get to choose how we react to it.

Good things don't happen to the child of God; the child of God brings forth good things out of him.

Pastries . . . can only be appreciated to the full extent of their subtlety when they are not eaten to assuage our hunger, when the orgy of their sugary sweetness is not destined to full some primary need but to coat our palate with all the benevolence of the world.

God sends you into a situation not so that He can show He is God; but rather for you to show who you are!

Oi’m always noble, sir; it’s in my blood. ’As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?

I am going to die, but that is of no importance.

At the next song switch, I hang back. I want to see this as well as be a part of it. I want to remember it for what it is. I am amazed by the love I feel for so many people. I am amazed at the randomness, the comedy, and the faith that brings us all together and makes us hold on. I open myself wide to take it all in. The scene plays out like a rhapsody.

Every problem comes along with it's solution; the bigger the problem, the bigger the testimony. Cheer up!

When you got born again your past was not erased, it became non-existent.

We have to challenge ourselves and be innovative so as to change the world. Get to this level of thinking. No small dreams, do big things!

They can’t pierce your heart unless you let them.

God's idea is for us to become the Word of God, in such a way that men can read the Word by looking at our lives.

There is no such thing as a powerful prayer; we only have powerful people praying to a powerful God.

Wine is the refined jewel that only a grown woman will prefer to the sparkling trinkets adored by little girls.

Don't panic. Panic will kill you when nothing else wants to.

Jesus gave us the victory with which He overcame Satan, and commissioned us to cast out devils in His Name.

Christ is not only a person, Christ is a place. When you come into Christ, you don't come into a person; you come into a place.

If at the age of thirty you don't know what God has called you to do; you may never know.

What is writing, no matter how lavish the pieces, if it says nothing of the truth, cares little for the heart, and is merely subservient to the pleasure of showing one's brilliance.

Violinists wear the imprint on their necks with pride For they are the players of harmony. Pilgrims, too, wear the imprint on their foreheads with pride For they are the conductors of unity. And Lovers? Why, they are made humble by the imprint on their hearts For they are merely the instruments of rhapsody.

Skip your fancy talk, Captain Lord Blackthorn. If I do your bidding, and I’m still discussing that with the Almighty, it will only be to save my arse.” Katie O'Reilly to Captain Lord Jack Blackthorn in "Titanic Rhapsody

It’s amazing how long we put up with things we detest for the sake of a quiet life.

Allo, darlin’. Oi’m so glad to see it’s love at first sight for you, too.

Though maybe that's all life ever is. Unimaginable, until it's happening to you.

I found the book, Qur'an,] in spite of "the contradictions, the absurdities, the anachronisms", "rhapsody, without connection, without order, and without art.

The clocks had nothing to do with time but were merely instruments, the clicking and ticking of silver and gold and bronze and pinchbeck arrows, a droll and slapstick rhapsody of lies.

Always has woman crouched close to earth like a partridge hen mothering her young; always has my wantonness of roving led me out on the shining ways; and always have my star paths returned me to her, the figure everlasting, the woman, the one woman, for whose arms I had such need that clasped in them I have forgotten the stars. For her I accomplished Odysseys scaled mountains crossed deserts; for her I led the hunt and was forward in battle; and for her end' to her I sang my songs of the things I had done. All ecstasies of life and rhapsodies of delight have been mine because of her. And here, at the end, I can say that I have known no sweeter, deeper madness of being than to drown in the fragrant glory and forgetfulness of her hair.

A man who farts in bed . . . is a man who loves life.

The stars and planets don’t disappear just because it’s daytime.

Sometimes... the smallest drops in the bucket make the biggest ripples.

Words: repositories for singular realities which they then transform into memories in an anthology, magicians that change the face of reality by adorning it with the right to become memorable, to be placed in a library of memories.

I was born Katie O’Reilly,” she began. “Poor Irish, but proud of it. I boarded the Titanic at Queenstown as a third class passenger with nothing more than the clothes on my back. And the law at my heels.” Titanic Rhapsody

As a Christian, you ought to be less concerned about where God is bringing you out from, rather, focus on where He's taking you to.

I work hard, but I work from a position of rest.

Bedtime stories Eventide Rhapsodies Anthologies of Memory Please enter cautiously and feel free to open what is closed

Rachmaninoff. The 18th Variation of a Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Katie shook her head in dismay. “I thought being poor was the worst thing that could happen to a girl.” “No, Katie,” the countess said in a clear voice. “The worst thing is to be in love with one man and have to marry another.” —Katie O'Reilly to the Countess of Marbury

The French are often, when it comes to wine, so formal that they border on the ridiculous.

Because art is life, playing to other rhythms.

There is only ever one afternoon, and it ends. But one afternoon can hold so much beauty and so much love.

You’re covered in blood again.” “I really am.” “Why are you always covered in blood when I wake up after being unconscious?” “Usually for the same reason you were unconscious, I think.

My love for you is immeasurable My respect for you immense You're ageless, timeless, lace and fineness You're beauty and elegance You're a rhapsody, a comedy You're a symphony and a play You're every love song ever written But honey what do you see in me? You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul

Hello, Lucy. Do you name all your weapons, Grunthor?” “O’ course. It’s tradition.” Rhapsody nodded, understanding coming into her eyes. “That makes perfect sense. Do you find that you fight better with a weapon you’ve named?” “Yep.” Her eyes began to sparkle with excitement. “Why, Grunthor, in a way, you’re a Namer, too!” The giant broke into a pleased grin. “Well, whaddaya know. Should Oi sing a lit’le song?” “No,” said Rhapsody and Achmed in unison.

The raw tomato, devoured in the garden when freshly picked, is a horn of abundance of simple sensations, a radiating rush in one's mouth that brings with it every pleasure. . . . a tomato, an adventure.

Talent consists not in inventing shapes but in causing those that were invisible to emerge.

You are not a success until you start changing other lives permanently.

Noah gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Just out of curiosity, is this the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?” “It wouldn’t be fair to rank them.” Caleb gunned the engine.

Your abilities are unlimited. Nothing is impossible for you to accomplish, because you’re sufficient in God’s sufficiency (2 Corinthians 3:5).

If it’s only a kiss you want, I can kiss you with my clothes on.” —Katie O'Reilly to Captain Lord Blackthorn

She burst into her hotel room pulling her blouse over her head with one hand while she yanked her shoes off with the other. No way was she going to face an alien invasion in heels and silk.

The brain represented the most complex organism ever to exist, and impossible to tame. Morality could not be spawned by tweaking a few genes or shutting off a few neurons. Not yet. So though humanity conquered the very stars, it remained unable to conquer the darkness within.

This is the end of an epic tale, the story of my coming of age, which, like in the novels of the same description, went from wonder to ambition, from ambition to disillusion, and from disillusion to cynicism.

The claims of contemporary art cannot be ignored in any vital scheme of life. The art of to-day is that which really belongs to us: it is our own reflection. In condemning it we but condemn ourselves. We say that the present age possesses no art:—who is responsible for this? It is indeed a shame that despite all our rhapsodies about the ancients we pay so little attention to our own possibilities. Struggling artists, weary souls lingering in the shadow of cold disdain! In our self- centered century, what inspiration do we offer them? The past may well look with pity at the poverty of our civilisation; the future will laugh at the barrenness of our art. We are destroying the beautiful in life.

Tasting is an act of pleasure, and writing about that pleasure is an artistic gesture, but the only true work of art, in the end, is another person's feast.

Your fellowship with God never came because of your righteousness. So how could your own righteousness maintain it?

Until you change a man's thinking, you cannot change his life, you cannot change his state and therefore cannot change his estate. The extent of your vision is the boundary of your blessing. How far your vision can go is how much you can possess.

...all tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into 'Best of Queen' albums. No particular demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was currently wondering who Moey and Chandon were.

The old are often forgotten. Life moves on without a care for those who wish to remain in the past. We tend to talk too much because it’s rare that we’re listened to.

Maybe that's what he reminds her of: they are both full of dark corners, odd places, possibly ghosts.

Only Chromeheads believe the Neon God is a true god.’ ‘And yet we treat Him like one, all of us. We worship His Broadcast and we pray for His Justice and sacrifice on His altar each day. When our own eyes deceive us, we make His Jurors into Apostles of Truesight, or rely on worldview-enhancers like that drug Rhapsody or the VVV Visors. Day after day, we find our every thought and action judged by kynikois we can’t see, by arbitrary rules we don’t know, in a reality we rejected. We lead empty lives and so we empty the world of all meaning.

To be a success in any field of human endeavour, whether in business, politics or in some kind of commerce, is not by accident. It must be prepared for; the future belongs to those who prepare for it. The one who fails to plan has most certainly planned to fail. That means nothing just happens. You make things happen.

I... I had a dream,’ said Mario through a pained expression, ‘that my life was not my-my-my own. That I didn’t create my own destiny. That my fate was predetermined. Amanita, you don’t think—’ ‘Shush,’ she whispered, placing a finger over his lips, ‘they might hear you...

What time is it?’ ‘Whatever time you want it to be,’ she gave him a cheeky wink. ‘Now be honest, did you ask for free will?’ ‘How did you—?’ Amanita joined Mario beneath the covers. The ethereal Threads tethering her wrists phased through the thick wool blankets like sunlight through a windowpane. ‘The bird that acknowledges its cage only ever sings of freedom,’ she said dreamily.

A terroir only exists by virtue of one's childhood mythology . . . we have invented these words of tradition rooted deep in the land and identity of a region . . . because we want to solidify and objectify the magical, bygone years that preceded the horror of becoming an adult.

Hiki Komori stirred Aurora away from the orgy and handed her a clean napkin. ‘Sorry about them. It’s the Rhapsody. To them, the real world is something akin to a cardboard reality.’ ‘Why do it at all?’ she pouted, trying to wipe her shoe with the napkin. ‘Why take the damn drug?’ ‘To escape their mortality, naturally. The great curtain call frightens them, so they avoid the applause. More so, they perform badly, spitting their lines out in spite. They are embittered and hungry and will no doubt eat your child. 'Yes, the soul of humanity will end in two days. But we’ve buried its body fifty decades before, wouldn’t you think? Come, Miss Aurora,’ he beckoned, ‘the lair of the Dragon runs deeper still.

No one was the least bit hungry anymore, but that is precisely what is so good about the moment devoted to pastries; they can only be appreciated to the full extent of their subtlety when they are not eaten to assuage our hunger, when the orgy of their sugary sweetness is not destined to fill some primary need but to coat our palate with all the benevolence of the world.

Mario blinked. His reflection did not. “That’s the odd thing about depression,” Mario reflected, “a human can survive anything, as long as they have a clear end in sight. A purpose. Take that away and they sink like pennies in mire: gently at first and then engulfed without notice by the dark waters of the bog.

Puppets and paintbrushes... Mario was well on his thousandth decapitation when it occurred to him these simple objects were mere symbolic manifestations of his deep-seated phobias: fear of failure and fear of success. The first one had stopped him from following his dream; the second had stopped the dream from following him. “To be simultaneously afraid of success and of failure is like going to bed scared and waking up terrified,” he reflected. “Your mind’s all wooden, your head’s screwed on backwards and before you know it, you’re a vermillion blotch on someone else’s canvas and the entire world is pulling your strings.

The lamp hummed: 'Regard the moon, La lune ne garde aucune rancune, She winks a feeble eye, She smiles into corners. She smoothes the hair of the grass. The moon has lost her memory. A washed-out smallpox cracks her face, Her hand twists a paper rose, That smells of dust and old Cologne, She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells That cross and cross across her brain." The reminiscence comes Of sunless dry geraniums And dust in crevices, Smells of chestnuts in the streets, And female smells in shuttered rooms, And cigarettes in corridors And cocktail smells in bars.

Old Azureus's manner of welcoming people was a silent rhapsody. Ecstatically beaming, slowly, tenderly, he would take your hand between his soft palms, hold it thus as if it were a long sought treasure or a sparrow all fluff and heart, in moist silence, peering at you the while with his beaming wrinkles rather than with his eyes, and then, very slowly, the silvery smile would start to dissolve, the tender old hands would gradually release their hold, a blank expression replace the fervent light of his pale fragile face, and he would leave you as if he had made a mistake, as if after all you were not the loved one - the loved one whom, the next moment, he would espy in another corner, and again the smile would dawn, again the hands would enfold the sparrow, again it would all dissolve.

How ironic! After decades of grub, deluges of wine and alcohol of every sort, after a life spent in butter, cream, rich sauces, and oil in constant, knowingly orchestrated and meticulously cajoled excess, my trustiest right-hand men, Sir Liver and his associate Stomach, are doing marvelously well and it is my heart that is giving out. I am dying of cardiac insufficiency. What a bitter pill to swallow.

...ingatan tak selalu apa adanya bahkan lebih sering berbeda dari kenyataan. Ingatan sering liar sendiri, mengalir ke tempat yang ia suka, mencari-cari kenyamanan dan menghindari kepedihan. Ingatan sepertinya bukan diciptakan untuk kebenaran sebab ia tak bisa menjamin ketepatan catatan dan pengkodean rangkaian peristiwa." .cover belakang.

gold light burned faintly. From his cosy window seat, Mario was tracing a frost-flower on the windowpane with an unsure finger. Were its perfectly-rendered geometric patterns a product of nature, or were they an artefact of metaphysics? Was the frost-flower to the Masters what a work of Art was to him? Did the Masters of Strings truly control every aspect of reality? The fractal flower slowly melted under Mario’s fingertip. “No work of chance here,” he bitterly thought. “This was by design.

What I really devoured . . . was the truculence of my hosts' language: the syntax may have been brutally sloppy, but it was oh so warm in its juvenile authenticity. I feasted on their words, yes, the words flowing at that get-together of country brothers, the sort of words that, at times, delight one much more than the pleasures of the flesh. Words: repositories for singular realities which they transform into moments in an anthology, magicians that change the face of reality by adorning it with the right to become memorable, to be placed in a library of memories. Life exists only by virtue of the osmosis of words and facts, where the former encase the latter in ceremonial dress.

The drug dealer leaned forward and covered his mouth conspiratorily with the back of his hand. In a voice softer than a gust of wind, he said: ‘Got some new merch, though. High tech, top of the line. Muy experimental. Packs quite the punch they say, and hits you like a brick wall, espiritualmente,’ he pushed three fingers together and planted them a kiss. ‘Real sweet. Un dragón muy poderoso.’ ‘Any... particular side-side-side-effects?’ Mario scratched his chin, thinking back on his aggresive nosebleeds. ‘Not a dicky bird,’ affirmed the dealer. ‘This stuff’s cleaner than la cocina de tu abuela. Mind you, it does call for some weird shit, no doubt about it. And you gotta watch yourself for sharp table corners and the lot, cause you WILL be tripping.