Sins And Needles Quotes

You're a bad person, Ellie," he said without a trace of irony. "I'm not bad. The world is bad and I'm just trying to survive in it.

You know how I feel about your scars. They only make you more beautiful.

I love you,” he whispered. “From now until the end, under any name you choose.

It wasn't a goodbye kiss, it was the opposite. It was the start of something that would last forever.

Do you think because you can’t see my scars that they don’t exist?... Most People have their pain deep inside them, in places no one ever goes. Not until it’s too late.

Is the gun really necessary?" "No," he admitted. "It's just fun to have one." "Like an extra penis," I mused. He smiled unkindly. "Something like that.

I can't ever lose what I just felt." He kissed my cheek. "I'm afraid if I did, I'd come looking for you too. I'm afraid I can relate...to him.

You're a con artist. A liar. A thief. An unredeemable soul. You can't be reformed. You can't be saved. You'll die trying to make the world pay for what it did to you. And you'll die alone.

He was like a caring, hulking, nerd. And I wanted him.

I cleared my throat and spoke into his kiss. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” “You should expect to hear the same thing from me in about five minutes,” he murmured. “Five minutes, huh?” “I’ll make it the best five minutes of your life.” I bit his lip, hard, then released him and looked into those intense blues. “Clock’s ticking.

I have to live with my mistakes, but I don’t have to regret them. I regret my actions but I can’t regret the consequences. We all make our own paths in life. Everyone we meet, everything we do, it changes us. It makes us who we are. And, if we’re lucky, we’re given the chance to make things right again.

I hate you, Ellie Watt," he whispered, lips coming closer to mine, "because I still love you after all these years.

I know what I know of you," he whispered into my ear, his breath hot. "And I want to know more.

If I’m a monster, then you must be the creator of them all. You’re my Dr. Frankenstein.

Spite was the fuel to right all your wrongs. And like any fuel, it could consume you.

He was like a living, breathing painting on an all-male canvas.

That is what I thought of you, Ellie. Heartless, reckless, selfish, and cruel." He was back to shooting me when my armor was down. I turned my face away from him, not wanting to let him see the hurt in my eyes. He reached up and put his fingers under my chin, bringing my face forward again, forcing me to look at him. "Beautiful, sad, wounded, and lost," he continued. "A freak, a work of art, a liar, and a lover." His gaze was starting to eat away at my insides. Razor-blade butterflies whirled in my heart. "I hate you, Ellie Watt," he whispered, lips coming closer to mine, "because I still love you after all these years.

Who was that?" he whispered. "Who?" I asked, playing dumb. "That Ellie Watt. I know the real Ellie Watt and she’s not that much of a people person." "Which Ellie do you prefer?" I asked teasingly. He stopped walking and pulled me closer to him, staring down into my eyes. "Whichever one I’ve got.

I've waited my whole life to sleep with you, Ellie Watt. I can't just pick you up from Safeway.

Do you think because you can't see my scars that they don't exist? That's the trouble with pain, Ellie. If you're lucky, you can wear it for all the world to see. Most people have their pain deep inside, in places no one ever goes. Not until it's too late.

I'm not a cop. I'm just a tattoo artist. I'm just a guy who used to be in love with a girl. I'm just a fool who's been fooled too many times before. I'm just a man who's finally getting his revenge.

Hell, if a neighbour were to stick their head out their window and see a tattooed god ramming a chick in the neighbour’s backyard all lit by romantic lights, they’d probably watch. I’d watch too.

I hope I'm always a part of you, Eden. You'll forever be a part of me. A world without you in it is a song without the music. You need both to make it whole.

He sucked in his breath as his saw me, his eyes traveling from my toes to my hips, as if he hadn't seen it all before. "Jesus," he whispered, gaze lingering everywhere. "I keep forgetting that you're art already." ...

You're not going to make me promise you something, because that's what they say in the movies, the person who never comes back.

Beautiful, sad, wounded, and lost,” he continued. “A freak, a work of art, a liar, and a lover.

We're in this together, until the ocean waves crash on our feet." "You really paint this Guatala as a paradise." "If you're there with me, it will be.

If he truly wanted me to let everything go, I’d flip over and ride him right there on the range. Screw golf, I’d screw him instead.

What happens to love when it turns to hate?

...sadness and anger aren't vampiric. If you let them, they'll follow you around the world, sunshine and stakes be damned.

I'm not bad. The world is bad and I'm just trying to survive in it.

Not that it was a crazy complicated skill, but operating an espresso machine during high traffic could be added to my repertoire along with card tricks and how to fire a Colt .45. (Quote taken from ARC, subject to change)

You can find art and beauty in everything, if you look hard enough. But your beauty is just staring you in the face.

Do you think because you can't see my scars that they don't exist?

I'd give everything to back to that moment and make things right." "Would you really? Would you go back in time and change that, if you could?" "No. No, maybe not. Because then I wouldn't have this. I wouldn't have you. I have to live with my mistakes, but I don't have to regret them. I regret my actions but I can't regret the consequences.

I love you", he whispered."From now until the end, under any name you chose".

This is all because of lies?" he asked. "This is all because of love." I told him, my lower lip trembling. "Or maybe it's all the same. Maybe it will always be the same with me!

Any date that ended with two people drinking wine near a fire also ended with a woman’s thong being thrown across the room.

That's the trouble with pain, Ellie. If you're lucky, you can wear it for all the world to see. Most people have their pain deep inside, in places no one ever goes. Not until it's too late.

My idea of vacuuming is borrowing someone's dog for the day and having them eat all the crap off the floor.

I held it in my hands like it was a baby (and, just for reference, I hold babies like they are snakes).

The greatest want of the world is the want of men—men who will not be bought or sold, men who in their inmost souls are true and honest, men who do not fear to call sin by its right name, men whose conscience is as true to duty as the needle to the pole, men who will stand for the right though the heavens fall. But such a character is not the result of accident; it is not due to special favors or endowments of Providence. A noble character is the result of self-discipline, of the subjection of the lower to the higher nature—the surrender of self for the service of love to God and man. The youth need to be impressed with the truth that their endowments are not their own. Strength, time, intellect, are but lent treasures. They belong to God, and it should be the resolve of every youth to put them to the highest use. He is a branch, from which God expects fruit; a steward, whose capital must yield increase; a light, to illuminate the world's darkness. Every youth, every child, has a work to do for the honor of God and the uplifting of humanity.

You’ll forever be a part of me. A world without you in it is a song without the music. You need both to make it whole.

Funny how a nice ass, firm pecs, and a great smile could thwart a woman’s best plans.

Revenge never felt so good.

the bum was justified in his actions because he was homeless and poor. He was allowed to beg for money because the circumstances made it acceptable. Society had shunned him and he was owed that much.

You can’t just jump into debauchery one night and expect to get the hang of it by morning. It takes years.

His mouth was a little too wide and snaked from corner to corner. His nose had been broken a few times, and when you looked at him straight on like I was doing as I stared at him across the circle bar, you could really tell. But his eyes were beautiful, cunning and otherworldly. His hair was a controlled mess; wispy dark strands that swooped across his forehead with long sideburns. He had high cheekbones, a strong jawline. When you combined all the parts, they equaled so much more than the sum. He was exotically, dangerously beautiful. He'd been mine once. He'd broken my heart once. And he was here to kill me. He only needed to do that once, too.

So does that mean you're neat and tidy, since you're a woman ?" I scrunched up my face. "Are you kidding ? I used to buy paper plates just so I wouldn't have to do the dishes. My idea of vacuuming is borrowing someone's dog for the day and having them eat all the crap off the floor.

The Red Keep was full of cats: lazy old cats dozing in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, quick little kittens with claws like needles, ladies’ cats all combed and trusting, ragged shadows prowling the midden heaps. One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel … all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.” He had run her halfway across the castle; twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor’s Walk, and then down again and through a gate and around a well and in and out of strange buildings until Arya didn’t know where she was. Now at last she had him. High walls pressed close on either side, and ahead was a blank windowless mass of stone. Quiet as a shadow, she repeated, sliding forward, light as a feather. When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went; and right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart between her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought.

She has a right to be afraid of me. Girls like that never get the karma they deserve. If she’s not careful, I’ll deliver my own karma.

Do you hear me? Is it ever time for you to understand. I meant I meant that for I never thought you could think you were low. Were lost at the moment when they cut you off. Cut your head out heart brain. It is not I know was not that but to me it was to me. Like I could have seen you in the bright of day. Like the light could have come up from the sea and take you over. Me over. Is there. Forgive that. Forgive that me that I was fallen down. That I was under the weather under the same sky and did not. Not yet. If I took. If I had taken your good right hand I might have pulled you. Up. Pulled the black sea out of us. Saw you. Left you. Is there some truth in that? I went out to the cold. Thought I'd know what to do. Bring you with me. Bring you with. Sad and sad and sad fool me slipping down. Slope hill mountainside. Muck and stones on me. On my feet and rain in my hair. I thought about it but I could not stop. Pushed it further in. Needle and syringe. This will take me out of that. Like it could. As though it might do in any way. Forgive me. Forgive me that that I didn't see. Look out my eyes. That I didn't know what I was doing though I did though I did. Oh do you love me. Can you love me. Do you love me still. My sins. My grievous. Woe my wrong. I went out to him and said do what you will if you want. If you're able will you save me from that. I put a pillow on my face on your face and I said suffocate. It could have been. It could have been that. If I chose if I didn't. If I knew what to do. I don't so by the way I'm telling you. I'm warning now what a monster I have become. Soap in my mouth my eyes my hair turning bitter at the smallest drop. Of the rain give me the rain and all that. Wash oh yes wash that's it wash away. My. Sin.

And what’s a healer’s touch like?” she asked, working quickly to push the needle through and tie off another knot, closing his wound with each stitch. “Light as a feather. Like this.” He moved his hand from her arm to her breast. His fingertips brushed the bared skin above her bodice in teasing strokes. She held herself still, beguiled by the sensation. She’d never have guessed her body would react so to a man. She should be afraid, she knew, but her only fear was that he’d stop. His touch moved down, between the stiff boning of her bodice and the soft, thin chemise, circling her nipple slowly through the cloth of her undergarment. Oh, how he made her ache. He tormented that needy skin with his nearness. She fought the urge to squirm into his touch. When he finally flicked a nail over it, a jolt of wickedness shot from her breast to her womb.

Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah, Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decesion of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending into your bosom Stupid relationship inflted in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all into pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter into the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora Into the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum-flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize Shubha Women could be treacherous even after unfolding a helpless appeareance Today it seems there is nothing so treacherous as Women and Art Now my ferocious heart is rinning towards an impossible death Vertigoes of water are coming up to my neck from the pierced earth I will die Oh what are these happening within me? I am failing to fetch out my hand and my palm From the dried sperms on my trousers spreading wings 300000 children are gliding toward the district of Shubha's bosom Millions of needles are now running from my blood into Poetry Now the smuggling of my obstinate leg is trying to plunge Into the death killer sex-wig entangled in the hypnotic kingdom of words In violent mirrors on each wall of the room I am observing After letting loose a few naked Malay, his unestablished scramblings.

The greatest want of the world is the want of men-men who will not be bought or sold; men who in their inmost souls are true and honest; men who do not fear to call sin by its right name; men whose conscience is as true to duty as the needle to the pole; men who will stand for the right though the heavens fall.

When the spirit of praise had been poured into a man he forgot what he was; he was like a cheap ugly glass made beautiful by the golden wine which filled it. Empty, he knew his ugliness. In prayer, for those as undisciplined and inexperienced as himself, there were times when one scarcely seemed the same person for five minutes together. He took grip on himself and knelt upright, clinging to his belief that one was not the same being; one was the self that one was now in all the disturbance and agitation of weakness, and the self that one would be when the compass needle had once and for all steadied to the north. His hands gripping the sides of the stall, he pronounced in words his belief that even for such as he, if he could endure to the end, eventual perfections was not only possible but certain through the grace of God, his conviction that despair was sin. The prayer of words was all he had now. The discipline of words must hold him up until the desert was crossed and the Seraph could sing again.

Nights with bright pivots, departure, matter, uniquely voice, uniquely naked each day. Upon your breasts of still current, upon your legs ofharshness and water, upon the permanence and pride of your naked hair, I want to lie, my love, the tears now cast into the raucous basket where they gather, I want to lie, my love, alone with a syllable of destroyed silver, alone with a tip of your snowy breast.   It is not now possible, at times, to win except by falling, it is not now possible, between two people, to tremble, to touch the river’s flower: man fibers come like needles, transactions, fragments, families of repulsive coral, tempests and hard passages through carpets of winter.   Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist crest, drops of when and how, indefinite traffic: between lips and lips, as if along a coast of sand and glass, the wind passes.   That is why you are endless, gather me up as if you were all solemnity, all nocturnal like a zone, until you merge with the lines of time.   Advance in sweetness, come to my side until the digital leaves of the violins have become silent, until the moss takes root in the thunder, until from the throbbing of hand and hand the roots come down.   VALS Yo toco el odio como pecho diurno, yo sin cesar, de ropa en ropa, vengo durmiendo lejos.

The temple was in a field of graves suddenly a pitiful-looking skeleton appeared and said: A melancholy autumn wind Blows through the world; the pampas grass waves As we drift to the moor, Drift to the sea. What can be done With the mind of a man That should be clear But though he is dressed up in a monk's robe, Just lets life pass him by? Such deep musings Made me uneasy, I could not sleep. Towards dawn I dozed off... I found myself surrounded by a group of skeletons, acting as they had when they were still alive. One skeleton came over to me and said: Memories Flee and Are no more. All are empty dreams Devoid of meaning. Violate the reality of things And babble about 'God' and 'the Buddha' And you will never find the true Way. Still breathing, You feel animated, So a corpse in a field Seems to be something Apart from you. If chunks of rock Can serve as a memento To the dead A better headstone Would be a simple tea-mortar. Humans are indeed frightful things. A single moon Bright and clear In an unclouded sky; Yet we still stumble In the world's darkness. This world Is but A fleeting dream So why be alarmed At its evanescence? The vagaries of life, Though painful, Teach us Not to cling To this floating world. Why do people Lavish decoration On this set of bones, Destined to disappear Without a trace? The original body Must return to Its original place. Do not search For what cannot be found. No one really knows The nature of birth Nor the true dwelling place. We return to the source And turn to dust. Many paths lead from The foot of the mountain, But at the peak We all gaze at the Single bright moon. If at the end of our journey There is no final Resting place, Then we need not fear Losing our Way. No beginning. No end. Our mind Is born and dies; The emptiness of emptiness! Relax, And the mind Runs wild; Control the world And you can cast it aside. Rain, hail, snow, and ice: All are different But when they fall They become to same water As the valley stream. The ways of proclaiming The Mind all vary, But the same heavenly truth Can be seen In each and every one. Cover your path With fallen pine needles So no one will be able To locate your True dwelling place. How vain, The endless funderals at the Cremation grounds of Mount Toribe! Don't the mourner realize That they will be next? 'Life is fleeeting!' We think at the sight Of smoke drifting from Mount Toribe, But when will we realize That we are in the same boat? All is in vain! This morning, A healthy friend; This evening, A wisp of cremation smoke. What a pity! Evening smoke from Mount Toribe Blown violently To and fro By the wind. When burned We become ashes, and earth when buried. Is it only our sins That remain behind? All the sins Committed In the Three Worlds Will fade away Together with me.

My own car, which I reluctantly called Jose,

He smelled like a million misleading memories.

I put my sins in his hands.

First, the lie of the poverty spirit has convinced many people that being poor is more spiritual and godly than being wealthy. In much of the Church, a stigma exists that says that those who have a lot of money must be sinful. The truth is, it is not what one has that makes one evil; it is what one loves that makes one evil. The Bible does not say that having money is evil, but that loving money leads to evil: “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil” (1 Tim. 6:10). This is a crucial distinction. Much of the misunderstanding on this issue stems from the story of the rich young ruler in Mark 10. This man came to Jesus, telling him of all the things he had done to please God. He then asked, “What else should I do?” In response, Jesus told him to sell everything he had and give the money to the poor. After hearing this, the young man became sorrowful and realized that he loved money more than he loved God. The Bible says he walked away sad, leaving Jesus behind. Afterward, Jesus told His disciples that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God. Jesus had identified the one thing in this young man’s life that he loved more than God—money. Because money was an idol in this man’s life, he needed to sell all in order to follow Jesus. But this is not true for all people everywhere. Many Christians have misinterpreted Jesus’ statement, thinking that it is impossible to be a Christian and be wealthy. Jesus did not say it was impossible for a rich person to be saved, only that it was more difficult. This is because when people have great riches and do not know Jesus, they have a tendency to become dependent on their financial standing and the lifestyle that their wealth provides. In order to accept Jesus, they have to make Him first in their lives.

Careless enough to let a needle of visible envy creep loose in front of Tiny. Envy implies lack, which implies want, and if someone knows what you want they can catch you. Leave the door open a crack, and all it would take is a good strong wind to blow it open. He couldn’t afford that. Not now, when he was so close to laying his sins to rest.

You’re not bad, Ellie. The world is bad and you’re just trying to survive in it.

Young men, resist sin in its beginnings. It may look small and insignificant, but mind what I say, resist it, make no compromise, and let no sin lodge quietly and undisturbed in your heart. There is nothing finer than the point of a needle, but when it has made a hole, it draws all the thread after it. Remember the apostle’s words: A little leaven leavens the whole lump (1 Corinthians 5:6).

The effect of this fear is not only to make us avoid actions that are positively sinful, but even those that may lead us into evil or endanger our virtue. These words of Job, "I feared all my works, knowing that thou didst not spare the offender" (Job 9:28), testify how deeply this sentiment was imprinted in his soul.   If we are penetrated with this salutary fear it will be manifest in our bearing when we enter God's house, and particularly in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. We shall beware of irreverently talking or gazing about us as it we were unconscious of the dread Majesty in whose temple we are.   The love of God, as we have already said, is the first source of this fear. Servile fear, however, which is the fear, not of a son, but of a slave, is, in a measure, profitable, for it introduces filial fear as the needle introduces the thread. But we shall strengthen and confirm this sentiment of holy fear by reflecting upon the incomprehensible majesty of God, the severity of His judgments, the rigor of His justice, the multitude of our sins, and particularly our resistance to divine inspirations.

Brent was her sweet, sinful addiction, and she rationalized that it was much healthier to need him than the bottle or a needle.

You could cut the pie in many different ways, but it never got any bigger. That’s why many cultures concluded that making bundles of money was sinful. As Jesus said, ‘It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God’ (Matthew 19:24). If the pie is static, and I have a big part of it, then I must have taken somebody else’s slice.