Souls Series Quotes

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I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here without committing murder or being murdered; without having ended up in the madhouse. as I drink alone again tonight my soul despite all the past agony thanks all the gods who were not there for me then.
Charles Bukowski (The People Look Like Flowers at Last)
Eastlake High makes Buffy's hellmouth look like a crack in the sidewalk.
Rachel Vincent (If I Die (Soul Screamers, #5))
Isabelle snorted. "All the boys are gay. In this truck, anyway. Well, not you , Simon." "You noticed." said Simon. "I think of myself as a freewheeling bisexual," added Magnus. "Please never say those words in front of my parents," said Alec. "Especially my father.
Cassandra Clare (City of Lost Souls (The Mortal Instruments, #5))
We were not making love, we did not even kiss, but the inexplicable intimacy we shared left us wordlessly and hopelessly locked into each other's gaze.
Jasmine Dubroff
I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one, who once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head. I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me. Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art.
Lana Del Rey
What a woman you are,” he murmured, and she heard the emotion in it, the way the Irish thickened just a bit in his voice. And saw it in those vivid eyes when he drew back. “That you would think of this. That you would do this.” He shook his head, kissed her. Like the breath, long and quiet. “I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough thanks. I can’t say what this means to me, even to you. I don’t have the words for it.” He took her hands, brought them both to his lips. “A ghra. You stagger me.” He framed her face now, touched his lips to her brow. “You’re the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.
J.D. Robb (Indulgence in Death (In Death, #31))
I said, you're the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.
J.D. Robb (Indulgence in Death (In Death, #31))
You can't just call the Praetor. It's not like 1-800-WEREWOLF.
Cassandra Clare (The Mortal Instruments, the Complete Collection (Boxed Set): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels; City of Lost Souls; City of Heavenly Fire)
Daemon kissed like he was staking a claim, but he already had me—all of me. My heart. My soul. My whole being.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Opposition (Lux, #5))
The current generation now sees everything clearly, it marvels at the errors, it laughs at the folly of its ancestors, not seeing that this chronicle is all overscored by divine fire, that every letter of it cries out, that from everywhere the piercing finger is pointed at it, at this current generation; but the current generation laughs and presumptuously, proudly begins a series of new errors, at which their descendants will also laugh afterwards.
Nikolai Gogol (Dead Souls)
My soul cried out for Ash, for his courage and determination; for the way his eyes thawed when he looked at me, as if I were the only person in the world; for that beautiful, wounded spirit I saw beneath the cold exterior he showed the world.
Julie Kagawa (The Iron Daughter (The Iron Fey, #2))
Life is a series of random collisions.
Jessica Zafra (Chicken Pox for the Soul)
Be gentle, always delicate with every soul you meet, for every single morning you wake up, there is someone Wishing, silently and secretly, that they had not.
Tyler Knott Gregson (Chasers of the Light: Poems from the Typewriter Series)
We do not remember days, Shemei, we remember moments, and the richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.
Terri Herman-Poncé (In This Life)
It's all a series of serendipities with no beginnings and no ends. Such infinitesimal possibilities Through which love transcends.
Ana Claudia Antunes (The Tao of Physical and Spiritual)
In her misery she read a great deal, and discovered that she had lost something she had previously not really know she had: a soul. What’s that? It is easy to define negatively: it is simply that which sneaks off at the mention of algebraic series.
Robert Musil (The Man Without Qualities)
That's what humanity is: a series of successes and failures, a testing of one's own nature and aptitude. Neither the body nor the soul can sustain such a state. Eventually it consumes a person
Richelle Mead (Succubus on Top (Georgina Kincaid, #2))
I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with vision of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three year down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not very popular one, who once has dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lied you head. I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiviness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obssesion for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me. Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art. LIVE FAST. DIE YOUNG. BE WILD. AND HAVE FUN. I believe in the country America used to be. I belive in the person I want to become, I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever- *I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself- I Ride. I Just Ride.* Who are you? Are you in touch with all your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them? I Have. I Am Fucking Crazy. But I Am Free.
Lana Del Rey
I don't know of a soul who doesn't maintain two separate lists of doctrines - the ones they believe they believe; and the ones that they actually try to live by.
Orson Scott Card (Shadow of the Hegemon (The Shadow Series, #2))
The three monotheism share a series of identical forms of aversion: hatred of reason and intelligence; hatred of freedom; hatred of all books in the name of one book alone; hatred of sexuality, women,and pleasure; hatred of feminine; hatred of body, of desires, of drives. Instead Judaism, Christianity, and Islam extol faith and belief, obedience and submission, taste for death and longing for the beyond, the asexual angel and chastity, virginity and monogamous love, wife and mother, soul and spirit. In other words, life crucified and nothingness exalted.
Michel Onfray (Atheist Manifesto: The Case Against Christianity, Judaism, and Islam)
Now, when their glances met, they understood one another. The power that lay within both their souls had met, and, as it were, clasped hands. They accepted one another's sacrifice. Hers, mayhap, was the more complete of the two, because for her his absence would mean weary waiting, the dull heartache so terrible to bear.
Emmuska Orczy (The Scarlet Pimpernel)
Let the soul be assured that somewhere in the universe it should rejoin its friend, and it would be content and cheerful alone for a thousand years.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (Essays, First Series)
The festival of the summer solstice speaks of love and light, of freedom and generosity of spirit. It is a beautiful time of year where vibrant flowers whisper to us with scented breath, forests and woodlands hang heavy in the summer’s heat and our souls become enchanted with midsummer magic.
Carole Carlton (Mrs Darley's Pagan Whispers: A Celebration of Pagan Festivals, Sacred Days, Spirituality and Traditions of the Year)
The mistaken and unhappy notion that a man is an enduring unity is known to you. It is also known to you that a man consists of a multitude of souls, of numerous selves. The separation of the unity of the personality into these numerous pieces passes for madness. Science has invented the name schizomania for it. Science is in this so far right as no multiplicity maybe dealt with unless there be a series, a certain order and grouping. It is wrong insofar as it holds that one only and binding lifelong order is possible for the multiplicity of subordinate selves. This error of science has many unpleasant consequences, and the single advantage of simplifying the work of the state-appointed pastors and masters and saving them the labors of original thought. In consequence of this error many persons pass for normal, and indeed for highly valuable members of society, who are incurably mad; and many, on the other hand, are looked upon as mad who are geniuses...This is the art of life. You may yourself as an artist develop the game of your life and lend it animation. You may complicate and enrich it as you please. It lies in your hands. Just as madness, in a higher sense, is the beginning of all wisdom, so is schizomania the beginning of all art and all fantasy.
Hermann Hesse (Steppenwolf)
Bloodlust – the disease that makes us the monsters we are known to be; it is what wipes away the last of our humanity.
Daniele Lanzarotta (Bloodlust (Imprinted Souls, #2))
I could not bring myself to hang up the phone or even so much as move it from my ear. The chance that I could hear his voice once again was too great a prospect.
Jasmine Dubroff
Where Destiny sets its path, Fate shall follow...:
Deborah Ann
Today, he saw the true cost of two men’s immovable wills. He saw what happened when men were forced to fight each other for months on end. It was not merely sickness of the body that plagued sieges, but sickness of the soul that turned men into monsters.
Kiersten White (Now I Rise (And I Darken Series, #2))
... I learn from my mistakes, and falling for you was by far the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
Daniele Lanzarotta (Blood Bound (Imprinted Souls, #4))
I sold my soul for a few years with my mother, and now, after everything, I don't even know if it'll be worth it. - Warner
Tahereh Mafi (Defy Me (Shatter Me, #5))
Somehow my soul remembers it all, hers doesn't.
Hope Irving (Twice upon a Time (The Black Angel Book Series, #1))
He took my hand in his. I gasped when our skin touched and looked into his eyes in a kind of shocked wonder, my eyes wide. His hand was smooth and warm, a few degrees warmer than it should be, and that heat sank into me, but it was not his heat that made me gasp. It felt like a storm resided within his skin and the moment our hands met, the storm and heat went raging through my veins, leaving my skin tingling and my heart fluttering while also making my blush deeper. It was like heat lightning, flashes of brilliance without sound that told of an impending storm. It awakened something within me, something I did not know existed, and took my breath away. I had never felt anything like it before.
Jasmine Dubroff
Change always comes with a closing cost. But it's still worth trying. Not because the odds are particularly good, mind you, but considering the alternative. There's value in the struggle. Value in touching the raw and bloody parts of our souls, opening them up to the sunlight, and hoping they heal.
Rosie Danan (The Roommate (The Shameless Series, #1))
I do not know what, in the end, makes a person who they are. If we`re all born one way, or if we only arrive there after as series of chioces. The bible claims that the wicked act on their own desires and impulses, because God is good, only good, and He would never compel a soul to wickedness. That I`m supposed to count on justice in the next life, even if I can`t have it in this one.
Alexandra Bracken (Sparks Rise (The Darkest Minds #2.5))
Electricity exploded in me, crackling and sparking all throughout my body. And I knew that he could feel it too right before his lips descended over mine.
Laura Kreitzer
Our souls are but leaves in a storm, and only the gods know where we will come to rest.
David Gemmell (Lion of Macedon (Greek Series, #1))
Beauty is Soul Deep - Beautiful Girl by Kailin Gow
Kailin Gow (Beautiful Girl: Modern Beauty and Beast (Happy Ever After Standalone Novel Series))
He wasn’t looking for a soulmate. That would require having a soul to share, and he’d sold his off long ago
Miranda Liasson (Heart and Sole (Kingston Family, #1))
To defeat a monster, you have to be twice as monstrous. To love a monster, you have to share your soul.
S.T. Abby (Mindf*ck Series (Mindf*ck, #1-5))
The Goddess spoke to all the dead. She was beloved for it. It seemed she passed on that gift to you. Oh, it taxed her immensely, but she tried to set as many to rest as she could. Sometimes it only takes one word of kindness, you know, to set a soul at ease.
Leanna Renee Hieber (The Darkly Luminous Fight for Persephone Parker (Strangely Beautiful, #2))
How do I describe the feeling that envelopes my being when he is near? It is like a cocoon of warmth and peace, but beneath that there is a deep longing, a hunger that one kiss would not be able to satisfy, one kiss would only make the hunger greater. But oh, how I long for that kiss, a kiss that might never come. Being close to him does things to me, makes me feel things I never knew existed, makes me want things I have never wanted before. I have never desired to know a man's body before I met Ariston. I wonder if he knows that I desire him in such a way, that I not only want to know his body, but that I want him to know mine. There is a part of me that would not care if he loves me or not if I could just have one beautiful, passionate night with him, while the rest of me knows that one night would never be enough.
Jasmine Dubroff
the desire for perfection is that desire which always makes every pleasure appear incomplete, for there is no joy or pleasure so great in this life that it can quench the thirst in our soul.
Stanislav Grof (The Cosmic Game: Explorations of the Frontiers of Human Consciousness (Suny Series in Transpersonal and Humanistic Psychology))
...I could feel what was left of my soul just slipping away as I fed on that girl until she was totally and completely drained.
Daniele Lanzarotta (Imprinted Souls (Imprinted Souls, #1))
A little faith will bring your soul to heaven, but a lot of faith will bring heaven to your soul.
K.C. Lynn (Men Of Honor Series Box Set (Men of Honor, #1-4))
The city seems to be a labyrinth that can be ordered. The world is an infinite series of curvatures or inflections, and the entire world is enclosed in the soul from one point of view.
Gilles Deleuze (The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque)
The rest of us, not chosen for enlightenment, left on the outside of Earth, at the mercy of a Gravity we have only begun to learn how to detect and measure, must go on blundering inside our front-brain faith in Kute Korrespondences, hoping that for each psi-synthetic taken from Earth's soul there is a molecule, secular, more or less ordinary and named, over here - kicking endlessly among the plastic trivia, finding in each Deeper Significance and trying to string them all together like terms of a power series hoping to zero in on the tremendous and secret Function whose name, like the permuted names of God, cannot be spoken... plastic saxophone reed sounds of unnatural timbre, shampoo bottle ego-image, Cracker Jack prize one-shot amusement, home appliance casing fairing for winds of cognition, baby bottles tranquilization, meat packages disguise of slaughter, dry-cleaning bags infant strangulation, garden hoses feeding endlessly the desert... but to bring them together, in their slick persistence and our preterition... to make sense out of, to find the meanest sharp sliver of truth in so much replication, so much waste... [Gravity's Rainbow, p. 590]
Thomas Pynchon
- Oscar Wilde said that we always destroy the thing we love the most. And it is true. The simple possibility of achieving that which we desire causes the soul of the common man to be filled with guilt. He looks around, and sees many others who have not succeeded, and so he thinks he does not deserve it. He forgets everything he overcame, all he suffered, everything he had to renounce in order to come this far. I know many people who, when they are within reach of their Personal Legend, make a series of silly mistakes and do not attain their objective - when it was just one step away.
Paulo Coelho (Warrior of the Light)
And through a dark night of the soul, I came to realize that salvation happens through a mysterious, indefinable, relational interaction with Jesus in which we become one with Him. I realized Christian conversion worked more like falling in love than understanding a series of concepts of ideas. This is not to say there are no true ideas, it is only to say there is something else, something beyond.
Donald Miller
Even the darkest of hearts needs a little comfort from time to time.
J.L. Vallance (Corruption of the Soul (The Guild Series, #0.5))
What he didn’t know was how to beg for her forgiveness, and at that moment, her forgiveness was what he craved the most…even more than he craved her blood.
Daniele Lanzarotta (Divine Ashes (Imprinted Souls, #3))
In ancient times a sapphire was given as an oath of trust, honesty and loyalty. Sapphire is the original “true blue,” symbolizing sincerity and the soul.
Devon Herrera (Sapphire Universe (The Universe Series, #1))
A great book feeds our soul and nourishes our spirit in a way nothing else can.
C.S. Lakin (Writing the Heart of Your Story: The Secret to Crafting an Unforgettable Novel (The Writer's Toolbox Series))
Awake my soul. Awake my spirit. Awake my desires. Awake my light. Awake my mind. Awake my hope. Awake my faith. Awake my love.
Lailah Gifty Akita
Go while you can, before she ensnares you into one of her many traps and you never escape with your soul.
Katie Cross (Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series, #1))
Marriage is not a competition. Marriage is completion of two souls.
Abhijit Naskar (Wise Mating: A Treatise on Monogamy (Humanism Series))
You carry too much hope, and it will canker in your soul like an infection.
Kiersten White (Now I Rise (And I Darken Series, #2))
I'd wondered how it was possible to magically find a soul mate in a random group of boys.
Kiera Cass (The Crown (The Selection, #5))
Usually we think a person is obligated to do something that would benefit many people, but what if that “something” is committing murder? Which is more important, doing good—or not doing wrong?
Mark D. White (Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul (The Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series Book 9))
My heart will never forget what it’s like to fade in and out of time, to never know if one year or a thousand have passed by, to torture yourself with the idea of your soul trapped behind ice for all eternity. I know what torture there is behind ice.
Beth Revis
Oscar Wilde said: 'Each man kills the thing he loves.' And it's true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. I have known a lot of people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal - when it was only a step away. This is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura about it. Renouncing joy and conquest. But if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here.
Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)
Music can transport you to another time with a couple of notes. It makes you feel the heartbreak or the love, right along with the singer. The right song speaks to your soul in a way nothing else can. It’s magic.
Cindi Madsen (Cipher (Cipher, #1))
If you have ever felt the world melt away when the woman you know is destined to be yours walks into the room; if you have felt your soul reach out to hers, finally making you feel whole; if you tremble when you touch her from sheer awe at being the one who has that right; if the darkness swallows you and you begin to suffocate at the thought of losing her, then you will have a small taste of what it is like to be bonded.
Quinn Loftis (Beyond the Veil (The Grey Wolves, #5))
There are two kinds of fears; rational and irrational - or, in simple terms, fears that make sense and fears that don't. For instance, the Baudelaire orphans have a fear of Count Olaf, which makes perfect sense, because he is an evil man who wants to destroy them. But if they were afraid of lemon meringue pie, this would be an irrational fear, because lemon meringue pie is delicious and has never hurt a soul. Being afraid of a monster under the bed is perfectly rational, because there may in fact be a monster under your bed at any time, ready to eat you all up, but a fear of realtors is an irrational fear. Realtors, as I'm sure you know, are people who assist in the buying and selling of houses. Besides occasionally wearing an ugly yellow coat, the worst a realtor can do to you is show you a house that you find ugly, and so it is completely irrational to be terrified of them.
Lemony Snicket (The Wide Window (A Series of Unfortunate Events, #3))
Lovemaking is more than sex, it's a connecting of hearts, meeting of minds, & touching of souls." ~ Dr. Scott Hensley
Pamela S. Thibodeaux (Tempered Dreams)
It’s always been you, Paige. I’ve waited my whole life for you. You’re the air I breathe, my heart and soul. Without you, I’m in hell.
Rebekkah Ford (Beyond the Eyes (Beyond the Eyes #1))
And fairy tales are make-believe. They are the stories we tell to small children to make them believe the world is a far better place than it really is.
J.L. Vallance (Deep Into the Soul (The Guild Series, #1))
Did you feel it? Did you feel the darkness in their souls and their countless evil deeds? Their fate was to die in my grasp, beneath the sting of my bite.
Demetri Bithanos from the Dragon Queen Series
He gives Himself as prize and reward: He is the refreshment of holy soul, the ransom of those in captivity.
Bernard of Clairvaux (On Loving God (Cistercian Fathers Series))
Stretch your mind to expand your soul.
Talismanist Giebra (Talismanist: Fragments of the Ancient Fire. Philosophy of Fragmentism Series.)
The most crucial thing to know about true love is that, it is not something you can find, rather you need to build it with the person in whose eyes you see your soul.
Abhijit Naskar (The Bengal Tigress: A Treatise on Gender Equality (Humanism Series))
True love is born out of the pyre of two committed souls.
Abhijit Naskar (Wise Mating: A Treatise on Monogamy (Humanism Series))
the sadness it feels in attaining any happiness less than the infinite—all these constitute the mating call of God to the soul.
Fulton J. Sheen (Three to Get Married (Catholic Insight Series))
Gifted Deirdre cast the spell that enabled our souls to eventually be reunited. She couldn't bear for us to be apart, and neither could I.
Hope Irving (Twice upon a Time (The Black Angel Book Series, #1))
Missing you is profoundly inconvenient, I’ll have you know. I have things to do and places to be, and all the while I’ll feel like I’ve mislaid a piece of my soul and I won’t get it back until I see you again. That can’t be normal.
Cat Sebastian (The Ruin of a Rake (The Turner Series, #3))
I believe in hope as an act of defiance, or rather as the foundation for an ongoing series of acts of defiance, those acts necessary to bring about some of what we hope for while we live by principle in the meantime. There is no alternative, except surrender. And surrender not only abandons the future, it abandons the soul.
Rebecca Solnit (Hope in the Dark)
Be selfish sometimes. Love yourself. If you always put others before you, you will find yourself feeling beaten down by the world and that will make you bitter. Don’t let the world make you bitter, not when you have such a beautiful soul.
Spencer Hoshino (Meteor Garden (The Magical Girl Series, #3))
I know I have no right to ask for exclusiveness beyond that point, but until then, I want to know that no other man is on your mind, in your heart or a part of your soul. When I make love to you, I want you to be mine in every way a woman can belong to a man.
Brenda Jackson (Westmoreland Series, Books 1-6)
Beauty is an illusion, created by Mother Nature to drive the human species in the path of reproduction. In reality, beauty is irrelevant to human life, especially in a relationship. What you today perceive as beautiful and special, over time, becomes not so special. That’s how the human brain works. It is not beauty that keeps a relationship alive, it is attachment. Without attachment, a naked body is merely a lifeless sex toy.
Abhijit Naskar (The Bengal Tigress: A Treatise on Gender Equality (Humanism Series))
Not even ten additional years of slavery could have done so much to throttle the thrift of the freedmen as the mismanagement and bankruptcy of the series of savings banks chartered by the Nation for their especial aid.
W.E.B. Du Bois (The Souls of Black Folk)
He looked at his watch and knew he had to get going. He wished he could spend forever staring at her, but he was not meant to have that much happiness; he never thought he deserved it. Not after spending centuries as he did.
Daniele Lanzarotta
Once the soul has left the body it had to walk across a bridge as narrow as a knife edge, with paradise on the right and, on the left, a series of circles that lead down into the darkness inside the earth. Before crossing the bridge, each person had to place all his virtues in his right hand and all his sins in his left, and the imbalance between the two meant that the person always fell towards the side to which his actions on Earth had inclined him.
Paulo Coelho (The Devil and Miss Prym)
It’s okay. I’m—” “Fine?” Joseph chimed in. “Obviously not. You need to be checked out by a doctor.” “I am a doctor.” I rolled my eyes at him, but that didn’t deter him from his train of thought. “Not that kind of doctor.” “What is ‘that kind of doctor’ going to say when they see my shimmering pink blood, Joseph?” I changed my voice to mimic one of a concerned doctor. “I’m sorry ma’am, you appear to be suffering from a mild case of Pretty Pretty Princess syndrome. Have you ingested any magical woodland faeries recently?
Laura Kreitzer
The love of money can do wicked things to one's soul.
Jules Haigler (The Color of Red)
There is no great and no small To the Soul that maketh all: And where it cometh, all things are And it cometh everywhere.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (Essays: First and Second Series)
He’d given up his mortality, his soul, for this moment, this second chance, and if she fell in love with him again, he needed to know it was real.
Lisa Kessler (Night Walker (Night, #1))
the Psalms speak to all seasons of our souls.
Tremper Longman III (How to Read the Psalms (How to Read Series))
He kissed and held her like it was the last time, but then again, he always did that, because there had always been that possibility of him losing her.
Daniele Lanzarotta
I always look to the eyes; they seem to be the one honest thing about a person.
J.L. Vallance (Deep Into the Soul (The Guild Series, #1))
You are the light to my darkness. My heart, my soul, and now my blood, will all be yours.
Lisa Kessler (Night Child (Night, #3))
Fierce midnights and famishing morrows, And the loves that complete and control All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows That wear out the soul.
Algernon Charles Swinburne (Poems & Ballads (First Series))
Negative attitudes and emotions such as hatred, disgust, or contempt are the morally correct ways to respond to wrongdoing, and therefore they are virtuous.
Mark D. White (Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul (The Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series Book 9))
But if they were afraid of lemon meringue pie, this would be an irrational fear, because lemon meringue pie is delicious and has never hurt a soul.
Lemony Snicket (The Wide Window (A Series of Unfortunate Events, #3))
Dr. Turing of Cambridge says that the soul is an illusion and that all that defines us as human beings can be reduced to a series of mechanical operations.
Neal Stephenson (Cryptonomicon)
My first kiss. One tiny, sweet, cosmic kiss. Like falling from a star, onto a cloud, and into a love song.
Tiffany FitzHenry (The Oldest Soul - Animus)
Speak peace unto the world and good souls will stand.
LaTanya L. Hill, JD, Reiki Master (Dollhead Corporation)
She hurts, and I do, too. Our hearts beat the same rhythm, and our souls are made from the same star, but her mind fights it and it ruins us both.
Paige P. Horne (Chasing Fireflies (The Chasing Series, #1))
the ends never justify the means, but rather the means must be justifiable on their own merits.
Mark D. White (Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul (The Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series Book 9))
Nothing could hide the dancing darkness of a nightmare that was soul deep.
Antoinette Turner (Alpha's Flame (Council of Wolves))
One can yearn for another after knowing flesh unity, but it is impossible to yearn for another after soul unity.
Fulton J. Sheen (Three to Get Married (Catholic Insight Series))
Some mystical concepts are an alchemical experience.
Talismanist Giebra (Talismanist: Fragments of the Ancient Fire. Philosophy of Fragmentism Series.)
It was wondrous. Almost unbelievable. Like champagne bubbles, but in her soul. She felt effervescent. And so in love.
Christine Feehan (Toxic Game (GhostWalkers, #15))
Repeated disappointment almost always triggers a series of other reactions: discouragement, anger, frustration, bitterness, resentment, even depression. Unless we learn to deal with disappointment, it will rob us of joy and poison our souls.
Billy Graham (Billy Graham in Quotes)
It makes a great difference by what path we come to a knowledge of certain things. If we begin in our youth with metaphysics and religion we can easily proceed along a series of rational conclusions that will lead us to the immortality of the soul. Not every other path will lead to this, at least not quite so easily.
Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (The Waste Books)
I don't believe in soul mates, not exactly. I think it's ridiculous to think there's only one person out there for us. What if your "soul mate" lives in Zimbabwe? What if he dies young? I also think "two souls becoming one" is ridiculous. You need to hold onto yourself. But I do believe in souls being in sync, souls that mirror each other.
Richelle Mead (Last Sacrifice (Vampire Academy, #6))
A swami may conceivably follow only the path of dry reasoning, of cold renunciation; but a yogi engages himself in a definite, step-by-step procedure by which the body and mind are disciplined and the soul gradually liberated. Taking nothing for granted on emotional grounds or by faith, a yogi practices a thoroughly tested series of exercises that were first mapped out by the ancient rishis. In every age of India, yoga has produced men who became truly free, true Yogi-Christs.
Paramahansa Yogananda (Autobiography of a Yogi (Complete Edition))
We found water. We passed into a more fertile country where were grass and fruit. We found the trail to Babylon because the soul of a free man looks at life as a series of problems to be solved and solves them, while the soul of a slave whines, 'What can I do who am but a slave?
George S. Clason (The Richest Man in Babylon)
Ah, I found you." Came a voice behind me. My heart skipped a beat as a smile spread across my face. How do I already know his voice? 'My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of thy tongue’s uttering, yet I know the sound.' I remembered the line from Romeo and Juliet. I could not forget Ariston's voice if I tried. At the sound, all thoughts of the odd occurrence faded. I turned around to see Ariston Crete walking towards me. I realized when I saw him that there was a part of my mind that had wondered if he was real, if I had not only imagined his beauty, but clearly I had not. Somehow, he is real, right down to his ancient eyes. It felt just as indescribable to look into his eyes as it had before.
Jasmine Dubroff
Hope' is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul — And sings the tune without the words — And never stops — at all — And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard — And sore must be the storm — That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm — I’ve heard it in the chillest land — And on the strangest Sea — Yet — never — in Extremity, It asked a crumb — of me.
Emily Dickinson (Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series Two)
The girl's face was the color of talcum. Her uncle's was a death mask, a bone structure overlaid by parchment. Shane's was granite, with a glistening line of sweat just below his hair line. He'd never forget this night, the detective knew, no matter what else happened for the rest of his life. They were all getting scars on their souls, the sort of scars people got in the Dark Ages, when they believed in devils and black magic. ("Speak To Me Of Death")
Cornell Woolrich (The Fantastic Stories of Cornell Woolrich (Alternatives SF Series))
Each soul path is a divine unique fingerprint and its existence adds to the beautiful tapestry of the cosmos. "Life is a series of defining moments, cross roads and gateways as each door closes and new ones open. Always and in all ways follow the heartbeat of your own soul which is the pathfilled with light and love.
Jan Porter (Soul Skin, spiritual fiction by; Jan Porter: a spirited shaman's journey)
But I flinched midturn when, from behind, a hand, blazing hot, wrapped tightly around my upper arm. A voice I knew better than my own spoke quietly into my ear from the other side of the silk hood. “Would you think me such a fool that you could be here, in this city, this building, this room and me not know about it?” I swallowed, frozen. I couldn’t turn to face him. I couldn’t lift my head. Even my soul was stunned.
Jessica Shirvington (Empower (The Embrace Series, #5))
The smell of books soothed his soul like nothing else could. The store was his haven, his refuge, and most importantly, it was safe. Here he could go anywhere in the world, explore the seas, scale mountains, travel through time and space or fall in love.
Sheri Lyn (Safe Haven (Safe Haven Series Book 1))
Love is...freeing. Love is all encompassing; it has the power to save us from unimaginable forces of darkness. All we have to do is accept it, give it, live it.
J.L. Vallance (Corruption of the Soul (The Guild Series, #0.5))
I'm about to cross a line with you...a line there will be no hope of me ever returning from. And I'm terrified because the thought of you excites me.
J.L. Vallance (Corruption of the Soul (The Guild Series, #0.5))
The Middleman: "So what's it going to be? Keep the secret or death?" Wendy Watson: "What do you think?" The Middleman: "Ma'am specificity is the soul of all good communication.
Javier Grillo-Marxuach (The Middleman: The Collected Series Indispensability)
Come on, it is a guest bedroom! If you want your guests to feel at home, they should be allowed to do whatever they do at home!
Daniele Lanzarotta
You are my star in this dark, dark world that we inhabit.
Misty Daniel (The Angel Chronicles: The Fallen: In Search of Souls)
But each soul is unique, each grows at its own pace, and that's how it must be...a bit at a time.
Jennifer DeLucy (Circle of Light (Light, #3))
Yeah, sorry for not being all Betty Bad Ass; fighting isn't exactly a requirement for jazz singers.
J.L. Vallance (Revelations of the Soul (The Guild Series, #2))
We are all connected to spirit, in our physical manifestation and our soul.
Linda Masanimptewa
...there are a series of enlightenments, each taking you closer to your soul, to wholeness,” replied Star.
Shradhdha. S (The Stone and the Shadow)
Can somebody tell me what kind of a world we live in, where a man dressed up as a bat gets all of my press? This town needs an enema! —The Joker, from the 1989 movie Batman
Mark D. White (Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul (The Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series Book 9))
They say the eyes are windows to the soul and in that moment, it was true.
Tara Sue Me (The Enticement: The Submissive Series)
She smiled. “I don’t think your body is up for sex.” He glanced at the bulge in his pants and back to her. “I think parts of my body are.
Lisa Kessler (Song of the Soul (Muse Chronicles #7))
Are you certain she's the one?" Emme whispered. "Do you just know it, Vittorio?" In your soul, where you live, do you just know?
Christine Feehan (Shadow Warrior (Shadow Riders, #4))
She was inside him, wrapped around his organs. His heart. Maybe his damn soul if he had one. He let himself smile. She was there.She wasn't going anyplace
Christine Feehan (Vendetta Road (Torpedo Ink #3))
Our souls are salt-water cured. - Liz Talbot, Lowcountry Boil.
Susan M. Boyer (Lowcountry Boil (A Liz Talbot Mystery, #1))
Righteousness is the natural and essential food of the soul, which can no more be satisfied by earthly treasures than the hunger of the body can be satisfied by air. If you should see a starving man standing with mouth open to the wind, inhaling draughts of air as if in hope of gratifying his hunger, you would think him lunatic. But it is no less foolish to imagine that the soul can be satisfied with worldly things which only inflate it without feeding it.
Bernard of Clairvaux (On Loving God (Cistercian Fathers Series))
It is contrition and faith and love that enable the soul to receive wisdom from heaven. Faith working by love is the key of knowledge, and everyone that loveth “knoweth God.” 1 John 4:7.
Ellen Gould White (The Desire of Ages (Conflict of the Ages Series))
The present generation sees everything clearly, marvels at the errors and laughs at the follies of its forefathers, not seeing that there are streaks of heavenly light in that history, that every letter in it cries aloud to them, that on all sides a pointing finger is turned upon it, upon the present generation. But the present generation laughs and proudly, self-confidently, enters upon a series of fresh errors at which their descendants will laugh again in their turn.
Nikolai Gogol (Dead Souls - Full Version (Annotated) (Literary Classics Collection Book 84))
Patches don’t look it, but when attached to your soul they can get pretty heavy. They go over the holes in your soul, like when you patch a sock. When you have a hole in your soul, it’s because you’re hurting from something. I don’t know if you noticed, but that girl had a lot of holes.
Nathan Reese Maher (Lights Out: Book 2)
To have a twin in Death was to share an unyielding and apathetic soul. Sleep survived Death's apathy only by virtue of his nature; endless intervals of sleep regenerated a bond that in any other instance would have been destroyed entirely—dispersing their elements into the Void; a god's true death.
Eva Vanrell (The Butterfly Crest (The Protogenoi Series, #1))
There, the sublime, unreachable mysteries of the Universe are haggled over by poor finite minds who cannot call their lives their own. There, nation wars against nation, creed against creed, soul against soul. Alas, fated planet! how soon shalt thou be extinct, and thy place shall know thee no more!
Marie Corelli (Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22))
In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails. We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater?
Clarissa Pinkola Estés (Quotes From Clarissa Pinkola Estés' Women Who Run With The Wolves: Great Non-Fiction Books Quotation Series)
Beauty is irrelevant to human life, especially in a relationship. What you today perceive as beautiful and special, over time, becomes not so special. That’s how the human brain works. It is not beauty that keeps a relationship alive, it is attachment. Without attachment, a naked body is merely a lifeless sex toy.
Abhijit Naskar (The Bengal Tigress: A Treatise on Gender Equality (Humanism Series))
The main evidence of maturity in the Christian life is a growing love for God and for God’s people, as well as a love for lost souls. It has well been said that love is the “circulatory system” of the body of Christ.
Warren W. Wiersbe (Be Wise: 1 Corinthians: Discern the Difference Between Man's Knowledge and God's Wisdom (The BE Series Commentary))
The God who is ever uttering himself in the changeful profusions of nature; who takes millions of years to form a soul that shall understand him and be blessed; who never needs to be, and never is, in haste; who welcomes the simplest thought of truth or beauty as the return for seed he has sown upon the old fallows of eternity, who rejoices in the response of a faltering moment to the age-long cry of his wisdom in the streets; the God of music, of painting, of building, the Lord of Hosts, the God of mountains and oceans; whose laws go forth from one unseen point of wisdom, and thither return without an atom of loss; the God of history working in time unto christianity; this God is the God of little children, and he alone can be perfectly, abandonedly simple and devoted.
George MacDonald (Unspoken Sermons: Series I, Ii, Iii)
How can you love me if you don’t even know me?” He lifted my arms around his neck and placed his hands on the small of my back. “I know you, Jade. You’re witty and stubborn, like when you wanted to get rid of me at the bar in San Diego. And you’re sweet and caring, like when you talked to my mother at the hospital. And you can drink like a sailor. ” He chuckled. “And you hardly ever blush, but when you do it’s like the sunshine.” Then, he whispered in my ear with a husky voice, “And you make love with your soul.” Peter gave my earlobe a quick nibble. “I couldn’t care less about energy. It might have brought us together, but I only care about you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you; no matter if it’ll be ten or ten thousand.” Despite myself, I felt my eyes burn from tears I wasn’t ready to shed. Still, I couldn’t say it. “Peter...” I kissed him with all the tenderness I found in my heart and said, “the tub is about to spill.” “Oh, shit.” He jerked away from me, turned the water off and unplugged the tub, then hugged me again with wet hands. “All we need is time, Jade. You’ll see this love is real.
Denyse Cohen (Witch's Soulmate)
...To trust in the strength of God in our weakness; to say, ‘I am weak: so let me be: God is strong;’ to seek from him who is our life, as the natural, simple cure of all that is amiss with us, power to do, and be, and live, even when we are weary,—this is the victory that overcometh the world. To believe in God our strength in the face of all seeming denial, to believe in him out of the heart of weakness and unbelief, in spite of numbness and weariness and lethargy; to believe in the wide-awake real, through all the stupefying, enervating, distorting dream; to will to wake, when the very being seems athirst for a godless repose;—these are the broken steps up to the high fields where repose is but a form of strength, strength but a form of joy, joy but a form of love. ‘I am weak,’ says the true soul, ‘but not so weak that I would not be strong; not so sleepy that I would not see the sun rise; not so lame but that I would walk! Thanks be to him who perfects strength in weakness, and gives to his beloved while they sleep!
George MacDonald (Unspoken Sermons, Third Series (Sunrise Centenary Edition))
To the multitude, and afterward more fully to His disciples, Jesus explained that defilement comes not from without, but from within. Purity and impurity pertain to the soul. It is the evil deed, the evil word, the evil thought, the
Ellen Gould White (The Desire of Ages (Conflict of the Ages Series))
I moved closer as I dragged myself through the frozen bracken. “Who’s coming?” My voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind. “Your Angels,” he replied breathily right before he crumpled to the ground in a great heap. My body went into sensory overload. I was hurt, angry, broken, sad, terrified, and . . . hopeful. He said my Angels were coming.
Laura Kreitzer
I think I finally understand the saying like a moth to a flame. I’m the moth. My heart flutters like the paper thin wings. And he is the flame, incendiary, scorching my soul. He inhales so heavily, like he’s been holding his breath under water. He presses his lips against mine and tugs at my hair gently. My head falls back and my mouth falls open. His tongue, slick as silver, dances with mine. I’m wrong. I’m not a moth. I’m Icarus and I’ve flown too close to the sun.
Elden Dare (Born Wicked (The Wicked Sorcer Series #1))
Life for Alex is colorless and meaningless. She’s not interested in reading books, food just doesn’t taste good, work is a haze of fog, people are just faces without souls, and life has been essentially just a series of meaningless events.
Alexia Praks (His Hired Girlfriend (Kiwi Bride #1))
If I weren't so screwed up, I would've sold my soul a long time ago for a handsome man who made me feel pretty or who could at least treat me to a Millionaire's Martini. Instead I lingered over a watered down Sparkling Apple and felt sorry about what I was about to do to the blue-eyed bartender standing in front of me. Although I shouldn’t, after all, I am a bail recovery agent. It's my job to get my skip, no matter the cost.If I weren't so screwed up, I would've sold my soul a long time ago for a handsome man who made me feel pretty or who could at least treat me to a Millionaire's Martini. Instead I lingered over a watered down Sparkling Apple and felt sorry about what I was about to do to the blue-eyed bartender standing in front of me. Although I shouldn't, after all, I am a bail recovery agent. It's my job to get my skip, no matter the cost. Yet, I had been wondering lately. What was this job costing me? Yet, I had been wondering lately. What was this job costing me?
Miranda Parker (A Good Excuse to Be Bad (Angel Crawford Series, #1))
I’d often wished we had a cool story about when our relationship transitioned from that of tolerating each other to discovering we were two halves of one soul. But the truth is Thea and I evolved much like the seasons: slow, steady, and unstoppable.
Aly Martinez (Release (Release #1))
Arnold Palmer once said, “Golf is deceptively simple and endlessly complicated; it satisfies the soul and frustrates the intellect. It is at the same time rewarding and maddening—and it is without a doubt the greatest game mankind has ever invented.”1
Robert A. Fiacco (Showing Up to Play: Business & Life Lessons Learned on the Golf Course (Better Work & Life Series Book 1))
I do not say we are called upon to dispute and defend the truth with logic and argument, but we are called upon to show by our lives that we stand on the side of truth. But when i say truth, I do not mean opinion. To treat opinion as if that were truth is grievously to wrong the truth. The soul that loves the truth and tries to be true will know when to speak and when to be silent.
George MacDonald (Unspoken Sermons: Series I, II, III)
He leaned in and kissed her. The world didn’t stop dead on its axis. Nothing fell from the sky. It was a gentle meeting of flesh, not a melding of souls. Yet the taste of her lips was everything he remembered, and more. Without moving a muscle—without batting an eyelash—she managed to take ten years of simmering frustration and dissolve them as if they were nothing more than a spoonful of sugar in a pot of hot water. He straightened. A series of expressions tripped across her face in rapid succession. He caught shellshock, bemusement, and then a faint trace of…sadness. Definitely not one-sided. But not what he’d been looking for, either.
Paula Altenburg (Her Secret Love (Secrets of Cherry Lake, #3))
the extent we function and grow within the context of our own souls (a lifetime project) and abet the emergence of our own selves (by a willingness to face life's challenges and oneself), our spirituality and our tradition will spring naturally from our being.
Edwin H. Friedman (Generation to Generation: Family Process in Church and Synagogue (The Guilford Family Therapy Series))
Trust the creative process. Trust the process of your life. Remember, you are the greatest work of art yourself. Don’t hold back from life’s challenges for fear of failure or you will miss out on life, itself. You are a walking, breathing mass of possibilities and potential.
Donna Goddard (Writing: A Spiritual Voice (The Creative Spirit Series, #2))
When God “chooses” a person for His purposes, He does so according to the person’s heart! The person must have a loyal heart full of trust and faith. God must have a person who loves Him “with all [the] heart, with all [the] soul, and with all [the] strength” (Deut. 6:5; Matt. 22:37).
Henry T. Blackaby (Created to Be God's Friend: How God Shapes Those He Loves (Biblical Legacy Series))
The Angel of Death took the woman's frail hand. "Don't be afraid." she said. "Life is your past. Death, on the other hand, is your soul preparing for a new beginning. A brand new adventure, if you like." An excerpt from Paradox - Equilibrium. Book 4 in the Paradox series (release date 2013)
Patti Roberts
The masculine scents of tobacco, spice and a hint of grapefruit hit her nostrils and affected her like she's dropped into a Godiva factory. What was he wearing ? Reminded her of the bonding scent vampires threw off when they met their soul mates in her fave series, The Black Dagger Brotherhood.
Jennifer Probst (Searching for Someday (Searching For, #1))
Somehow I managed to pull back enough to confess, “I’m not sure it will work. I don’t know if I can ever be okay again. You need to know what you might be signing up for. My soul…the coldness…it might be too late. It—” He put a finger over my lips, silencing me. “How about you let me worry about that? You might be able to do a lot of extraordinary things. But, baby”—he smiled knowingly—“I was made for you, and I’m about to find all the little pieces. I’m going to search your entire body. Every. Single. Inch.” His smile grew just as my heart started to seize. “And I’m going to build the world a queen.” And then he set about doing just that.
Jessica Shirvington (Empower (The Embrace Series, #5))
What a complicated, delicate business it was going to be to love him. We were the stuff of fairy tales-- vampires, witches, knights in shining armour. But there was a troubling reality to face. I had been threatened, and creatures watched me in the Bodleian in hopes I'd recall a book that everyone wanted but no one understood. Mathew's laboratory had been targeted. And our relationship was destabilizing the fragile détente that had long existed among daemons, humans, vampires, and witches.
Deborah Harkness (A Discovery of Witches (All Souls Trilogy, #1))
I'm stronger today," I said, hoping that by saying the words out loud it would make them true. I leaned across the sink, resting my palms against the mirror's surface. My reflection fogged over. As I began to disappear, I wiped the steam from the mirror, just like I'd temporarily wiped away all the ugliness that stained my soul.
Linda Oaks (Chasing Rainbows (The Chasing Series #1))
His lips met mine again, this time in a slow, soft caress, conveying everything he had just said in those beautiful words that had reached my very soul. I could have drowned in that kiss. I could have lived there for eternity. It filled me up with everything I needed to survive. He gave me life through his lips and I treasured it.
Nicola Claire
Open your eyes,” he says, his lips so dangerously close. His chest quivering against mine. I open my eyes. “I want you to see my love. I want you to taste it. To feel it all the way to your soul, so you’ll never ever doubt it. Never question what I feel for you. Never lean on three words that can’t even touch what I feel for you.” I
Candace Knoebel (Evernight (The Night Watchmen Series Book 2))
the fourth obstacle: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives. Oscar Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” And it’s true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. I have known a lot of people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal—when it was only a step away. This is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura about it: renouncing joy and conquest. But if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here.
Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)
Their bodies continued to move together as one, making rhythmic love to each other slowly and thoroughly. And with each thrust, each deliberate movement, the air around them grew thicker, the bind connecting them grew stronger, and their blossoming love grew richer, reaching the depths of their very souls." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance
Madison Thorne Grey (Sustenance (Gwarda Warriors 2))
No one is born a sinner, but since a human is a magnet for sin, as we grow, we fill our heart and soul with an immeasurable number of sins that we don’t even recognize. If, like us, God started to punish us for our sins and showed His wrath, I don’t think any of us would survive. But He is the most compassionate being, Who delays our impending punishments and overlooks the sins which we commit in our daily lives. Lies, false behavior, betrayal, breaking hearts, we commit these sins on an almost daily basis, and we never give a thought to the fact that if He starts to hold each of us accountable for our sins, then we would all be living in Hell." -- A Prayer Heeded: A Prayer Series II
Samreen Ahsan (A Prayer Heeded (A Prayer Series #2))
Start working on your child’s mind. Start building your child’s character. Raise your child as a human being, instead of raising boys and girls. Raise human beings with the religion of love in their hearts. Raise human beings with the language of compassion on their lips. Raise human beings with the color of joy on their face. Raise human beings with the force of bravery in their nerves. And these brave conscientious souls with the flames of compassion in their hearts shall one day change the course of human history.
Abhijit Naskar (The Bengal Tigress: A Treatise on Gender Equality (Humanism Series))
For another moment, she watched Hatcher, relaxed looking despite the bounce of the tractor. Yearning filled her soul. She didn’t want a man just to have a man. But she ached to share with someone. Be able to reveal her deepest feelings without fear of ridicule or condemnation. Hatcher, with his quiet patience, had allowed her that if only for brief periods.
Linda Ford (The Road to Love (Depression Series, #1))
it’s quite common for the Old Soul to experience what many people would refer to as “new age phenomena.” These vast and varied experiences range from sensations as commonplace as experiencing vivid and repeated déjà vu to other sensations as complex as precognition – the foreseeing of an event or series of events in a dream which later transpire in real life.
Aletheia Luna (Old Souls: The Sages and Mystics of Our World.)
I've only ever met two people who sensed the true nature of my soul and, at least a little bit, were able to understand who I really am. They’re both extraordinary individuals, and their emotional support at particular times of my life played major roles in my ability to survive those hard times. That’s why they are undoubtedly special to me, and always will be.
Sahara Sanders (INDIGO DIARIES: A Series of Novels)
There's a series of sculptures there by Michelangelo that you should see. They are called The Captives. Out of a great formless mass of stone, the figures of slaves emerge: heads, shoulders, torsos, straining toward freedom but still held fast in the stone. There are souls like that, Reyes. There are souls that try to carve themselves from their own formlessness.
Mary Doria Russell
... and when it seemed as though the mists were hiding a fathomless abyss, Lipa and her mother who were born in poverty and prepared to live so till the end, giving up to others everything except their frightened, gentle souls, may have fancied for a minute perhaps that in the vast, mysterious world, among the endless series of lives, they, too, counted for something...
Anton Chekhov (The Witch and Other Stories)
He taught all to look upon themselves as endowed with precious talents, which if rightly employed would secure for them eternal riches. He weeded all vanity from life, and by His own example taught that every moment of time is fraught with eternal results; that it is to be cherished as a treasure, and to be employed for holy purposes. He passed by no human being as worthless, but sought to apply the saving remedy to every soul. In whatever company He found Himself, He presented a lesson that was appropriate to the time and the circumstances. He sought to inspire with hope the most rough and unpromising, setting before them the assurance that they might become blameless and harmless, attaining such a character as would make them manifest as the children of God. Often He met those who had drifted under Satan’s control, and who had no power to break from his snare. To such a one, discouraged, sick, tempted, and fallen, Jesus would speak words of tenderest pity, words that were needed and could be understood.
Ellen Gould White (The Desire of Ages (Conflict of the Ages Series))
But Wilson was ahead of the curve. Long before the first octopus-enrichment handbook was published, many octopuses ago, he set out to create a safe toy worthy of an octopus’s intellect. Working at his lab at Arthur D. Little Corp., Wilson devised a series of three clear Plexiglas cubes with different locks. The smallest of the three has a sliding latch that twists to lock down, like the bolt on a horse’s stall. You can put a live crab—a favorite food—inside and leave the lid unlocked. The octopus will lift the lid. When you lock the lid, invariably the octopus will figure out how to open it. Then it’s time to deploy the second cube. This one has a latch that slides counterclockwise to catch on a bracket. You put the crab in the first box and then lock it inside the second box. The octopus will figure it out. And finally, there’s a third cube. This one has two different latches: a bolt that slides into position to lock down, and a second one with a lever arm, sealing the lid much like an old-fashioned canning jar closes. Bill told me that once the octopus “gets it,” the animal can open all four locks in three or four minutes.
Sy Montgomery (The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness)
Let us accept the possibility that there is, at death, not an abrupt cessation of energy, rather a dispersal. This seems more than reasonable to me. Mind you, I've owned a series of old cars, and I"m used to turning off the motor only to experience a series of rumblings and explosions that would shame many a volcano. This is the sort of thing I'm conceptualizing, a kind of clunky running-on. And just as some cars are more susceptible to this behavior, so people vary in the length of time, and the force with which, their energy sputters and gasps. . . My example is overly dramatic, but it is not wholly unreasonable, and it serves to make this genetic mutation a player at the evolutionary table. You see what I'm getting at: a biologically and evolutionally sound model for the soul. (I didn't say I'd achieved it.) Let's conceive of the soul as an aura that human beings wear on their backs, cumberson as a tortoise's carapace. Some are larger than others.
Paul Quarrington (The Boy on the Back of the Turtle: Seeking God, Quince Marmalade, and the Fabled Albatross on Darwin's Islands)
Imagine that a trolley car is going down a track. Further down the track are five people who do not hear the trolley and who will not be able to get out of the way. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough time to stop the trolley before it hits and kills them. The only way to avoid killing these five people is to switch the trolley to another track. But, unfortunately, there is one person standing on that track, also too close for the trolley to stop before killing him. Now imagine that there is a bystander standing by the track switch who must make a choice: do nothing, which leads to the death of the five people on the current track, or act to divert the trolley to the other track, which leads to the death of the single person.
Mark D. White (Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul (The Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture Series Book 9))
Did you know that Sylvester Stallone’s script for the movie “Rocky” was rejected over 70 times? Jack Canfield’s and Mark Victor Hansen’s “Chicken Soup for the Soul” was rejected a 130 times and that Canfield was actually laughed at when he said that he wanted to sell 1 million books. His editor told him he‘d be lucky to sell 20,000. Well, the first book “Chicken Soup for the Soul” sold 8 million copies, the whole series about 500 million! Even J.K. Rowlings’ “Harry Potter” was rejected 12 times!
Marc Reklau (30 Days- Change your habits, Change your life)
Alessandro gathered her into his arms and flipped her over so that she was on top of him, her blonde hair falling over him like a gold curtain. The strands tickled his face as she righted herself over him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as he pushed up inside of her, and Alessandro reached up, bringing her mouth down, wanting to taste that swollen lip. Her breath wafted over his face, and he grabbed her hips, pulling her down as he pushed up deeper, wanting to fill her to her very soul.
E. Jamie (The Vendetta (Blood Vows, #1))
C.S. Lewis in his book The Screwtape Letters in a series of messages from a devil named Screwtape to his nephew, a junior demon Wormwood training in the world, has Screwtape offering the following advice in order to draw a Christian away from God: "Talk to him about moderation in all things. If you can once get him to the point of thinking that religion is all very well up to a point. you can feel quite happy about his soul. A moderated religion is as good for us as no religion at all-and more amusing.
C.S. Lewis (The Screwtape Letters)
One person cannot change the world. But one person can strike terror into multitudes. —Robert Evans Any demon is capable of cruelty, but only an angel is majestic enough to rain down vengeance for the innocent. —Marcus Evans Little eyes see. Little eyes learn. Be a good example for all the little eyes watching you. They’re everywhere. —Jasmine Evans The wicked can fake nobility, just as the damned can fake innocence. But only the truth will rise from the ashes when we all start to burn. —Victoria Evans A wise man knows when the war is lost, and will understand retreat is the only way to save lives. A foolish man will condemn all his followers to death because of his pride. —Robert Evans If hatred didn’t exist, love wouldn’t either, for one is formed by the other. I love and hate this town. —Marcus Evans I believe the souls of the wrongfully persecuted often haunt our world, bringing the same grief they feel from beyond the grave. —Jasmine Evans Never mock or harm the passionate, for they are the fiercest with their wrath. —Victoria Evans
S.T. Abby (Mindf*ck Series (Mindf*ck, #1-5))
He hadn’t been able to help himself, couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing her even if he’d tried. Fighting with her was a million times better than dreaming, and the fight had conjured his soul to act, to kiss her. And that kiss was nothing like anything he had ever experienced before. He knew if he would die then, he’d die a happy man because it meant he’d savor her forever, relish her passion among his. She’d tasted so sweet, like the sweetest fruit or the sweetest dessert. Her lips were heaven on his, his heaven on Earth.
J.L. Sheppard (Burdened by Desire (Elemental Sisters, #2))
Water temperatures in this range do, in fact, cause physiological changes—one of which is known as the cold-shock response, a “series of reflexes that begin immediately upon sudden cooling of the skin following cold-water immersion.” During this reflexive response, “blood pressure, heart rate, and the workload of the heart all increase, making the heart more susceptible to life-threatening rhythms and heart attack. Simultaneously,” an online text explained, “gasping begins, followed by rapid and deep breathing. These reflexes can quickly lead to accidental inhalation of water and drowning. This rapid and seemingly uncontrollable over-breathing creates a sensation of suffocation and contributes to feelings of panic. It can also create dizziness, confusion, disorientation, and a decreased level of consciousness.
Sy Montgomery (The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness)
Faye tilted her head slightly. “When was your first kill?” Winston met her stare for a long while, then exhaled. “I was nineteen, fighting a war I probably shouldn’t have been fighting, but it’s not like I knew that at the time.” “Mm. Did you regret it?” Winston grinned, but she could see the dark edges to it. “What? You think I come from some tragic backstory, blondie? That I’m a broken little boy who kills to fill that hole inside of my chest where my soul used to be? Nah. This ain’t one of them stories. I can’t dance or roll my tongue, but I can kill people pretty good. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at and when I lay my head down at night, I sleep like a baby. I don’t see their faces. Never have. Probably never will.” A chill spilled through her. The matter-of-fact nature of his confession scared her more than almost anything else she’d ever heard him say.
Kyoko M. (Of Claws and Inferno)
There is so much silence all around that I think I can hear moonlight crashing against the windows. A foreign voice awakes inside my breast, singing a longing which is not my own. They say that ancestors, who died before their time, with young blood in their veins, with great passions in their blood, with living sun in passions, return, return to live inside us their unspent lives. There is so much silence all around that I think I can hear moonlight crashing against the windows. Oh, who knows, my soul -in whose breast you too will sing, in centur- ies to come, on sweet strings of silence on a harp of darkness, your smothered longing and your broken joy of life? Who knows? Who knows?
Lucian Blaga (Poems of Light (Interbellum Series Book 1))
Be a part of the world, but never in it.... Because of what we do, we have to interact with people. But we must be unseen shadows who move among them. Never let anyone know you. Never give them a chance to realize you don't age. Move through the darkness ever watchful, ever alert. We are all that stands between the humans and slavery. Without us, they all die and their souls are lost forever. Our responsibilities are great. Our battles numerous and legendary. But at the end of the night, you go home alone where no one knows what it is you have done to save the world that fears you. You can never bask in your glory. You can never know love or family. We are Dark-Hunters. We are forever powerful. We are forever alone.
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Night Embrace (Dark-Hunter, #2))
If TV sitcoms idealized the American suburbs of the 1960s, the works of the artistic elite disparaged them ceaselessly, then and now. The songs of Pete Seeger, novels like Revolutionary Road, the stories of John Cheever, movies like Pleasantville and American Beauty, television series like Mad Men: in all of them, that long-ago land of lawns and houses is depicted as a country of stultifying conformity and cultural emptiness, sexual hypocrisy, alcoholism, and spiritual despair. Privilege murders the senses there, the creatives tell us. Gender roles strangle freedom. Family life turns the heart of adventure to ashes. There’s bigotry and gossip and dangerous liaisons behind every closed door. Oh, the soul, the human soul! In the suburbs of fiction, she is forever dying. But
Andrew Klavan (The Great Good Thing: A Secular Jew Comes to Faith in Christ)
In the quantum view a person is a constellation of relationships, inner and outer: the degree of one’s relationships extends throughout space-time and endures in those who live on. Belief in the resurrection of Jesus undergirds the fact that life creates the universe, not the other way around. Space and time are not absolute; rather, they are “tools” of our mind to help organize our world. Death and immortality exist in a world without spatial or linear boundaries. Every act of physical death is an act of new life in the universe. The resurrection of Jesus reveals to us new cosmic life. Death is not the end; our bodies do not become dust, while the soul goes to heaven. Rather, through the lens of quantum physics, we now realize that death is the collapse of our “particle” aspect of life into the “wave” dimension of our relatedness. While
Ilia Delio (Making All Things New: Catholicity, Cosmology, Consciousness (Catholicity in an Evolving Universe Series))
This seat taken?" My eyes grazing over the only other occupant, a guy with long glossy dark hair with his head bent over a book. "It's all yours," he says. And when he lifts his head and smiles,my heart just about leaps from my chest. It's the boy from my dreams. The boy from the Rabbit Hole,the gas station,and the cave-sitting before me with those same amazing,icy-blue eues, those same alluring lips I've kissed multiple times-but only in slumber, never in waking life. I scold my heart to settle,but it doesn't obey. I admonish myself to sit,to act normal, casual-and I just barely succeed. Stealing a series of surreptitious looks as I search through my backpack, taking in his square chin,wide generous lips,strong brow,defined cheekbones, and smooth brown skin-the exact same features as Cade. "You're the new girl,right?" He abandons his book,tilting his head in a way that causes his hair to stream over his shoulder,so glossy and inviting it takes all of my will not to lean across the table and touch it. I nod in reply,or at least I think I do.I can't be too sure.I'm too stricken by his gaze-the way it mirrors mine-trying to determine if he knows me, recognizes me,if he's surprised to find me here.Wishing Paloma had better prepared me-focused more on him and less on his brother. I force my gaze from his.Bang my knee hard against the table as I swivel in my seat.Feeling so odd and unsettled,I wish I'd picked another place to sit, though it's pretty clear no other table would have me. He buries his smile and returns to the book.Allowing a few minutes to pass,not nearly enough time for me to get a grip on myself,when he looks up and says, "Are you staring at me because you've seen my doppelganer roaming the halls,playing king of the cafeteria? Or because you need to borrow a pencil and you're too shy to ask?" I clear the lump from my throat, push the words past my lips when I say, "No one's ever accused me of being shy." A statement that,while steeped in truth, stands at direct odds with the way I feel now,sitting so close to him. "So I guess it's your twin-or doppelganer,as you say." I keep my voice light, as though I'm not at all affected by his presence,but the trill note at the end gives me away.Every part of me now vibrating with the most intense surge of energy-like I've been plugged into the wall and switched on-and it's all I can do to keep from grabbing hold of his shirt, demanding to know if he dreamed the dreams too. He nods,allowing an easy,cool smile to widen his lips. "We're identical," he says. "As I'm sure you've guessed. Though it's easy enough to tell us apart. For one thing,he keeps his hair short.For another-" "The eyes-" I blurt,regretting the words the instant they're out.From the look on his face,he has no idea what I'm talking about. "Yours are...kinder." My cheeks burn so hot I force myself to look away,as words of reproach stampede my brain. Why am I acting like such an inept loser? Why do I insist on embarrassing myself-in front of him-of all people? I have to pull it together.I have to remember who I am-what I am-and what I was born to do.Which is basically to crush him and his kind-or,at the very least,to temper the damage they do.
Alyson Noel (Fated (Soul Seekers, #1))
Like here it was that I entered that stage when a child overcomes naivite enough to realize an adult's emotional reaction as somethimes freakish for its inconsistencies, so can, on his own reasoning canvas, paint those early pale colors of judgement, resulting from initial moments of ability to critically examine life's perplexities, in tentative little brain-engine stirrings, before they faded to quickly join that train of remembered experience carrying signals indicating existence which itself far outweighs traction effort by thinking's soon slipping drivers to effectively resist any slack-action advantage, for starting so necessitates continual cuts on the hauler - performed as if governed lifelong by the tagwork of a student-green foreman who, crushed under on rushing time always building against his excessive load of emotional contents, is forever a lost ball in the high weeds of personal developments - until, with ever changing emphasis through a whole series of grades of consciousness (leading up from root-beginnings of obscure childish inconscious soul within a world), early lack - for what child sustains logic? - reaches a point of late fossilization, resultant of repeated wrong moves in endless switching of dark significances crammed inside the cranium, where, through such hindering habits, there no longer is the flexibility for thought transfer and unloading of dead freight that a standard gauge would afford and thus, as Faustian Destiny dictates, is an inept mink, limited, being in existence firmly tracked just above the constant "T" biased ballast supporting wherever space yearnings lead the worn rails of civilized comprehension, so henceforth is restricted to mere pickups and setouts of drab distortion, while traveling wearily along its familiar Western Thinking right-of-way. But choo-choo nonsense aside, ...
Neal Cassady (The First Third)
And now, dear Emma, I'll show you just what you have to be wary of," he said, and his head moved down, blotting out the light. This was no slow, sensuous caress of mouth and lip. This was no chaste salute, nor was it the wet awkwardness of an untried boy or a randy old man. He opened his mouth over hers and kissed her, using his tongue, his teeth, and all the clever weapons he had in his arsenal. She told herself she was being kissed by a practiced rake. She told herself it meant nothing, it was a trick, an act, a small skill that anyone could acquire. She told herself that as her body trembled and melted beneath him, as her mouth opened to his skillful insistence. She told herself it meant absolutely nothing as his tongue pushed into her mouth, and the moan that came from deep inside her had to be one of displeasure, didn't it? It wasn't one kiss, it was twenty, it was a long series of unending kisses, leading one into another, so that she barely had time to begin to regain her sanity when he stripped it away once more. He kissed her eyelids, the side of her mouth, the beating pulse at the base of her neck. He kissed her nose and her chin, he bit her earlobe, and then he covered her mouth once more, kissing her with a devastating thoroughness that had her damp and trembling in his arms. His hands were on her petticoats, slowly drawing them up her long legs, and her hips cradled him. He was hard against her, she belatedly recognized that fact, and the knowledge panicked her.e wanted her, his body wanted to claim hers, and there was no way she could stop him. No way, God help her, that she wanted to stop him. He broke the kiss, rising up over her as she lay on the bed, staring down at her with a hooded expression in his eyes. His mouth was wet from hers, and his breathing was slightly labored. It would have been the only sign of his arousal, had it not been for the heat pressing against her hips. "Do you want me, Emma?" he murmured, his voice low and insistent. "You don't have to say a word. Just put your mouth against mine." Oh, God, she did want him, as terrifying as that notion was. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, and she felt a dark burning deep inside her that she knew only he could assuage. She wanted his mouth, she wanted his heart, she wanted his soul.
Anne Stuart (To Love a Dark Lord)
Ancient tradition has a saying: 'The infinitely distant is the return.' Among the maxims of Zen that point in the same direction is the statement that the 'great revelation,' acquired through a series of mental and spiritual crises, consists in the recognition that 'no one and nothing 'extraordinary' exists in the beyond'; only the real exists. Reality is, however, lived in a state in which 'there is no subject of the experience nor any object that is experienced,' and under the sign of a type of absolute presence, 'the immanent making itself transcendent and the transcendent immanent.' The teaching is that at the point at which one seeks the Way, one finds oneself further from it, the same being valid for the perfection and 'realization' of the self. The cedar in the courtyard, a cloud casting its shadow on the hills, falling rain, a flower in bloom, the monotonous sound of waves: all these 'natural' and banal facts can suggest absolute illumination, the satori. As mere facts they are without meaning, finality, or intention, but as such they have an absolute meaning. Reality appears this way, in the pure state of 'things being as they are.' The moral counterpart is indicated in sayings such as: 'The pure and immaculate ascetic does not enter nirvana, and the monk who breaks the rules does not go to hell,' or: 'You have no liberation to seek from bonds, because you have never been bound.
Julius Evola (Ride the Tiger: A Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul)
Not a single family finds itself exempt from that one haunted casualty who suffered irreparable damage in the crucible they entered at birth. Where some children can emerge from conditions of soul-killing abuse and manage to make their lives into something of worth and value, others can’t limp away from the hurts and gleanings time decanted for them in flawed beakers of memory. They carry the family cross up the hill toward Calvary and don’t mind letting every other member of their aggrieved tribe in on the source of their suffering. There is one crazy that belongs to each of us: the brother who kills the spirit of any room he enters; the sister who’s a drug addict in her teens and marries a series of psychopaths, always making sure she bears their children, who carry their genes of madness to the grave. There’s the neurotic mother who’s so demanding that the sound of her voice over the phone can cause instant nausea in her daughters. The variations are endless and fascinating. I’ve never attended a family reunion where I was not warned of a Venus flytrap holding court among the older women, or a pitcher plant glistening with drops of sweet poison trying to sell his version of the family maelstrom to his young male cousins. When the stories begin rolling out, as they always do, one learns of feuds that seem unbrokerable, or sexual abuse that darkens each tale with its intimation of ruin. That uncle hates that aunt and that cousin hates your mother and your sister won’t talk to your brother because of something he said to a date she later married and then divorced. In every room I enter I can sniff out unhappiness and rancor like a snake smelling the nest of a wren with its tongue. Without even realizing it, I pick up associations of distemper and aggravation. As far as I can tell, every family produces its solitary misfit, its psychotic mirror image of all the ghosts summoned out of the small or large hells of childhood, the spiller of the apple cart, the jack of spades, the black-hearted knight, the shit stirrer, the sibling with the uncontrollable tongue, the father brutal by habit, the uncle who tried to feel up his nieces, the aunt too neurotic ever to leave home. Talk to me all you want about happy families, but let me loose at a wedding or a funeral and I’ll bring you back the family crazy. They’re that easy to find.
Pat Conroy (The Death of Santini: The Story of a Father and His Son)
Like a great waterwheel, the liturgical year goes on relentlessly irrigating our souls, softening the ground of our hearts, nourishing the soil of our lives until the seed of the Word of God itself begins to grow in us, comes to fruit in us, ripens in us the spiritual journey of a lifetime. So goes the liturgical year through all the days of our lives. /it concentrates us on the two great poles of the faith - the birth and death of Jesus of Nazareth. But as Christmas and Easter trace the life of Jesus for us from beginning to end, the liturgical year does even more: it also challenges our own life and vision and sense of meaning. Both a guide to greater spiritual maturity and a path to a deepened spiritual life, the liturgical year leads us through all the great questions of faith as it goes. It rehearses the dimensions of life over and over for us all the years of our days. It leads us back again and again to reflect on the great moments of the life of Jesus and so to apply them to our own ... As the liturgical year goes on every day of our lives, every season of every year, tracing the steps of Jesus from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, so does our own life move back and forth between our own beginnings and endings, between our own struggles and triumphs, between the rush of acclamation and the crush of abandonment. It is the link between Jesus and me, between this life and the next, between me and the world around me, that is the gift of the liturgical year. The meaning and message of the liturgical year is the bedrock on which we strike our own life's direction. Rooted in the Resurrection promise of the liturgical year, whatever the weight of our own pressures, we maintain the course. We trust in the future we cannot see and do only know because we have celebrated the death and resurrection of Jesus year after year. In His life we rest our own. ― Joan D. Chittister, The Liturgical Year: The Spiraling Adventure of the Spiritual Life - The Ancient Practices Series
Joan D. Chittister (The Liturgical Year: The Spiraling Adventure of the Spiritual Life - The Ancient Practices Series)
The blessings of salvation are for every soul. Nothing but his own choice can prevent any man from becoming a partaker of the promise in Christ by the gospel. Caste is hateful to God. He ignores everything of this character. In His sight the souls of all men are of equal value. He “hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation; that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after Him, and find Him, though He be not far from every one of us.” Without distinction of age, or rank, or nationality, or religious privilege, all are invited to come unto Him and live. “Whosoever believeth on Him shall not be ashamed. For there is no difference.” “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free.” “The rich and poor meet together: the Lord is the Maker of them all.” “The same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him. For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” Acts 17:26, 27;
Ellen Gould White (The Desire of Ages (Conflict of the Ages Series))
We live in an age of universal inquiry, ergo of universal scepticism. The prophecies of the poet, the dreams of the philosopher and scientist, are being daily realized — things formerly considered mere fairy-tales have become facts — yet, in spite of the marvels of learning and science that are hourly accomplished among us, the attitude of mankind is one of disbelief. “There is no God!” cries one theorist; “or if there be one, I can obtain no proof of His existence!” “There is no Creator!” exclaims another. “The Universe is simply a rushing together of atoms.” “There can be no immortality,” asserts a third. “We are but dust, and to dust we shall return.” “What is called by idealists the SOUL,” argues another, “is simply the vital principle composed of heat and air, which escapes from the body at death, and mingles again with its native element. A candle when lit emits flame; blow out the light, the flame vanishes — where? Would it not be madness to assert the flame immortal? Yet the soul, or vital principle of human existence, is no more than the flame of a candle.
Marie Corelli (Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22))
What, then, can Shakespearean tragedy, on this brief view, tell us about human time in an eternal world? It offers imagery of crisis, of futures equivocally offered, by prediction and by action, as actualities; as a confrontation of human time with other orders, and the disastrous attempt to impose limited designs upon the time of the world. What emerges from Hamlet is--after much futile, illusory action--the need of patience and readiness. The 'bloody period' of Othello is the end of a life ruined by unseasonable curiosity. The millennial ending of Macbeth, the broken apocalypse of Lear, are false endings, human periods in an eternal world. They are researches into death in an age too late for apocalypse, too critical for prophecy; an age more aware that its fictions are themselves models of the human design on the world. But it was still an age which felt the human need for ends consonant with the past, the kind of end Othello tries to achieve by his final speech; complete, concordant. As usual, Shakespeare allows him his tock; but he will not pretend that the clock does not go forward. The human perpetuity which Spenser set against our imagery of the end is represented here also by the kingly announcements of Malcolm, the election of Fortinbras, the bleak resolution of Edgar. In apocalypse there are two orders of time, and the earthly runs to a stop; the cry of woe to the inhabitants of the earth means the end of their time; henceforth 'time shall be no more.' In tragedy the cry of woe does not end succession; the great crises and ends of human life do not stop time. And if we want them to serve our needs as we stand in the middest we must give them patterns, understood relations as Macbeth calls them, that defy time. The concords of past, present, and future towards which the soul extends itself are out of time, and belong to the duration which was invented for angels when it seemed difficult to deny that the world in which men suffer their ends is dissonant in being eternal. To close that great gap we use fictions of complementarity. They may now be novels or philosophical poems, as they once were tragedies, and before that, angels. What the gap looked like in more modern times, and how more modern men have closed it, is the preoccupation of the second half of this series.
Frank Kermode (The Sense of an Ending: Studies in the Theory of Fiction)
Liber Novus thus presents a series of active imaginations together with Jung's attempt to understand their significance. This work of understanding encompasses a number of interlinked threads: an attempt to understand himself and to integrate and develop the various components of his personality; an attempt to understand the structure of the human personality in general; an attempt to understand the relation of the individual to present-day society and to the community of the dead; an attempt to understand the psychological and historical effects of Christianity; and an attempt to grasp the future religious development of the West. Jung discusses many other themes in the work, including the nature of self-knowledge; the nature of the soul; the relations of thinking and feeling and the psychological types; the relation of inner and outer masculinity and femininity; the uniting of opposites; solitude; the value of scholarship and learning; the status of science; the significance of symbols and how they are to be understood; the meaning of the war; madness, divine madness, and psychiatry; how the Imitation of Christ is to be understood today; the death of God; the historical significance of Nietzsche; and the relation of magic and reason.
Sonu Shamdasani (The Red Book: Liber Novus)
Saturday evening, on a quiet lazy afternoon, I went to watch a bullfight in Las Ventas, one of Madrid's most famous bullrings. I went there out of curiosity. I had long been haunted by the image of the matador with its custom made torero suit, embroidered with golden threads, looking spectacular in his "suit of light" or traje de luces as they call it in Spain. I was curious to see the dance of death unfold in front of me, to test my humanity in the midst of blood and gold, and to see in which state my soul will come out of the arena, whether it will be shaken and stirred, furious and angry, or a little bit aware of the life embedded in every death. Being an avid fan of Hemingway, and a proponent of his famous sentence "About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after,” I went there willingly to test myself. I had heard atrocities about bullfighting yet I had this immense desire to be part of what I partially had an inclination to call a bloody piece of cultural experience. As I sat there, in front of the empty arena, I felt a grandiose feeling of belonging to something bigger than anything I experienced during my stay in Spain. Few minutes and I'll be witnessing a painting being carefully drawn in front of me, few minutes and I will be part of an art form deeply entrenched in the Spanish cultural heritage: the art of defying death. But to sit there, and to watch the bull enter the arena… To watch one bull surrounded by a matador and his six assistants. To watch the matador confronting the bull with the capote, performing a series of passes, just before the picador on a horse stabs the bull's neck, weakening the neck muscles and leading to the animal's first loss of blood... Starting a game with only one side having decided fully to engage in while making sure all the odds will be in the favor of him being a predetermined winner. It was this moment precisely that made me feel part of something immoral. The unfair rules of the game. The indifferent bull being begged to react, being pushed to the edge of fury. The bull, tired and peaceful. The bull, being teased relentlessly. The bull being pushed to a game he isn't interested in. And the matador getting credits for an unfair game he set. As I left the arena, people looked at me with mocking eyes. Yes, I went to watch a bull fight and yes the play of colors is marvelous. The matador’s costume is breathtaking and to be sitting in an arena fills your lungs with the sands of time. But to see the amount of claps the spill of blood is getting was beyond what I can endure. To hear the amount of claps injustice brings is astonishing. You understand a lot about human nature, about the wars taking place every day, about poverty and starvation. You understand a lot about racial discrimination and abuse (verbal and physical), sex trafficking, and everything that stirs the wounds of this world wide open. You understand a lot about humans’ thirst for injustice and violence as a way to empower hidden insecurities. Replace the bull and replace the matador. And the arena will still be there. And you'll hear the claps. You've been hearing them ever since you opened your eyes.
Malak El Halabi
I looked up, my eyes pouring with tears of pain and understanding. I had to look away. I let my other hand slip from the rock and hang loose. “Don’t, Violet!” Lincoln’s voice was strong and unwavering. It caught me by surprise. “Don’t. You. Dare. Look at me!” It wasn’t compulsion, but I still couldn’t stop myself. I had to see him one last time. I opened my mouth to tell him good-bye, but he didn’t let me speak. “If you let go, I’m jumping in there after you!” My hand slipped in his hold and I did little to stop it, but he clung on. “It’s better this way, Linc! You can fight him without me and then you’ll be free!” He looked at me like I was mad until his jaw set with determination. “You smell of winter dew at the first crack of dawn and when you use your power, it feels like being submerged in the most intoxicating vanilla cream that I lose myself in it every time and…and you were beautiful,” he blurted out, catching us both by surprise. But he went on, ignoring the fact my hand was still slipping. “So stunning in that dress the other night, I could hardly look at you it hurt so much. You are the thing I dread the most in myself, Violet, because…I love you so much that I can’t trust myself. I’d die for you, give up all my power for you. I’d give you my soul in an instant, even if it meant I had to spend eternity in torment—just for one moment with you as mine. Wanting you consumes me. I dread you because I know the risk, but I’m so selfish, I want you anyway. I’d take you even though it could kill you.” I cried out again, the pain now so much worse, inside and out. My hand continued to slip as I looked into his eyes, intense with want, and I knew he was telling the truth. He would jump in after me. I forced my loose arm up and he grabbed it, leaning farther into the opening. He lifted me out and as he did, the severity of my burns became apparent. I couldn’t hold back the screams and he placed me belly down on the ground.
Jessica Shirvington (Emblaze (The Embrace Series, #3))
Wherefore, we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear, for our God is a consuming fire."—We have received a kingdom that cannot be moved—whose nature is immovable: let us have grace to serve the Consuming Fire, our God, with divine fear; not with the fear that cringes and craves, but with the bowing down of all thoughts, all delights, all loves before him who is the life of them all, and will have them all pure. The kingdom he has given us cannot be moved, because it has nothing weak in it: it is of the eternal world, the world of being, of truth. We, therefore, must worship him with a fear pure as the kingdom is unshakeable. He will shake heaven and earth, that only the unshakeable may remain, (verse 27): he is a consuming fire, that only that which cannot be consumed may stand forth eternal. It is the nature of God, so terribly pure that it destroys all that is not pure as fire, which demands like purity in our worship. He will have purity. It is not that the fire will burn us if we do not worship thus; but that the fire will burn us until we worship thus; yea, will go on burning within us after all that is foreign to it has yielded to its force, no longer with pain and consuming, but as the highest consciousness of life, the presence of God. When evil, which alone is consumable, shall have passed away in his fire from the dwellers in the immovable kingdom, the nature of man shall look the nature of God in the face, and his fear shall then be pure; for an eternal, that is a holy fear, must spring from a knowledge of the nature, not from a sense of the power. But that which cannot be consumed must be one within itself, a simple existence; therefore in such a soul the fear towards God will be one with the homeliest love. Yea, the fear of God will cause a man to flee, not from him, but from himself; not from him, but to him, the Father of himself, in terror lest he should do Him wrong or his neighbour wrong. And the first words which follow for the setting forth of that grace whereby we may serve God acceptably are these—" Let brotherly love continue." To love our brother is to worship the Consuming Fire.
George MacDonald (Unspoken Sermons, Series I., II., and III.)
The color-patches of vision part, shift, and reform as I move through space in time. The present is the object of vision, and what I see before me at any given second is a full field of color patches scattered just so. The configuration will never be repeated. Living is moving; time is a live creek bearing changing lights. As I move, or as the world moves around me, the fullness of what I see shatters. “Last forever!” Who hasn’t prayed that prayer? You were lucky to get it in the first place. The present is a freely given canvas. That it is constantly being ripped apart and washed downstream goes without saying; it is a canvas, nevertheless. But there is more to the present than a series of snapshots. We are not merely sensitized film; we have feelings, a memory for information and an eidetic memory for the imagery of our pasts. Our layered consciousness is a tiered track for an unmatched assortment of concentrically wound reels. Each one plays out for all of life its dazzle and blur of translucent shadow-pictures; each one hums at every moment its own secret melody in its own unique key. We tune in and out. But moments are not lost. Time out of mind is time nevertheless, cumulative, informing the present. From even the deepest slumber you wake with a jolt- older, closer to death, and wiser, grateful for breath. But time is the one thing we have been given, and we have been given to time. Time gives us a whirl. We keep waking from a dream we can’t recall, looking around in surprise, and lapsing back, for years on end. All I want to do is stay awake, keep my head up, prop my eyes open, with toothpicks, with trees.
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
I like that,” Bree admitted. “It’s like…it’s never too late to change.” Her eyes met his, and she hoped he understood that she meant it for him as well as for herself. She wanted Alessandro to give in to the good she knew was in him and leave the Dardano family behind. “I forgot about that. I feel rather ashamed of it now. Because of the things I’ve done. Then I was looking at this tiny creature here, and you’re going to think I’m mad but…every time I look at him, he looks different to me. He’s the same boy, but something in him is always changing. It’s not a physical thing that I can explain to you, but it’s…like…I don’t know,” Alessandro said shrugging and lowering his head. He sat on the bed next to her and stared at the incubator. The baby’s eyes were open, staring back, blinking slowly, sleepily. “You’re seeing him become a person. Like all the parts of him are coming together and making this tiny person’s soul. He was one person in here,” Bree pointed to her stomach. “And now he’s changing on the outside so he can be a part of the world.” “That’s it,” Alessandro nodded. “He’s a part of the world now. My world, in a completely different way than when he was inside of you. It’s like having two sons and watching them become one as a slow minute by minute process. He’s never going to stop changing. What he thinks and feels now is not going to be what he thinks and feels tomorrow or fifty years from now.” “It’s the same for you,” Bree said, closing her fingers over his on the bed. “I don’t want to forget that again, Brianna. I don’t ever want to forget that I can change.” He looked so earnest that Bree couldn’t help bringing his hand to her lips. “Then don’t.
E. Jamie (The Vendetta (Blood Vows, #1))
told me more about what happened the other night?” she asked, deciding to air her worst fears. “Am I under suspicion or something?” “Everyone is.” “Especially ex-wives who are publicly humiliated on the day of the murder, right?” Something in Montoya’s expression changed. Hardened. “I’ll be back,” he promised, “and I’ll bring another detective with me, then we’ll interview you and you can ask all the questions you like.” “And you’ll answer them?” He offered a hint of a smile. “That I can’t promise. Just that I won’t lie to you.” “I wouldn’t expect you to, Detective.” He gave a quick nod. “In the meantime if you suddenly remember, or think of anything, give me a call.” “I will,” she promised, irritated, watching as he hurried down the two steps of the porch to his car. He was younger than she was by a couple of years, she guessed, though she couldn’t be certain, and there was something about him that exuded a natural brooding sexuality, as if he knew he was attractive to women, almost expected it to be so. Great. Just what she needed, a sexy-as-hell cop who probably had her pinned to the top of his murder suspect list. She whistled for the dog and Hershey bounded inside, dragging some mud and leaves with her. “Sit!” Abby commanded and the Lab dropped her rear end onto the floor just inside the door. Abby opened the door to the closet and found a towel hanging on a peg she kept for just such occasions, then, while Hershey whined in protest, she cleaned all four of her damp paws. “You’re gonna be a problem, aren’t you?” she teased, then dropped the towel over the dog’s head. Hershey shook herself, tossed off the towel, then bit at it, snagging one end in her mouth and pulling backward in a quick game of tug of war. Abby laughed as she played with the dog, the first real joy she’d felt since hearing the news about her ex-husband. The phone rang and she left the dog growling and shaking the tattered piece of terry cloth. “Hello?” she said, still chuckling at Hershey’s antics as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Abby Chastain?” “Yes.” “Beth Ann Wright with the New Orleans Sentinel.” Abby’s heart plummeted. The press. Just what she needed. “You were Luke Gierman’s wife, right?” “What’s this about?” Abby asked warily as Hershey padded into the kitchen and looked expectantly at the back door leading to her studio. “In a second,” she mouthed to the Lab. Hershey slowly wagged her tail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Beth Ann said, sounding sincerely rueful. “I should have explained. The paper’s running a series of articles on Luke, as he was a local celebrity, and I’d like to interview you for the piece. I was thinking we could meet tomorrow morning?” “Luke and I were divorced.” “Yes, I know, but I would like to give some insight to the man behind the mike, you know. He had a certain public persona, but I’m sure my readers would like to know more about him, his history, his hopes, his dreams, you know, the human-interest angle.” “It’s kind of late for that,” Abby said, not bothering to keep the ice out of her voice. “But you knew him intimately. I thought you could come up with some anecdotes, let people see the real Luke Gierman.” “I don’t think so.” “I realize you and he had some unresolved issues.” “Pardon me?” “I caught his program the other day.” Abby tensed, her fingers holding the phone in a death grip. “So this is probably harder for you than most, but I still would like to ask you some questions.” “Maybe another time,” she hedged and Beth Ann didn’t miss a beat. “Anytime you’d like. You’re a native Louisianan, aren’t you?” Abby’s neck muscles tightened. “Born and raised, but you met Luke in Seattle when he was working for a radio station . . . what’s the call sign, I know I’ve got it somewhere.” “KCTY.” It was a matter of public record. “Oh, that’s right. Country in the City. But you grew up here and went to local schools, right? Your
Lisa Jackson (Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Malice & Devious (A Bentz/Montoya Novel))
The Language of the Birds" 1 A man saw a bird and found him beautiful. The bird had a song inside him, and feathers. Sometimes the man felt like the bird and sometimes the man felt like a stone—solid, inevitable—but mostly he felt like a bird, or that there was a bird inside him, or that something inside him was like a bird fluttering. This went on for a long time. 2 A man saw a bird and wanted to paint it. The problem, if there was one, was simply a problem with the question. Why paint a bird? Why do anything at all? Not how, because hows are easy—series or sequence, one foot after the other—but existentially why bother, what does it solve? And just because you want to paint a bird, do actually paint a bird, it doesn’t mean you’ve accomplished anything. Who gets to measure the distance between experience and its representation? Who controls the lines of inquiry? We do. Anyone can. Blackbird, he says. So be it, indexed and normative. But it isn’t a bird, it’s a man in a bird suit, blue shoulders instead of feathers, because he isn’t looking at a bird, real bird, as he paints, he is looking at his heart, which is impossible. Unless his heart is a metaphor for his heart, as everything is a metaphor for itself, so that looking at the paint is like looking at a bird that isn’t there, with a song in its throat that you don’t want to hear but you paint anyway. The hand is a voice that can sing what the voice will not, and the hand wants to do something useful. Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart, says the heart. 3 They looked at the animals. They looked at the walls of the cave. This is earlier, these are different men. They painted in torchlight: red mostly, sometimes black—mammoth, lion, horse, bear—things on a wall, in profile or superimposed, dynamic and alert. They weren’t animals but they looked like animals, enough like animals to make it confusing, meant something but the meaning was slippery: it wasn’t there but it remained, looked like the thing but wasn’t the thing—was a second thing, following a second set of rules—and it was too late: their power over it was no longer absolute. What is alive and what isn’t and what should we do about it? Theories: about the nature of the thing. And of the soul. Because people die. The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does. The night sky is vast and wide. They huddled closer, shoulder to shoulder, painted themselves in herds, all together and apart from the rest. They looked at the sky, and at the mud, and at their hands in the mud, and their dead friends in the mud. This went on for a long time. 4 To be a bird, or a flock of birds doing something together, one or many, starling or murmuration. To be a man on a hill, or all the men on all the hills, or half a man shivering in the flock of himself. These are some choices. The night sky is vast and wide. A man had two birds in his head—not in his throat, not in his chest—and the birds would sing all day never stopping. The man thought to himself, One of these birds is not my bird. The birds agreed.
Richard Siken (War of the Foxes)
I couldn’t wait to follow through. I couldn’t wait to end this. “Your revenge?” Matthias laughed. “You’re revenge? What could you possibly do that would make any difference to me?” I looked up at Kane and he looked down at me. I smiled at him sweetly and he smiled back. I leaned in and he mirrored me. I tilted my face up to kiss him and he gladly reciprocated. Then I pulled back and swiveled my gaze to Matthias. “I will take your family away. Just like you took mine. I will pluck them from you one by one and make them suffer until they beg for death. Or, I will simply rescue them and give them a better life than you ever could.” Matthias barked out a louder laugh. “That’s sweet. It sounds like you’ve put thought into all that, but you can’t. It’s just not possible. “Sure it is,” I told him. “I’ve already gotten two of your children. Tyler isn’t here.” I gestured at Tyler. “Tyler will never be here. Unless you count that. Which being a self-respecting person, I wouldn’t. But who knows about you. And Miller isn’t here either. Miller is worse than Tyler. Look! You got Tyler to come to breakfast, but I seem to have forgotten Miller’s excuse. Could you remind me?” He stayed quiet. Which was a miracle in itself. So I continued, “I’m waiting for the right opportunity for Linley. I’ve been waiting for it for a while now. I’ve been watching her and watching her and just waiting. I cannot wait until I get her alone. I cannot wait until it’s just the two of us. It will be so fun. It’s what helps get me through these long days. Just thoughts of Linley. Just thoughts of what I will do to her and how slowly I will make those last painful moments last. And Kane? I could take him in a second. I could rip him out of your hands so fast you would blink and he would be gone. He might deny that if you ask him. But I know better. I hear everything else he says. I feel everything else he means. Kane is mine. You’re a smart man, Matthias, so don’t think for a second he isn’t. Right?” I turned to Kane. He leaned down again and kissed me. Point proved. I relaxed into Kane and let my threats soothe my soul and settle over the man I wanted to watch burn in hell. His reply was an arrogant smirk and hard eyes. “Little girl, you just asked for trouble, I’m-” “Do it,” I hissed. “Do whatever it is you want to do and see if I’m bluffing. Try me! Hurt someone I love. Hurt me. Take something away from me and see how painfully and how permanently I take something away from you.” I stood up and pushed aggressively away from the table. I stared him down the entire time. Kane let me go without even an attempt to restrain me. I was beyond that. I was beyond all of this. I was leaving. Today. Because without a doubt I would follow through with every single one of my threats. I stomped from the warehouse. I could feel Kane behind me, but he still didn’t try to slow me down. And I knew he wouldn’t. He really was mine. Matthias, Hendrix, nobody could take him from me. And he would do whatever I wanted as long as he thought we could survive. I hoped both of us could survive what I was about to ask him to do.
Rachel Higginson (Love and Decay Omnibus: Season Two (Episodes 1-12) (Love and Decay, A Novella Series Book 2))