St Croix Quotes

Jenny was so horny she could make a dead man come.

I loved books, even as I loved the similar way opium had of transporting a mind elsewhere

Tout au milieu, et dans le disque meme du soleil, rayonne la face de Jesus-Christ. Antoine fait le signe de la croix et se remet en prieres.

to keep hope alive in a world at war, people had to do things they would never have considered doing before.

Today she was twenty-one. Today she was an adult and could decide things for herself. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life.

My hand lowered slowly to my side. It trembled. "There is no affection," I said, each syllable a measured force of emotion I dared not allow purchase, "that will endure when treated as a thing.

Sailing into the unknown was frightening and dangerous.  The little boy with the cheese stand grew up to do both great and terrible things, but regardless of the state of his soul, he changed the world forever.  He also unleashed the dogs of war.

But there’s no room at all for free spirits in modern academia, with its speech codes and humorless moralizing. So she makes two lives for herself, or three for all we know, or four, and in the end there’s no satisfaction in being multiple Solange St. Croixs instead of one.” Pogo

reflue entre les colonnes, vers les bas cotes,--ou l'on distingue dans des compartiments de bois, des autels, des lits, des chainettes de petites pierres bleues, et des constellations peintes sur les murs. Au milieu de la foule, des groupes, ca et la, stationnent. Des hommes, debout sur des escabeaux, haranguent le doigt leve; d'autres prient les bras en croix, sont couches par terre, chantent des hymnes, ou boivent du vin; autour d'une table, des fideles font les agapes; des martyrs demaillotent leurs membres pour montrer leurs blessures; des vieillards, appuyes sur des batons, racontant leurs voyages.

During his second day in office, he issued a circular to all customs collectors, demanding exact figures of the duties accumulated in each state. When they sent back suspiciously low numbers, Hamilton, who knew something about smuggling from St. Croix, suspected that it must be rife along the eastern seaboard, leading him to the next logical step. “I have under consideration the business of establishing guard boats,” he told one correspondent in perhaps the first recorded allusion to what would turn into the Coast Guard.4

rocked with the train as it trundled slowly out of the station. The journey was slow, but uneventful. There were no spot checks, for which Mother Marie-Pierre gave thanks, as at such close quarters it was likely that even the most short-sighted inspector would notice that there was little similarity between the picture on the second nun’s papers and the person it purported to represent. It was with great relief that they climbed down from the train when it finally reached Amiens.

show his contempt for her.

She watched a startling ray of sunshine, bursting from a sun as yet unseen, but piercing the greyness of the sky like a shining sword. Even as she watched, another joined it and the clouds were painted a brilliant orange, edged with gold.

everyone was afraid at times, but it was how they dealt with their fear that mattered.

How could there be a war going on in such a stunningly beautiful world?

A LITTLE AFTER FIVE, he went out to the Lexus SUV that he drove outside the Cities, and took off for Wisconsin. He was not in a mood for the scenic tour, so he went straight up I-35 to Highway 8, then east through Chisago City and Lindstrom and past Center City to Taylors Falls, then across the St. Croix into Wisconsin, north on Highway 82, off on River Road and finally, down a dirt lane lined with beech and oak trees to a redwood house perched on a bluff over the river. The front door was propped open with a river rock. The governor was sitting on a four-season porch, already closed in for the winter, that looked over the river valley. When Lucas banged on the screen door, he called, “Straight through to the porch. Get a beer out of the kitchen, or make yourself a drink.

have their supper now,

It was in her garden that whatever physical grace Abigail St. Croix possessed asserted itself. She moved among her flowers with consummate natural fluidity, enjoying the incommunicable pleasures of growing things with the patience and concentration of a watchmaker. In this, her small, green country, surrounded by an embrasure of old Charleston brick, there were camellias of distinction, eight discrete varieties of azaleas, and a host of other flowers, but she directed her prime attention to the growing of roses. She had taught me to love flowers since I had known her; I had learned that each variety had its own special personality, its own distinctive and individual way of presenting itself to the world. She told me of the shyness of columbine, the aggression of ivy, and the diseases that affected gardenias. Some flowers were arrogant invaders and would overrun the entire garden if allowed too much freedom. Some were so diffident and fearful that in their fragile reticence often lived the truest, most infinitely prized beauty. She spoke to her flowers unconsciously as we made our way to the roses in the rear of the garden. “You can learn a lot from raising roses, Will. I’ve always told you that.” “I’ve never raised a good weed, Abigail. I could kill kudzu.” “Then one part of your life is empty,” she declared. “There’s a part of the spirit that’s not being fed.

Another big step was building a house here in Stillwater. Avery's ancestry had claimed some prime property looking down along the St. Croix River. He chose to custom build their home, working endlessly with architects and builders, trying to make a perfect home for his Kane to live in. Kane insisted Avery spent too much money, and every time he gave input, it was designed to save them money. Avery nixed most of those ideas, stating very clearly this was their dream home, the perfect place for his prince to live his life in style.

Adelaide realised that to keep hope alive in a world at war, people had to do things they would never have considered doing before. They had to test their courage as they fought against the evil that threatened to engulf them all.

Avery was so eager to begin their lives in their new home he'd held the reception in their backyard. The party tent sat between the house and the St. Croix River. Valets greeted guests, parked the cars, and shuttled people from the front of the house back to the tent. This was all designed to have Kane one step closer to moving into their new home tonight. That pleased Avery far more than anything else they'd done this evening. No more separate homes or forced separation for fear of living in sin.

Resources » USVI Department of Tourism (www.visitusvi.com) Official tourism site with a ‘hot deals’ page » Virgin Islands Now (www.vinow.com) » St Thomas/St John This Week (www.virginislandsthisweek.com) » St Croix This Week (www.stcroixthisweek.com)

The high Wisconsin bluffs on the St. Croix are such a dark green that in bright afternoon sunlight, they seem almost black.

Timothy Theodore Duncan was born on April 25, 1976, to William and Ione Duncan. Duncan was raised in St. Croix, a small island that is part of the U.S. Virgin Islands located just east of Puerto Rico. The Duncan’s were a tall, athletic family.

The title of the book is based upon his friends and biologists. As a biologist he a long-time birder and lover of new and wild countries. He lives in the St. Croix, some of his wildlife encounters from the period of time.

suggest that, together with the safety factors built into Outward Leg—the self-righting system, and the cool-tubes to prevent capsize—we realized at St. Croix that what we had under our feet was one of the fastest, and one of the safest, cruising vessels afloat under sail.

Our first day’s run out of Pampatar was our best day’s run to date on the whole voyage from San Diego—171 miles. That’s over the twenty-four hours noon to noon. The second day’s run beat it—174 miles. On the evening of the third day out we were at anchor in Frederiksted, on the island of St. Croix. That’s 420 miles in sixty hours. That’s the crossing of the Caribbean Sea, from south to north, in two and a half days. That’s flying. Total fuel consumption—one pint of diesel oil to charge batteries. Breakages, nil; and that was a fully loaded trimaran—loaded to traditional, oceangoing monohull standards and more. There were, don’t forget, three months’ supplies of canned food for three men on board, plus the remaining dried and packaged food, say six weeks’ supply, plus eighty-two gallons of cheap diesel fuel and eighty-two gallons of fresh water, plus all our personal effects, the three of us, together with the ship’s equipment. That was a total payload of around four tons. I suggest that this is the most important statistic, besides the speed of the passage, in this account. I suggest that, together with the safety factors built into Outward Leg—the self-righting system, and the cool-tubes to prevent capsize—we realized at St. Croix that what we had under our feet was one of the fastest, and one of the safest, cruising vessels afloat under sail. Hitherto multihulls had been considered as either hair-shirt racing craft, for speed-drunk masochists with tiny appetites, or boxy floating sheds for short cruises and always downwind, because they were thought—and quite rightly in most instances—to have the windward ability of Carnegie Hall.