Widow Maker Quotes

The Widow Makers say I’m stone-cold, Soph. They say I’m made of ice. When the rest of the club meets you, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna say you’re made of fire.

What is a woman that you forsake her And the hearth fire and the home acre To go with that old grey widow-maker?

Her widowed mother owns the shop on rue de Grenelle. Should her mother die, despite her expertise, Pauline Léon will not inherit the shop. She can only do so through a husband. As she has not yet met a suitable spouse, we can only imagine the kind of chocolat he would make if he were a wig maker.

River red gum Meaning: Enchantment Eucalyptus camaldulensis | All states and territories Iconic Australian tree. Smooth bark sheds in long ribbons. Has a large, dense crown of leaves. Seeds require regular spring floods to survive. Flowers late spring to mid-summer. Has the ominous nickname 'widow maker', as it often drops large boughs (up to half the diameter of the trunk) without warning.

Museum architectural search committees have invariably included the Kimbell in their international scouting tours of exemplary art galleries (a practice pioneered by Velma Kimbell, the founder’s widow, in 1964). Those groups no doubt respond to the Kimbell with suitable reverence, but given the buildings they later commissioned, many post-Bilbao museum patrons obviously wanted something quite different. The disparity between Kahn’s museums and recent examples of that genre parallels the discrepancy he saw between postwar Modernism and ancient Classicism: “Our stuff looks tinny compared to it.” At a time when commercial values are systematically corrupting the museum - one of civilized society’s most elevating experiences - the example of Kahn, among the most courageous and successful architectural reformers of all time, seems more relevant and cautionary than ever.

Tomorrow’s Promise Don’t be afraid—you’re not going to be embarrassed. Don’t hold back—you’re not going to come up short. You’ll forget all about the humiliations of your youth, and the indignities of being a widow will fade from memory. For your Maker is your bridegroom, his name, GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies! Your Redeemer is The Holy of Israel, known as God of the whole earth. ISAIAH 54:4–5 THE MESSAGE May God expand your territory, enlarge your vision, and increase your capacity for His influence in your life. May you be quick to hear, quick to obey, and quick to trust Him with every detail of your life. As you consider His faithfulness today, may you walk faithfully to your next place of promise tomorrow. He has been faithful. He will be faithful. Rest assured of that.

She would toss in everything from mint, which signified virtue, to honeysuckle for love, fennel for strength (it was very strong in taste) and peppermint for warmth of feeling. Mint also helped settle upset stomachs and the apothecary told Rosamund fennel would ease flatulence, which made her chuckle. She would be sure to add some to Sam's chocolate. Hyssop and anise seed, she knew from Widow Cecily back at Gravesend, would help with a cold, as would marshmallow and orange or lemon juice.

US government is the number 1 widow-maker, orphan-maker and refugee-maker in the world, and as such, Washington DC is the ultimate war criminal of modern history.

Through the array of wireless cameras, they watch this widow-maker widow as she quickly changes from yoga pants into slacks and pulls on a sport coat over her T-shirt and carries clothes from the closet to the suitcase on the bed.

CHAP. LXVII.—WEEKLY WORSHIP OF THE CHRISTIANS. And we afterwards continually remind each other of these things. And the wealthy among us help the needy; and we always keep together; and for all things wherewith we are supplied, we bless the Maker of all through His Son Jesus Christ, and through the Holy Ghost. And on the day called Sunday,[145] all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability,[146] and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given,[147] and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons. And they who are well to do, and willing, give what each thinks fit; and what is collected is deposited with the president, who succours the orphans and widows, and those who, through sickness or any other cause, are in want, and those who are in bonds, and the strangers sojourning among us, and in a word takes care of all who are in need. But Sunday is the day on which we all hold our common assembly, because it is the first day on which God, having wrought a change in the darkness and matter, made the world; and Jesus Christ our Saviour on the same day rose from the dead.

President Vladimir Putin has evolved a “hybrid foreign policy, a strategy that mixes normal diplomacy, military force, economic corruption and a high-tech information war.” Indeed, on any given day, the United States has found itself dealing with everything from cyberattacks by Russian intelligence hackers on the computer systems of the U.S. Democratic Party, to disinformation about what Russian troops, dressed in civilian clothes, are doing in Eastern Ukraine, to Russian attempts to take down the Facebook pages of widows of its soldiers killed in Ukraine when they mourn their husbands’ deaths, to hot money flows into Western politics or media from Russian oligarchs connected to the Kremlin. In short, Russia is taking full advantage of the age of accelerating flows to confront the United States along a much wider attack surface. While it lives in the World of Order, the Russian government under Putin doesn’t mind fomenting a little disorder—indeed, when you are a petro-state, a little disorder is welcome because it keeps the world on edge and therefore oil prices high. China is a much more status quo power. It needs a healthy U.S. economy to trade with and a stable global environment to export into. That is why the Chinese are more focused on simply dominating their immediate neighborhood. But while America has to deter these two other superpowers with one hand, it also needs to enlist their support with the other hand to help contain both the spreading World of Disorder and the super-empowered breakers. This is where things start to get tricky: on any given day Russia is a direct adversary in one part of the world, a partner in another, and a mischief-maker in another.

Since he has been home, he has felt unusually tender about his wife and guilty over his long absences. But he can’t tell what she feels about him. Norma Jean has never complained about his traveling; she has never made hurt remarks, like calling his truck a “widow-maker.” He is reasonably certain she has been faithful to him, but he wishes she would celebrate his permanent homecoming more happily. Norma Jean is often startled to find Leroy at home, and he thinks she seems a little disappointed about it.

Bill's" wife became a Mormon after they had been happily married for years and had several children. When he wouldn't convert to Mormonism, the local LDS leaders assisted "Diane" in divorcing and relocating in Utah, where she was quickly married to a "righteous" LDS widower. When attempts by both the husband and Diane's family were made to see the missing children, the LDS family disappeared to Alaska.

A branch that falls from a tree can only be a widow-maker if you’re under it at the point that it falls, and you were married before it fell. Otherwise, it’s just a happenstance meeting with a branch.

It felt like a good thing, but at the same time it complicated his previously simple life. Maybe no one who wanted to care about others could in truth have a simple life.

A good rep can win a fight for you before you’ve even started. Like the man said, ‘Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.

I’ve been reading a lot of shit since I’ve started this job.” Trey tapped his forehead. “The more you know, the less you die.

Several seconds passed before James registered that the man was dead. He looked at Shay, who holstered her 9mm. The tomb raider shrugged. “It was either that or get a ruler out and offer to measure your dicks.” She snorted. “Fuck, Brownstone, were you going to talk him to death?

Happy is the one whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God,  6 the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea and everything in them.  He remains faithful forever,  7 executing justice for the exploited and giving food to the hungry.  The Lord frees prisoners.  8 The Lord opens the eyes of the blind.  The Lord raises up those who are oppressed. The Lord loves the righteous.  9 The Lord protects foreigners and helps the fatherless and the widow,  but He frustrates the ways of the wicked. 

Give a hand up and not out, and don’t focus on the past. Maybe that’s the only way anyone can move forward

Because monsters don’t always come with claws.   Sometimes, they wear soft skin and borrowed names.   Sometimes, they crave the very thing they’re about to destroy. And for a moment—one dangerous, disorienting moment—she’d wanted to be loved. But love wouldn’t save her.

appearances lie. Inside, the walls held the quiet remnants of a battle—fought not with raised voices, but with cold indifference, distant glances, and footsteps that no longer moved toward each other. The silence screamed louder than words ever could, echoing a truth she could no longer ignore. And he didn’t even see it. Because he was too far gone. Lost in a world where she had become nothing more than a shadow.

It wasn’t the big things that broke her heart. It was the small, consistent choices that told her where she stood. Her jaw clenched because she was tired of pretending that it didn’t matter. Because it did. And it was breaking her.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer. He hadn’t even noticed she was there. Her heart ached. She longed for more. For family. For connection. For a man who would see her, prioritize her, love her the way she still loved him.

When he did speak to them, it was with annoyance or indifference. His friends’ words held more weight in his life than the people sitting right in front of him. Her heart clenched, the ache spreading deeper.

But it didn’t matter when it came from me. It was always the same. When she offered advice, it was brushed aside. But if his friends said it? He acted like it was the best idea he’d ever heard.

Her chest tightened. Her eyes burned, but she blinked back the tears threatening to spill. I’ve been so loyal… so devoted. And for what? To be disrespected? To be dismissed? To be invisible?

I deserve more than this. Her mind whispered the truth she had been too afraid to admit for so long. But the question that lingered in the silence was far louder. How much longer could she keep pretending this was enough?

the foundation crumbles, he had slowly killed the love between them, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but silence… and her.

When did we stop talking?” she whispered into the emptiness. The silence answered with indifference. Lately, their conversations had felt like running her fingers through sand—every word slipping through, unacknowledged and forgotten. She asked questions, trying to stir life into what was left between them, but his answers were short, clipped, like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence she hadn’t even finished. He used to listen—really listen. Now, he was just present. His body in the room, but his mind was light-years away, entangled in the lives of everyone except her.

I wasn’t his priority. She hadn’t been for a long time. He had given his time, his energy, his passion to everyone else while she… I stayed. She always stayed. When things got hard, when the world felt like it was crashing down, she was the one holding it all together. Not because she wanted to—but because she had to. She had no choice. Her kids needed her. They needed someone who wouldn’t leave. Someone who wouldn’t disappear when things got complicated. And everyone else? They were just passing through, fleeting moments in her children’s lives, missing the important details that only a mother noticed.

Her heart sank. Not because she didn’t love him. But because this wasn’t love. This was routine. A tired, worn-out script that played out in the darkness after a day where he hadn’t even looked at her. Hadn’t spoken to her. Hadn’t acknowledged her beyond a passing glance. But now? Now he wanted her. Not her mind. Not her heart. Just… her body.

Snow was a storyteller as well as a scientist, so he deployed anecdotes to put faces to his number in the hope of persuading his medical colleagues of cholera’s waterborne spread. There was a woman, “the widow of a percussion-cap maker,” who had moved from Soho to the West End some months earlier but had not lost her taste for Broad Street’s water. She had arranged for bottles of it to be brought to her by cart. There was a delivery on August 31. She drank from it then and the next day, and she shared it with a niece who lived in Islington, another district still untouched by cholera. Both died. Seven workmen making dentists’ materials at numbers 8 and 9 Broad Street were “in the habit of drinking water from the pump, generally drinking about half-a-pint once or twice a day.” Cholera killed them all—but two people who lived in the same building who did not draw their water from the pump experienced only bouts of diarrhea. Both lived. A factory at 37 Broad Street provided its workers with barrels of pump water and lost eighteen out of a staff of two hundred. A brewery down the road gave its seventy men malt liquor; no one drank water; none fell ill. Tellingly, the Broad Street outbreak did not single out the abject poor. Rather, Snow wrote, “the mortality appears to have fallen pretty equally amongst all classes, in proportion to their numbers.” He concluded that “out of rather more than six hundred deaths, there were about one hundred in the families of tradesmen and other resident house holders.” The most wretched people in the parish, those locked in the workhouse, were almost entirely spared. That building was bordered on three sides by streets in which the outbreak raged, but lost only 5 of its 535 inmates; if it had seen the same mortality as those richer households, Snow wrote, “upwards of one hundred persons would have died.” What had saved them? The workhouse had its own pump, “and the inmates never sent to Broad Street for water.” This was a refutation of the argument that disease explicitly targeted the poor, either as punishment for their ineradicable sins or because their poverty exposed them to miasmas those above them avoided. Snow kept going, seeking out the details of death after death, and those of seemingly anomalous survivals. He finished his review of the first week’s deaths in just four days, delivering his results to parish authorities on Thursday, September 7. The next morning the parish took perhaps the most famous single action in the history of public health: it ordered that the handle from the Broad Street pump be removed. If Snow was right, the poison that had ruined the district would be cut off at its source, and the epidemic would end. It did.

My harpist is right to smile when he chants that I am Uhtred the Gift-Giver or Uhtred the Avenger or Uhtred the Widow-Maker, for he is old and he has learned what I have learned, that I am really Uhtred the Lonely. We are all lonely and all seek a hand to hold in the darkness. It is not the harp, but the hand that plays it.