You Are My Sanctuary Quotes

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For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow. Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail. A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live. When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all. A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother. So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.
Hermann Hesse (Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte)
I hate how my past actions keep messing up my future options, Seth muttered. Then you've started down the road to wisdom, Grandpa replied.
Brandon Mull (Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary (Fablehaven, #4))
Meghan,” whispered a voice, heart wrenchingly familiar, drawing me out of the void. I recognized it immediately, just as I realized it was a figment of my desperate imagination, because the real owner of that voice would never be here, talking to me. Ash? “Wake up,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the layers of the darkness. “Don’t do this. If you don’t come out of this soon, you’ll fade away and drift forever. Fight it. Come back to us.” I didn’t want to wake up. There was nothing but pain waiting for me in the real world. If I was asleep, I couldn’t feel anything. If I was asleep, I didn’t have to face Ash and the cold contempt on his face when he looked at me. Darkness was my retreat, my sanctuary. I drew back from Ash’s voice, deeper into the comforting blackness. And, through the layer of dreams and delirium, I heard a quiet sob. “Please.” A hand gripped mine, real and solid, anchoring me to the present. “I know what you must think of me, but…” The voice broke off, took a ragged breath. “Don’t leave,” it whispered. “Meghan, don’t go. Come back to me.
Julie Kagawa (The Iron Daughter (The Iron Fey, #2))
You were my fucking sanctuary, that’s what you were to me. You were my guilty indulgence. I should’ve stayed away from you, but I couldn’t. I still can’t. Jeezus. Look at me. I’m damn near on my knees here
Tijan (Broken and Screwed 2 (BS, #2))
Lovely,wonderful Isabelle.Could you please go away?Now is a really bad time." Isabelle looked from Magnus to her brother,and back again. "Then,you dont want me to tell you that Camille's just escaped from the Sanctuary and my mother is demanding that you come back to the Institute right now to help them find her?" "No,"Magnus said."I dont want you to tell me that" "Well,to bad"Isabelle said"Because it's true .I mean,I guess you dont have to go,but-
Cassandra Clare (City of Fallen Angels (The Mortal Instruments, #4))
Who-who are you?" Seth asked, hesitantly."Wh-what do you want?" How else was was I supposed to reply? The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.I mean, I'd only seen the movie like seventeen times. "I'm Luke Skywalker," I said. "I'm here to rescue you.
Meg Cabot (Sanctuary (1-800-Where-R-You, #4))
The Legend of Sanctuary You can take my life, but you’ll never break me. So bring me your worst…. And I will definitely give you mine.
Sherrilyn Kenyon (No Mercy (Dark-Hunter, #18; Were-Hunter, #5))
In a library, you can find small miracles and truth, and you might find something that will make you laugh so hard that you will get shushed, in the friendliest way. I have found sanctuary in libraries my whole life, and there is sanctuary there now, from the war, from the storms of our families and our own minds. Libraries are like mountains or meadows or creeks: sacred space. So this afternoon, I'll walk to the library.
Anne Lamott
You are in my church where I am your God, and you are my equal. I’m not a jail, little mouse, I am your sanctuary
H.D. Carlton (Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse, #1))
Honey, there’s not a single woman in this town who doesn’t know about Sanctuary, Land of the Bodacious Gods. Heck, me and my girlfriends want to get together and vote Mama Lo an award for her policy against hiring any man not seriously buff…Not that you’re not buff. You can certainly hold your own against the Sanctuary Hotties. But face it, haven’t you ever noticed that this place is like Hooters for women? (Sunshine) No, I can honestly say that I’ve never noticed how good-looking the men at Sanctuary are. Nor have I ever cared. (Talon)
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Night Embrace (Dark-Hunter, #2))
Is there something going on between you and Matias?” “No!” “Okay, I may not have a truck load of fancy degrees but all I can say is… liar, liar, I’m seriously thinking of grabbing my blow torch and setting your pants on fire.
Jane Cousins (To Surprise A Seer (Southern Sanctuary, #10))
I put my hands on my hips, not caring if I sounded like a Billingsgate fishwife. “Yes, it was a dangerous thing to do, but as it seems to have escaped your attention, I remind you I am above thirty years of age, of sound body and mind, and in control of my own fortune. That means,” I said, moving closer still, poking his chest for emphasis, “I am mistress of myself and answer to no one.
Deanna Raybourn (Silent in the Sanctuary (Lady Julia Grey, #2))
Their bedroom has always been our sanctuary. Sometimes at night we'll end up on their bed just talking. My dad will be snoring and Mia will say, "Turn around, Bobby, you're snoring," and he'll turn around and for a moment it'll be silent. Then he'll erupt into a massive snore and Luca and I will kill ourselves laughing and my dad will wake up and bark, "Get to bed!" and not even a second later he'll be snoring and we'll kill ourselves laughing again and Mia will say, "What is this? Grand Central Station?
Melina Marchetta (Saving Francesca)
I am the slave of the Master of Prophets And my fealty to him has no beginning. I am a slave of his slave, and of his slave’s slave, And so forth endlessly, For I do not cease to approach the door Of his good pleasure among the beginners. I proclaim among people the teaching of his high attributes, And sing his praises among the poets. Perhaps he shall tell me: “You are a noted friend Of mine, a truly excellent beautifier of my tribute.” Yes, I would sacrifice my soul for the dust of his sanctuary. His favor should be that he accept my sacrifice. He has triumphed who ascribes himself to him! - Not that he needs such following, For he is not in need of creation at all, While they all need him without exception. He belongs to Allah alone, Whose purified servant he is, As his attributes and names have made manifest; And every single favor in creation comes from Allah To him, and from him to everything else.
يوسف النبهاني
Vision? What do you know about my vision? My vision would turn your world upside down, tear asunder your illusions, and send the sanctuary of your own ignorance crashing down around you. Now ask yourself. Are you really ready to see that vision?
Huey Freeman
I am solely yours, mon ange, for all eternity, echoed from Darius’s mind as he skidded across the ground. I loved when he called me his angel, a sentiment that was hard to hang on to just now. You are my sanctuary. My soul. Your mother would be proud, echoed from Callie. She loved you so much. Is this the part where I’m supposed to think things to help her? Dizzy asked himself.
K.F. Breene (Fused in Fire (Fire and Ice Trilogy, #3; Demon Days, Vampire Nights, #3))
One day, you will realize that you are not trapped in a prison," he murmurs roughly. "You are in my church where I am your God, and you are my equal. I'm not a jail, little mouse, I am your sanctuary.
H.D. Carlton
When I though I was utterly past feeling, you sparked my interest. I remain sufficiently curiouse to help you. I have no private agenda. You remain free to use your gifts however you choose." Seth furrowed his brow. "I guess I don't feel more evil than before." "Choices determine character. I can't make you evil any more than you can make me good. You made no decision to become a shadow charmer. These new abilities have been thrust upon you be circumstances beyond your control.
Brandon Mull (Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary (Fablehaven, #4))
And while there's so much wisdom that I don't know, I know that evil doesn't happen for a cosmic reason, a 'balance of good' bullshit. Evil happens because it can, because circumstances allow it to take place. And you build your own sanctuary against it to keep yourself sane, to keep yourself fighting it.
Joey W. Hill (Mirror of My Soul (Nature of Desire, #4))
O Sacred Heart of Jesus, fountain of eternal life, Your Heart is a glowing furnace of Love. You are my refuge and my sanctuary. O my adorable and loving Savior, consume my heart with the burning fire with which Yours is aflamed. Pour down on my soul those graces which flow from Your love. Let my heart be united with Yours. Let my will be conformed to Yours in all things. May Your Will be the rule of all my desires and actions. Amen.
Gertrude the Great
As I turned to leave, I looked down. Beside my foot, a sprout of greenery was clawing its way through the pristine nothingness to begin anew. It was later that I realized my haven had sent me a message, and it had shown me that nothing is ever completely lost, unless you cease searching.
J.D. Stroube (Epiphany (The Seven, #1))
There was never a moment... when I forgot my hatred of you. It's almost like... a violent hatred that resembles love.
Kaori Yuki (Angel Sanctuary, Vol. 20)
Your head is incredibly hard…you’ll be fine.” “So much for bedside manner. You didn’t think about cushioning my fall before I hit the ground?” “Please, would you jump in front of an oak tree to stop it falling?” “You’re comparing me to a falling tree?
Jane Cousins (To Trap A Temptress (Southern Sanctuary, #2))
My parents, and librarians along the way, taught me about the space between words; about the margins, where so many juicy moments of life and spirit and friendship could be found. In a library, you could find miracles and truth and you might find something that would make you laugh so hard that you get shushed, in the friendliest way. There was sanctuary in a library, there is sanctuary now, from the war, from the storms of our family and our own anxious minds. Libraries are like the mountain, or the meadows behind the goat lady’s house: sacred space." [Good Friday world, Salon.com, March 28, 2003]
Anne Lamott
Writing, like gambling, was always a big part of my life,” he used to say. “Both gave me sanctuary from the world. And you never really had to kill someone to get what you wanted. You just had to beat fate.
Mario Puzo (The Godfather (The Godfather #1))
As she drowsed in his arms, it occurred to her that he provided the illusion of something she had never had before. Sanctuary. His hand passed repeatedly over her hair in the gentlest of caresses, and she heard him murmur in his dark-angel voice, "Rest, my love. I'm watching over you.
Lisa Kleypas (Devil in Winter (Wallflowers, #3))
What responsibility means is being your own guru. We can only help you find the way. Any healing, any progress, any hope, and any despair is going to come from you. It is your energy that matters. I can't give you my energy, and I wouldn't dream of it. I need it for me. But I can help you find your energy. I'm obligated to help you find it, in any way I can.
Stephen Lewis (Sanctuary: The Path to Consciousness)
She’d been seconds away from kissing the man… no, throttling him, for his sheer audacity.  “You expect me to bat my eyes and thrust my tits into some hairy creature’s face and then run away like a giggling simpleton?” “They only have the one eye under all that hair, and their eyesight is notoriously bad, so you can probably just keep your… tits where they are. 
Jane Cousins (To Vex A Valkyrie (Southern Sanctuary, #9))
I have never fully unbosomed myself to any human being; I have never been encouraged to trust much in the sympathy of my fellow men. But we have all a chance of meeting with some pity, some tenderness, some charity, when we are dead: it is the living only who cannot be forgiven - the living only from whom men's indulgence and reverence are held off, like the rain by the hard east wind. While the heart beats, bruise it - it is your only opportunity; while the eye can still turn towards you with moist, timid entreaty, freeze it with an icy unanswering gaze; while the ear, that delicate messenger to the inmost sanctuary of the soul, can still take in the tones of kindness, put it off with hard civility, or sneering compliment, or envious affectation of indifference; while the creative brain can still throb with the sense of injustice, with the yearning for brotherly recognition - make haste - oppress it with your ill-considered judgements, your trivial comparisons, your careless misrepresentations. The heart will by and by be still - ubi saeoa indignatio ulterius cor lacerate nequit; the eye will cease to entreat; the ear will be deaf; the brain will have ceased from all wants as well as from all work. Then your charitable speeches may find vent; then you may remember and pity the toil and the struggle and the failure; then you may give due honour to the work achieved; then you may find extenuation for errors, and may consent to bury them ("The Lifted Veil")
George Eliot (The Lifted Veil (Fantasy and Horror Classics))
What are you feeling right now?" he asks softly. My breathing escalates. "Confined." "Trapped?" he volleys back. My mouth tightens because while a part of me wants to say yes, the truth is that I don't. I feel... safe. Protected. Treasured. "One day, you will realize that you are not trapped in a prison," he murmurs roughly. "You are in my church where I am your God, and you are my equal. I'm not a jail, little mouse, I am your sanctuary.
H.D. Carlton (Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse, #1))
Soon I will sleep. What shall I dream of, my love? I will dream of you, of course. And I will dream for a place for us to be, a sanctuary where hearts will never break again. This is my dream, my heart. Never forget that there is no end to us, as there can be no end to love. Love must last forever, or why else would there be love? Until then, I will dream.
Richard Paul Evans (Walking on Water (The Walk, #5))
Julian changed; his attention snapped away from Mark, his spine straightening, his voice hardening. He sounded calm, but Emma, who knew him so well, could hear the ice in his voice. “Emma is my parabatai,” he said. “If you ever speak to her like that again, there will be blood on the floor of the Sanctuary, and I do not care if they put me to death for it.
Cassandra Clare (Lady Midnight (The Dark Artifices, #1))
I hope my prayers reach you. My imperfect children... The imperfect imitation sun... continues to love you all... now and forever.
Kaori Yuki (Angel Sanctuary, Vol. 20)
Turning her attention back to her Aunt she sighed softly.  “I’d really like my security deposit back on this place, so if you do end up having to kill him… well…” Nabha laughed softly, patting her niece on the arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it outside.” “Good.”  Devon sighed with relief. That was one less thing to worry about.  “As long as we’re on the same page.
Jane Cousins (To Shackle A Shrew (Southern Sanctuary, #7))
Still, I'm not convinced that you were right, Dai--that it's such a bad thing, a useless enterprise to reel and reel out my memory at night. Some part of me, the human part of me, is kept alive by this, I think. Like water flushing a wound, to prevent it from closing. I am a lucky one, like Chiyo says. I made a terrible mistake. In Gifu, in my raggedy clothes, I had an unreckonable power. I didn't know it at the time. But when I return to the stairwell now, I can feel them webbing around me: my choices, their infinite variety, spiraling out of my hands, my invisible thread. Regret is a pilgrimage back to the place where I was free to choose. It's become my sanctuary here in Nowhere Mill. A threshold where I still exist.
Karen Russell (Vampires in the Lemon Grove: Stories)
You and he were never ...you know. You were our best fighters. You bickered all the time, but you brought out the best in each other as warriors. Going into battle to you turned him on more than any woman could.' I give her a dubious look and she laughs.'Maybe a slight exaggeration, but he really did love it.' Her smiles fades.'And you and Jude were inseparable. That's why it made no sense that you would take the opposite side to either one of them - let alone both...It got worse after you and Jude disappeared last year. We thought he'd gone back to the Sanctuary to be with you. And when we heard you'd both dies...Honestly, I though Rafa was going to harm himself. He wouldn't talk to anyone for weeks. He drifted in and out of our operations, and then a few months ago he lost interest completely and stopped answering calls. We only know he was still alive because he's send Zak an occasional text. We he told Zak about the possibility you'd resurfaced there was no doubt he's come looking for you-' A fist bangs on the door. 'Gabe' Rafa barks. 'Your boyfriend's here. Get your arse into gear.' 'Yeah' I get to my feet. 'I'm the wind beneath his wings.
Paula Weston (Shadows (The Rephaim, #1))
You’re more than my desire, Sabine. If I’m your home, then you’re my safe harbor. The sanctuary where I can finally rest. You’re my everything—my truth, my strength, my trust, my hope, and all my love. You’re the rest of my life.
E.J. Noyes (If I Don't Ask)
We stepped outside rather hurriedly and down the street to anonymous sanctuary among the buildings of San Francisco. "Promise me till your dying day, you'll believe that a Mellon was a Confederate general. It's the truth. That God-damn book lies! There was a Confederate general in my family!" "I promise," I said and it was a promise that was kept.
Richard Brautigan (A Confederate General from Big Sur / Dreaming of Babylon / The Hawkline Monster)
O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.” (Psalms 63: 1-2)
Chris Oyakhilome (When God Visits You)
This is a place of mystery, Julián, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. . . . When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands. . . . in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody’s best friend. Now they only have us . . .
Carlos Ruiz Zafón (El laberinto de los espíritus (El cementerio de los libros olvidados, #4))
Piece by Piece Piece by piece They tear at you: Peeling away layers of being, Lying about who you are, Speaking for your dreams. In the squalor of their eyes You are an outlaw. Dressing you in a jacket of lies —tailor-made in steel— You fit their perfect picture. Take it off! Make your own mantle. Question the interrogators. Eyeball the death in their gaze. Say you won’t succumb. Say you won’t believe them When they rename you. Say you won’t accept their codes, Their colors, their putrid morals. Here you have a way. Here you can sing victory. Here you are not a conquered race Perpetual victim —the sullen face in a thunderstorm. Hands/minds, they are carving out A sanctuary. Use these weapons Against them. Use your given gifts —they are not stone.
Luis J. Rodríguez (My Nature Is Hunger: New and Selected Poems: 1989–2004)
As I learned about the consequences of my food choices and as I recognized that I didn't have to eat animals, and that eating animals caused the animals to suffer, it caused an enormous footprint on our planet, and it wasn't healthy, it made since to go vegan. And, it's one of the best decisions I've ever made, and I think most people who've decided to go vegan share a similar experience. It's very empowering. And, when I went vegan I actually started eating a wide variety of foods I had never tried before. Different ethnic foods. You also start combining things in different ways, you start becoming more creative in the kitchen. But I went vegan just because it seemed to make sense, and it was aligned with my own values, because I didn't want to support this system that was so abusive to animals, and wasting and squandering so many scarce resources on our planet. And it was also healthier, so it was in my interest to eat food that was plant-based instead of animal-based. Living a vegan lifestyle makes a lot of sense.
Gene Baur
She scrambled to her feet, uncaring that a stray knee and elbow had Erik wincing. “How can you be groaning about a simple knee to the groin when you’ve just been battered by flying furniture, candelabras and hit on the head by a pot plant that must weigh a ton or more?” “I’ll have you know there is nothing simple about my groin…” He shot her his predatory grin, the one he often reserved for her breasts. Run little girl, run far and run fast… take those tempting curves, enticing kissable lips and award winning breasts with you.
Jane Cousins (To Date A Disaster (Southern Sanctuary, #6))
I was leaving. Just when this place had become more than a sanctuary, when the command of the Suriel had become a blessing and Tamlin far, far more than a savior or friend, I was leaving. It could be years until I saw this house again, years until I smelled his rose garden, until I saw those gold-flecked eyes. Home—this was home. As consciousness left me at last, I thought I heard him speak, his mouth close to my ear. “I love you,” he whispered, and kissed my brow. “Thorns and all.” He was gone when I awoke, and I was certain I had dreamed
Sarah J. Maas (A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1))
Some instantaneous connection had occurred between them. The very air in the room seemed to crackle with the awareness of it. A wave of heat suffused her body to centre between her legs, suddenly she felt breathless and hyper aware of him. There was no way this man could remain unaffected by the sheer magnitude of the invisible bonds that had just linked them irretrievably together. She wondered what he was thinking behind those beautiful navy blue eyes. Okay so she didn’t really expect him to open his mouth and spout poetry or declare his undying love but she certainly wasn’t prepared for his next words. “You aren’t going to throw up are you? This is one of my favourite suits.
Jane Cousins (To Wrangle A Witch (Southern Sanctuary, #3))
You see colors no one else can see In every breath you hear a symphony You understand me like nobody can I feel like my soul unfolding like a flower blooming When this whole world gets too crazy And there's nowhere left to go I know you give me sanctuary You're the only truth I know You're the road back home.
Backstreet Boys (Backstreet Boys -- The Hits, Chapter One: Piano/Vocal/Chords)
I'm coming... to see you. Rosiel... You don't need to suffer like this. Look. You can do as you please. I'll submit... to anything. I don't need anyone. I had no one from the beginning. This way, for eternity I won't feel the curse of my existence or the hatred of others. I'll lose nothing... Be loved by nothing...
Kaori Yuki (Angel Sanctuary, Vol. 20)
Hey.”  Erik was now eye level with Cara’s breasts and thoroughly enjoying the view.  Maybe he should try and strike up a conversation.  “Come here often?” “Are you talking to my breasts again?”  Cara huffed in exasperation. “Oh… do that again, the huffing thing.” Cara grabbed a fistful of the hair on his clearly undamaged head and yanked so Erik was forced to sit up and make actual eye contact with her.  “I can’t tell if you’re brain damaged or if you’ve always been like this. 
Jane Cousins (To Date A Disaster (Southern Sanctuary, #6))
He jerked the door open, ignored Leo’s suddenly furious growl and stomped back to the observation room. As he pushed through the door, Leo on his heels, he faced Elizabeth as she turned from something Ely was saying. He gripped her shoulders, bent and kissed her forehead gently. “I’m heading home, Mother. Please get Father off my back and out of my life for a day or so if you don’t mind. I do have family matters to take care of now.” Ignoring her surprise, he turned and stalked past Leo, back to the hall, and out of the small building that served as Sanctuary’s pre-detaining building. Calling Leo “father” didn’t sit well, but he was a Breed, created, not born, trained rather than raised. He wasn’t Jonas. After tonight, he would never call Leo “father” again perhaps, but he wouldn’t deny him any longer.
Lora Leigh (Lion's Heat (Breeds, #15; Feline Breeds, #13))
How can I possibly say good-bye to the person I am so hopelessly, deeply and permanently in love with? Because I love you Chris. I do. I will always be in love with you, even though you'll never love me back. You have been my sanctuary this year. You saved me. Do you know that? You saved me. And I wish that you would let me save you.
Jessica Park (Left Drowning (Left Drowning, #1))
Shortly after you have awakened, go into your sanctuary of silence. Get still and focused. Then ask yourself this question: ‘What would I do today if today was my last?
Robin S. Sharma (The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari: A Remarkable Story About Living Your Dreams)
I don’t want to get killed either,” Seth said agreeably. “I’d much rather live. Partly because I know you’d write ‘I told you so’ on my gravestone.
Brandon Mull (Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary (Fablehaven, #4))
I have but one rift in the darkness, that is that I have injured no one save myself by my folly, and that the extent of that folly you will never learn.
William Faulkner (Sanctuary)
Can I share something with you?” Willa leaned in, touching my arm. A faint charge of energy danced over my skin. “You weren’t the only one seeking sanctuary that night. He was in need of shelter—one that could bear the weight of his desires, his love, and his pain. And he found it. He may have given you freedom, but you have given him more than you could ever know.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (The ​Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and Ash, #3))
Hey, what are you doing with your hand?”   Eli’s voice came out high pitched in surprise, as she clutched at Rafe’s shoulders. “It’s the best place for leverage if you’re going to make that ladder.” “My ass?  Really?” “What can I say, I’ve done the math, factored in the weight and height ratios and your ass is definitely where I will gain the most leverage in lifting you.
Jane Cousins (To Thrill A Thief (Southern Sanctuary, #8))
In this moment, however you are searching, stop. Whether you are searching for peace and happiness in a relationship, in a better job, or even in world peace, just for one moment stop absolutely. There is nothing wrong with these pursuits, but if you are engaging in them to get peace or to get happiness, you are overlooking the ground of peace that is already here. Once you discover this ground of peace, then whatever pursuits you engage in will be informed by your discovery. Then you will naturally bring what you have discovered to the world, to politics, to all your relationships. This discovery has infinite, complex ramifications, but the essence of it is very simple. If you will stop all activity, just for one instant, even for one-tenth of a second, and simply be utterly still, you will recognize the inherent spaciousness of your being that is already happy and at peace with itself. Because of our conditioning, we normally dismiss this ground of peace with an immediate, “Yes, but what about my life? I have responsibilities. I need to keep busy. The absolute doesn’t relate to my world, my existence.” These conditioned thoughts just reinforce further conditioning. But if you will take a moment to recognize the peace that is already alive within you, you then actually have the choice to trust it in all your endeavors, in all your relationships, in every circumstance of your life. It doesn’t mean that your life will be swept clean of conflicts, challenges, pain, or suffering. It means that you will have recognized a sanctuary where the truth of yourself is present, where the truth of God is present, regardless of the physical, mental, or emotional circumstances of your life.
Gangaji (The Diamond in Your Pocket: Discovering Your True Radiance)
I wrote many things for and with John. I know this is one assignment he'd rather I didn't have to take on. Although I had a close – head to head, arm to arm working relationship with John, that proximity never affected the fact that from the moment I met him, through all work, I remain his number one fan. He was a brilliant performer, writer, tactician, business strategist and most importantly, he was the only man that I could dance with. He was a great – a world class – emissary of American humor. John was a patriot, a resident of the most wide open, liberal society on earth, and he took full advantage of it. In come cases, real greatness gives license for real indulgence; whether it's as a reward, as therapy or as sanctuary. For as hard as John worked, there had to be an additional illicit thrill to make the effort all worthwhile. John was a nighthawk, true. But he was not an immoral individual. He was a good man, a kind man, a warm man, a hot man. What we are talking about here is a good man – and a bad boy. Johnny – you can be sure that I'll have my antennae out for the paranatural and the spiritual, and believe me, if there's any contact with him, I'll let you know.
Dan Aykroyd
You used to scare me, Draven,” I whispered, skimming my fingers over the back of his neck. He was quiet for a moment. “I know. But I was never your prison. Never your captor. All I've ever wanted was to be your protector. Your sanctuary.” My heart flipped over in my chest. Draven reached out a hand and caressed my hair. “I saw you, and I wanted to consume you. Like a fire that would only burn for me.
Briar Boleyn (Empress of Fae (Blood of a Fae, #3))
believe you will get a tug on your sleeve, and something from deep deep inside will get back to you on what might make sense for you to pursue or try. . . . You know how you can dive under a wave that is going to crash on top of you? Writing can help me do that—to pull way back from turmoil and impending overwhelm, and find a bit of sanctuary in the process, the action of scribbling down memories, visions, musings . . .
Chanel Miller (Know My Name: A Memoir)
And for the next long years of my life, I tried to remember only the reading, not the terrible things that happened to me as I came and went up and down the stairs. The library became my sanctuary. I loved the ways the precious stories took shape but always had room to be read again. I became fascinated with how writers did that. How did they make a story feel so complete and yet to open-ended? It was like painting a picture that changed each time you looked at it.
Rene Denfeld (The Enchanted)
This is a place of mystery, Daniel, a sanctuary. Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. This place was already ancient when my father brought me here for the first time, many years ago. Perhaps as old as the city itself. Nobody knows for certain how long it has existed, or who created it. I will tell you what my father told me, though. When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader's hands. In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you here has been somebody's best friend. Now they only have us, Daniel. Do you think you'll be able to keep such a secret?' My gaze was lost in the immensity of the place and its sorcery of light. I nodded, and my father smiled.
Carlos Ruiz Zafón (The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #1))
I have a system with bathrooms. I spend a lot of time in them. They are sanctuaries, public places of peace spaced throughout the world for people like me. When I pop into Aaron’s, I continue my normal routine of wasting time. I turn the light off first. Then I sigh. Then I turn around, face the door I just closed, pull down my pants, and fall on the toilet— I don’t sit; I fall like a carcass, feeling my butt accommodate the rim. Then I put my head in my hands and breathe out as I, well, y’know, piss. I always try to enjoy it, to feel it come out and realize that it’s my body doing something it has to do, like eating, although I’m not too good at that. I bury my face in my hands and wish that it could go on forever because it feels good. You do it and it’s done. It doesn’t take any effort or any planning. You don’t put it off. That would be really screwed up, I think. If you had such problems that you didn’t pee. Like being anorexic, except with urine. If you held it in as self-punishment. I wonder if anyone does that? I finish up and flush, reaching behind me, my head still down. Then I get up and turn on the light. (Did anyone notice I was in here in the dark? Did they see the lack of light under the crack and notice it like a roach? Did Nia see?) Then I look in the mirror. I look so normal. I look like I’ve always looked, like I did before the fall of last year. Dark hair and dark eyes and one snaggled tooth. Big eyebrows that meet in the middle. A long nose, sort of twisted. Pupils that are naturally large—it’s not the pot— which blend into the dark brown to make two big saucer eyes, holes in me. Wisps of hair above my upper lip. This is Craig. And I always look like I’m about to cry. I put on the hot water and splash it at my face to feel something. In a few seconds I’m going to have to go back and face the crowd. But I can sit in the dark on the toilet a little more, can’t I? I always manage to make a trip to the bathroom take five minutes.
Ned Vizzini (It's Kind of a Funny Story)
One afternoon in the fall of 2015, while I was writing this book, I was driving in my car and listening to SiriusXM Radio. On the folk music station the Coffee House, a song came on with a verse that directly spoke to me—so much so that I pulled off the road as soon as I could and wrote down the lyrics and the singer’s name. The song was called “The Eye,” and it’s written by the country-folk singer Brandi Carlile and her bandmate Tim Hanseroth and sung by Carlile. I wish it could play every time you open these pages, like a Hallmark birthday card, because it’s become the theme song of this book. The main refrain is: I wrapped your love around me like a chain But I never was afraid that it would die You can dance in a hurricane But only if you’re standing in the eye. I hope that it is clear by now that every day going forward we’re going to be asked to dance in a hurricane, set off by the accelerations in the Market, Mother Nature, and Moore’s law. Some politicians propose to build a wall against this hurricane. That is a fool’s errand. There is only one way to thrive now, and it’s by finding and creating your own eye. The eye of a hurricane moves, along with the storm. It draws energy from it, while creating a sanctuary of stability inside it. It is both dynamic and stable—and so must we be. We can’t escape these accelerations. We have to dive into them, take advantage of their energy and flows where possible, move with them, use them to learn faster, design smarter, and collaborate deeper—all so we can build our own eyes to anchor and propel ourselves and our families confidently forward.
Thomas L. Friedman (Thank You for Being Late: An Optimist's Guide to Thriving in the Age of Accelerations)
You are trespassers - intruders, spies. Worse of all, you are Human. Humans have always tried to destroy what alien species have built. This is my private sanctuary, a place of freedom for all species. Still you have crept in and contaminated this place with your presence
Star Wars (Nolaa Tarkona)
Leslie Marmon Silko whispers the story is long. No, longer. Longer than that even. Longer than anything. With Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath drink at the bar. Laugh the dark laughter in the dark light. Sing a dark drunken song of men. Make a slurry toast. Rock back and forth, and drink the dark, and bask in the wallow of women knowing what women know. Just for a night. When you need to feel the ground of your life and the heart of the world, there will be a bonfire at the edge of a canyon under a night sky where Joy Harjo will sing your bonesong. Go ahead-with Anne Carson - rebuild the wreckage of a life a word at a time, ignoring grammar and the forms that keep culture humming. Make word war and have it out and settle it, scattering old meanings like hacked to pieces paper doll confetti. The lines that are left … they are awake and growling. With Virginia Woolf there will perhaps be a long walk in a garden or along a shore, perhaps a walk that will last all day. She will put her arm in yours and gaze out. At your backs will be history. In front of you, just the ordinary day, which is of course your entire life. Like language. The small backs of words. Stretching out horizonless. I am in a midnight blue room. A writing room. With a blood red desk. A room with rituals and sanctuaries. I made it for myself. It took me years. I reach down below my desk and pull up a bottle of scotch. Balvenie. 30 year. I pour myself an amber shot. I drink. Warm lips, throat. I close my eyes. I am not Virginia Woolf. But there is a line of hers that keeps me well: Arrange whatever pieces come your way. I am not alone. Whatever else there was or is, writing is with me.
Lidia Yuknavitch (The Chronology of Water)
Nothing bruise but my massive arse and my bigger ego." He blinked. "Who cast the spell on me? I can see now." "It was me," Vaste said from behind him. "I was afraid you'd fall into me, and frankly I'm not sure I could support your 'massive ego' since I'm too busy carrying your arse.
Robert J. Crane (Defender (Sanctuary, #1))
If you read the translation, know this: it is a work in progress. All such things are. Other scholars will come along, armed with a better comprehension of the language, other texts, the evidence of archaeology, and they will refine our words, or replace them entirely. We once thought that southern Anthiope was the homeland of my people; now we know it was their second home, as the Sanctuary we live in today is the third. We should not lament this alteration in our knowledge, but celebrate it. Our understanding should always change, always grow—even when that means the necessary destruction of what we knew before.
Marie Brennan (Turning Darkness Into Light (The Memoirs of Lady Trent, #6))
If there is any conclusion to my tale (apart from my death, which I hope is yet a good way off), it is that the heart of it will never truly end. Although my memoirs are of course the story of my life and career, they are also a story of discovery: of curiosity, and investigation, and learning, not only regarding dragons but many other topics. I take comfort in knowing that others will carry this tale forward, continually unfolding new secrets of the world in which we live, and hopefully using that understanding more often for good than for ill. And so I leave it in your hands, gentle reader. Mind you carry it well.
Marie Brennan (Within the Sanctuary of Wings (The Memoirs of Lady Trent, #5))
Nothing like being woken up after only a few hours of sleep by workmen wanting to come into your sanctuary to check water lines to put life into perspective. Wine glasses, dishes, yesterday’s ghosts, and a fucking mess everywhere. It’s not all about me, is it? Life moves around out there and sometimes it wants to come in and mess with me when all I want to do is turn over and hide. I am a fragile being, sometimes it takes almost nothing to knock me off my feet and make me tired of living. Sometimes I am so tired that everything is a gargantuan effort. But I'm strong, I always hang on and hold on. My emotions run from being elated and looking up to the sky and seeing all the infinite possibilities, to looking straight into the eyes of Hades. But you know me, I always come through with all my scars, all the love I carry in my heart, and my crooked tiara. Every single diamond in that tiara reflects all the light within me and within you. Indestructible
Riitta Klint
Oh, Graciosa, I have never been able to think about it without terror, loving somebody who is unworthy of my love. To bare my soul to impure eyes, and allow someone to defile the sanctuary of my heart. For though you may make a complete break some silt will always remains, and the stream never regains the original clarity.
Théophile Gautier (Mademoiselle de Maupin)
You guys missed my cue,” I said. “No one noticed.” “I did.” “Relax, it was great.” “Relax” is a real tough one for me. Another tough one is “smile.” “Smile” doesn’t really work either. Telling me to relax or smile when I’m angry is like bringing a birthday cake into an ape sanctuary. You’re just asking to get your nose and genitals bitten off.
Amy Poehler (Yes Please)
This is the secret of holiness: to be led by the Holy Spirit in all things. Seek the guidance of the Holy Spirit actively. Call upon Him, for He is, at every moment, available to you. He dwells with Me and with My Father in the sanctuary of your soul. He is your Advocate against the world, the flesh, and the Evil One, the accuser. He is your Advocate with My Father.
Anonymous (In Sinu Jesu: When Heart Speaks to Heart--The Journal of a Priest at Prayer)
When we lose a righteous person who is dear to us, we have the wonderful opportunity to honor that person by incorporating the best principles from his or her life into ours. What were his gifts? What were her talents? A desire to serve, a happy outlook on life, generosity with material possessions, an even greater generosity in having a heart that included everyone? Following the example of a loved one, we can love the Lord, make covenants with the Lord, and keep them faithfully. We too can seek to understand the Savior's great mission of atonement, redemption, and salvation. We too can seek to become worthy followers of the Son of God. And we too can anticipate that when the time comes for us to step through the veil of mortality, leaving our failing and pain-filled bodies behind, we will see the loving smile and feel the welcoming embrace, not only of our Heavenly Parents and of the Savior, but also of our loved ones who will greet us in full vigor, full remembrance, and full love. When we are in the valley of the shadow, it is a time of questions without answers. We ask, "How can I bear this? Why did such a good woman have to die? Why aren't my prayers being answered?" In this life, we will not receive answers to many questions of "why"—partly because the limitations of mortality prevent us from understanding the full plan. But I testify to you that the answer of faith is a powerful one, even in the most difficult of circumstances, because it does not depend on us—on our strength to endure, on our willpower, on the depth of our intellectual understanding, or on the resources we can accumulate. No, it depends on God, whose strength is omnipotence, whose understanding is that of eternity, and who has the will to walk beside us in love, sharing our burden. He could part the Red Sea before us or calm the angry storm that besets us, but these would be small miracles for the God of nature. Instead, he chooses to do something harder: He wants to transform human nature into divine nature. And thus, when our Red Sea blocks our way and when the storm threatens to overwhelm us, he enters the water with us, holding us in the hands of love, supporting us with the arms of mercy. When we emerge from the valley of the shadow, we will see that he was there with us all the time.
Chieko N. Okazaki (Sanctuary)
I Pray For This Girl Oh yes! For the young girl Who just landed on Mother Earth! The one about to turn five with a smile Or the other one who just turned nine She is not only mine My Mother’s, Grandmother’s Neighbour’s or friend’s daughter She is like a flower Very fragile, yet so gorgeous An Angel whose wings are invisible I speak life to this young or older girl She might not have a say But expects the world to be a better place Whether affluent or impoverished No matter her state of mind Her background must not determine How she is treated She needs to live, she has to thrive! Lord God Almighty Sanctify her unique journey Save her from the claws of the enemy Shield her against any brutality Restore her if pain becomes a reality Embrace her should joy pass swiftly When emptiness fills her heart severely May you be her sanctuary! Dear Father, please give her The honour to grow without being frightened Hope whenever she feels forsaken Contentment even after her heart was broken Comfort when she is shaken Courage when malice creeps in Calm when she needs peace Strength when she is weak Freedom to climb on a mountain peak And wisdom to tackle any season Guide her steps, keep her from tumbling My Lord, if she does sometimes stumble Lift her up, so she can rise and ramble Grant her power to wisely triumph On my knees, I plead meekly for this girl I may have never met her I may not know her name I may not be in her shoes I may not see her cries Yet, I grasp her plight Wherever she is King of Kings Be with her Each and every day I pray for this girl
Gift Gugu Mona (From My Mother's Classroom: A Badge of Honour for a Remarkable Woman)
Do you remember bedtime as a child? I was terrified of the dark. I was terrified of the closed closet door that surely cracked open when I wasn't looking and spewed out ghouls and devils. I took care that no arms or legs protruded from the bed. I sometimes slept with the covers over my head. Sweltering, panting, barely breathing. Not even my hair exposed, lest a monster discover and devour me. I remember begging my father to check under the bed. I remember trying to explain how some monsters had invisibility cloaks. He would kiss my cheek and switch off the light. We stop looking under the bed once we realize that the monsters are inside us. It's funny how they transform. Suddenly they don't mind daylight. Suddenly they dress nicely, speak our language, and share our customs. They sit next to us on the metro and jog around our neighborhoods. They slip things into our drinks at parties and offer us jobs. Sometimes we spot them, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we even do the unthinkable: we invite them to our bed. As adults, we burn down the sanctuaries we created as children. Our inner child freaks out, but its screams are drowned by our moans as our monsters bring us to orgasm.
Angela Panayotopulos (The Wake Up)
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. (Psalm 63:1–3) These words might not speak on your behalf, but they can—they must. If you think they can’t, that is not shame talking. It is hopelessness, indifference, and a heart that is getting hard. These are completely understandable, but they are also a whopper of a lie. A warning about “a heart that is getting hard” is not the nicest comment to slip into a book’s final chapter. But please understand why I give it. There is a paralytic quality to shame that leaves you powerless, unable to put up the least resistance. It leads you to believe the lie that Christ’s words to you are mere words, which they are not. They are words of power that heal the sick and raise the dead. When people encounter the gospel, limbs suddenly begin to move and death gives way to life. So, when you hear these deep truths and still think you are paralyzed, understand why. You have been motionless for a while and your muscle memory says you can’t move. But your memory is lying. You can move; you can hear, believe, and declare. If you are passive and hopeless, take a more radical approach. Adopt the topsy-turvy, surprising culture of the kingdom of God. In that kingdom we aren’t shy about looking at our hearts and identifying resistance where we once found only powerlessness. The warning about being hard-hearted can be a reason to hope.
Edward T. Welch (Shame Interrupted: How God Lifts the Pain of Worthlessness and Rejection)
I slipped into the music room and, with my backpack still in my lap like a shield. I took a seat at a piano old enough to have been carried over the ark. The room was small, quiet. A sanctuary. It was always this way for me. Teh stored instruments in the closets called out like old friends. The bent and scratched black music stands welcomed me to thier home. The oily smell, a perfume. It was like...church.
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)
Just say it, she thought. Say what everyone in this bunker is thinking. Say what we all know to be true. The truth that we are all going to die down here, and death is the end. Nobody wakes up to a heaven or paradise. Your life will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Uncover the truth. Tear off the bandages of delusion. Open your hearts and minds to the real world. We were doomed the day we were born. We lived and we will die and the only immortals are the people who did something worth remembering while they lived. My genetics are prime. I am pleasing to the eyes of man and machine. A dripping fountain of pleasure. Their organic sanctuary. And in time? Aging. Fading. Graying. What am I? Who am I? What makes me human? Emotions? My conscience? The soul is an old testament myth. No one shall ascend anywhere except into annihilation. The dust of earth and stars are the only eternals, she said.
C.J. Anderson (Enter Ruinland (Ruinland #1))
O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.
Francis Chan (Crazy Love: Overwhelmed by a Relentless God)
Welcome to Sanctuary, my home and the focus of the Imperials, whom I serve and direct. This is an island of force in Free Alaska, of the planet Earth, and the system of mankind. We are those who wage eternal war against tyranny. We are those who choose death over submission. Freedom over oppression. And honor always. Choose our values, and you will have found a friend. Choose to control a free spirit and we will control you. Decide for others and we will decide for you. Use force against the vulnerable and our force will render you helpless. Practice coercion and we will oppress you. Bring strife to mankind and we will bring you war! Now is the time for your misgivings and complaints. Now is the time for you to voice your concerns and your apprehensions. Stand now and speak in freedom. Speak your mind and you will be heard. If you be injured, say now by whom. If you seek redress and your cause be just, I will stand with you. If a wrong can be righted, I will undertake that task. If it is I that have offended, show me my error and I will correct it. This is also the time for blood, if blood is what you seek. Here you can fight, if only combat will give you satisfaction. Here you can win in trial by ordeal, but here too you can lose. If your cause be as important as life itself to you, it is here you can wager your life. Fairness is intended, but beware that here lies the intent to prevail.| Your cause, if true, would be better served by reason, for with reason the Imperials can be moved. Force is the resort of passion, but passion may serve evil or good. Here it serves us and we will stand by its consequences even if it takes us all from the Earth. It is said where you find those who live by the sword you will find those who die by the sword. Look no further. You have found those who make such a choice for their life. You have found the Imperials. I am their Voice. Speak for yourself now if you will.
William C. Samples (Fe Fi FOE Comes)
To say to an Orthodox Jew, “I would like to have dinner with you,” is understood as “I would like to enter into friendship with you.” Even today, members of Orthodox Jewry will share a donut and a cup of coffee with you, but when they extend a dinner invitation, they are saying, “Come to my mikdash me-at, my miniature sanctuary, my dining-room table, and we will celebrate the most beautiful experience that life affords—friendship.” That is what Zacchaeus heard when Jesus called him down from the sycamore tree,
Brennan Manning (A Glimpse of Jesus: The Stranger to Self-Hatred)
Silveny's pregnant,' Sophie told her friends when she joined them for breakfast. Fitz dropped his fork. 'Are you sure?' 'Oh yeah,' Sophie mumbled, sinking into the chair next to him. 'She showed me...' 'GAH!' everyone said. Keefe pushed his plate away. 'I'm done with food forever.' 'Me too,' Dex agreed. 'Me three,' Biana said. 'Seriously, that is one batch of memories you do not have to show me,' Fitz told Sophie. 'I don't care if it's part of our Cognate training.' 'But it's still huge,' Biana added. 'Do you know how far along she is?' 'I'm guessing it's new, since the last few times I transmitted to her she didn't mention anything about--' 'STOP!' Keefe held up his hands. 'Ground rules for this conversation: All talk of alicorn baby-making is off the table--got it? Otherwise I'll have to rip my ears off. And for the record, I do not want to be there when Baby Glitterbutt arrives.' 'Me either,' Fitz said. 'My dad made me go to the Hekses' unicorn preserve for a delivery one time.' He shuddered. 'Who knew they came out so slimy?' 'Ew, dude, I did not need to know that. Can we talk about something else? Anything else?' 'Does anyone know how long alicorns stay pregnant?' Sophie asked. Biana shook her head. 'We've never had a baby alicorn before. But I'm pretty sure unicorns are pregnant for eleven months. So maybe it's the same?' 'Do you think Silveny knows?' Fitz asked. 'If her instincts are telling her she's pregnant, maybe they'll also tell her how it's going to work.' 'I guess I can ask. It was hard to get information out of her. All she wanted to tell me about was--' 'STOP!' Keefe said. 'I wasn't going to say that. She was telling me that she's really hungry. I'm not sure if it's a pregnancy craving or an excuse to get more treats, but she went on and on about how she needs more swizzlespice. We'll have to find a way to let Jurek know. 'Do you think he already knows?' Fitz asked. 'He's the equestrian caretaker at the Sanctuary. Maybe he...saw stuff.' 'WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT THE GROUND RULES?' Keefe shouted, covering his ears. 'That's it, this conversation is officially over. Next person who says "alicorn" is getting pelted with fruit.' 'What's wrong with the alicorns?' Granite asked behind them. He'd arrived with Mr. Forkle, each of them carrying stacks of scrolls. 'Silveny's pregnant," Sophie said, and all the scrolls went THUNK! 'Are you certain?' Granite whispered, bending to gather the uncurling paper. Sophie nodded, and Mr. Forkle rushed to her side. 'Tell me everything.' 'And I'm out!' Keefe said, covering his ears and singing, 'LALALALALA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!' as he raced up the stairs to the boys' tree house.
Shannon Messenger (Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4))
Darkness my beloved home, I return! I return, not whole, but damaged. Fatigued by quixotic tendencies, The prodigal has come back famished. An outer world, so hostile and strange Filled immensely with ignorant natives The land where all good is forgotten Where hatred itself is life’s matrix. Though I’ve brought an odd mystery, An enigma that requires my genius A phenomenon, in foreign land; A veiled embodiment of Venus. Since, I’ve craved for my sanctuary, I have returned to you, oh darkness! Now I will restore my lost vigor to Unravel demeanors of this goddess. But..... Why am I estranged to this darkness? Maybe I’ve been away for too long, But shouldn’t home always feel home? Why am I in dire need to belong? As if this soul is deprived of life As if this body is in swift decay As if this mind screams for peace As if this heart calls to be lured ‘way Unwise, to have brought the goddess, When she is of a different realm Unfortunate, to have fallen in love, As she leaves to retain her helm Perhaps, this home lies deep within For everything is, but mere illusion Hence, I’ll reside her in my heart; To feel her, even in seclusion.
Zubair Ahsan
Gregori stepped away from the huddled mass of tourists, putting distance between himself and the guide. He walked completely erect,his head high, his long hair flowing around him. His hands were loose at his sides, and his body was relaxed, rippling with power. "Hear me now, ancient one." His voice was soft and musical, filling the silence with beauty and purity. "You have lived long in this world, and you weary of the emptiness. I have come in anwer to your call." "Gregori.The Dark One." The evil voice hissed and growled the words in answer. The ugliness tore at sensitive nerve endings like nails on a chalkboard. Some of the tourists actually covered their ears. "How dare you enter my city and interfere where you have no right?" "I am justice,evil one. I have come to set your free from the bounaries holding you to this place." Gregori's voice was so soft and hypnotic that those listening edged out from their sanctuaries.It beckoned and pulled, so that none could resist his every desire. The black shape above their head roiled like a witch's cauldron. A jagged bolt of lightning slammed to earth straight toward the huddled group. Gregori raised a hand and redirected the force of energy away from the tourists and Savannah. A smile edged the cruel set of his mouth. "You think to mock me with display,ancient one? Do not attempt to anger what you do not understand.You came to me.I did not hunt you.You seek to threaten my lifemate and those I count as my friends.I can do no other than carry the justice of our people to you." Gregori's voice was so reasonable, so perfect and pure,drawing obedience from the most recalcitrant of criminals. The guide made a sound,somewhere between disbelief and fear.Gregori silenced him with a wave of his hand, needing no distractions. But the noise had been enough for the ancient one to break the spell Gregori's voice was weaving around him. The dark stain above their heads thrashed wildly, as if ridding itself ot ever-tightening bonds before slamming a series of lightning strikes at the helpless mortals on the ground. Screams and moans accompanied the whispered prayers, but Gregori stood his ground, unflinching. He merely redirected the whips of energy and light, sent them streaking back into the black mass above their heads.A hideous snarl,a screech of defiance and hatred,was the only warning before it hailed. Hufe golfball-sized blocks of bright-red ice rained down toward them. It was thick and horrible to see, the shower of frozen blood from the skies. But it stopped abruptly, as if an unseen force held it hovering inches from their heads. Gregori remained unchanged, impassive, his face a blank mask as he shielded the tourists and sent the hail hurtling back at their attacker.From out of the cemetery a few blocks from them, an army of the dead rose up. Wolves howled and raced along beside the skeletons as they moved to intercept the Carpathian hunter. Savannah. He said her name once, a soft brush in her mind. I've got it, she sent back instantly.Gregori had his hands full dealing with the abominations the vampire was throwing at him; he did't need to waste his energy protecting the general public from the apparition. She moved out into the open, a small, fragile figure, concentrating on the incoming threat. To those dwelling in the houses along the block and those driving in their cars, she masked the pack of wolves as dogs racing down the street.The stick=like skeletons, grotesque and bizarre, were merely a fast-moving group of people. She held the illusion until they were within a few feet of Gregori.Dropping the illusion, she fed every ounce of her energy and power to Gregori so he could meet the attack.
Christine Feehan (Dark Magic (Dark, #4))
Psalm 63 A psalm of David. When he was in the Desert of Judah. 1 O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. 2 I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. 3 Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. 4 I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. 5 My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you. 6 On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. 7 Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.
Beth Moore (A Heart Like His: Intimate Reflections on the Life of David)
Christ, I’m tired. I need sleep. I need peace. I need for my balls to not be so blue they’re practically purple. As purple as Sarah Von Titebottum’s— My mind comes to a screeching halt with the unexpected thought. And the image that accompanies it—the odd, blushing lass with her glasses and her books and very tight bottom. Sarah’s not a contestant on the show, so I’m willing to bet both my indigo balls that there’s not a camera in her room. And, I can’t believe I’m fucking thinking this, but, even better—none of the other girls will know where to find me—including Elizabeth. I let the cameras noisily track me to the lavatory, but then, like an elite operative of the Secret Intelligence Service, I plaster myself to the wall beneath their range and slide my way out the door. Less than five minutes later, I’m in my sleeping pants and a white T-shirt, barefoot with my guitar in hand, knocking on Sarah’s bedroom door. I checked the map Vanessa gave me earlier. Her room is on the third floor, in the corner of the east wing, removed from the main part of the castle. The door opens just a crack and dark brown eyes peer out. “Sanctuary,” I plead. Her brow crinkles and the door opens just a bit wider. “I beg your pardon?” “I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours. My best friend’s girlfriend is trying to praying-mantis me and the sound of the cameras following me around my room is literally driving me mad. I’m asking you to take me in.” And she blushes. Great. “You want to sleep in here? With me?” I scoff. “No, not with you—just in your room, love.” I don’t think about how callous the words sound—insulting—until they’re out of my mouth. Could I be any more of a dick? Thankfully, Sarah doesn’t look offended. “Why here?” she asks. “Back in the day, the religious orders used to give sanctuary to anyone who asked. And since you dress like a nun, it seemed like the logical choice.” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Somebody just fucking shoot me and be done with it. Sarah’s lips tighten, her head tilts, and her eyes take on a dangerous glint. I think Scooby-Doo put it best when he said, Ruh-roh. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right—you need my help?” “Correct.” “You need shelter, protection, sanctuary that only I can give?” “Yes.” “And you think teasing me about my clothes is a wise strategy?” I hold up my palms. “I never said I was wise. Exhausted, defenseless, and desperate.” I pout . . . but in a manly kind of way. “Pity me.” A smile tugs at her lips. And that’s when I know she’s done for. With a sigh, she opens the door wide. “Well, it is your castle. Come in.” Huh. She’s right—it is my castle. I really need to start remembering that
Emma Chase (Royally Matched (Royally, #2))
How can this tainted world contain us, how can it contain our dreams? At night, in the freedom of my mind, the shackles of this mortal realm fall away as I soar above the fields and the farms, over forests and hills. I have always dreamed of flying – dreams like this are where the spirit comes alive, where we create our own rules, our own reality. Why should we let other people tell us how to live, or what is right and what is wrong? Flex your wings and soar with me, my little ones. Do you see our land below us? Is it not beautiful? The lake and the fields, the river and the trees, the horses running free beneath the sun. This is our world, our home, our sanctuary, and within it we are safe. Is that a dream? No, it is our reality.
Casey Hill (Hidden (CSI Reilly Steel, #3))
Before she could don her wide-brimmed hat and leave the sanctuary of their willow bower, Val did wrap his arms around her again, this time positioning his body behind hers. “I will come back after dark,” he whispered, “if you’ll allow it.” She went still, and he knew a moment’s panic. “Talk to me, Ellen.” He kissed her cheek. “Just be honest.” “My… tonight might not be a good time.” “Sweetheart…” Val let her go and turned her to face him. “I will not force myself on you, I just want… I want to see you.” To make sure she was all right, whatever that meant in the odd, new context in which he was trying to define the term. She must have sensed his bewilderment, because she turned away and spoke to him from over her shoulder. “My courses are due.” Val cocked his head. “So you become unfit company? Do you have the megrims and cramps and melancholy? Eat chocolates by the tin? Take to your bed?” “Sometimes.” Ellen peered at him, her expression guarded. “Then I will comfort you. I’ll cuddle you up and bring you tisanes and rub your back and your feet. I’ll read to you and beat you at cards and bring you hot-water bottles for your aches.” Ellen’s brows knit. “I truly am poor company at such times and usually before such times, as well.” “You are poor company for people who expect you to play on without missing a note, perhaps,” Val replied, holding her gaze. “May we sit a moment?” She nodded but had gone too shy even to meet his eyes. “My Uncle Tony’s wife,” Val said, wrapping an arm around Ellen’s shoulders, “is blunt to a fault. She told me relations with Tony were the best way to ease her cramps.” “Valentine!
Grace Burrowes (The Virtuoso (Duke's Obsession, #3; Windham, #3))
Voldemort caught up with you?” said Lupin sharply. “What happened? How did you escape?” Harry explained briefly how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the sanctuary of Tonks’s parents. “They recognized you? But how? What had you done?” “I . . .” Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. “I saw Stan Shunpike . . . . You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of—well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!” Lupin looked aghast. “Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!” “We were hundreds of feet up! Stan’s not himself, and if I Stunned him and he’d fallen, he’d have died the same as if I’d used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago,” Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharius Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach Dumbledore’s Army how to Disarm. “Yes, Harry,” said Lupin with painful restraint, “and a great number of Death Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!” “So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?” said Harry angrily. “Of course not,” said Lupin, “but the Death Eaters—frankly, most people!—would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!” Lupin was making Harry feel idiotic, and yet there was still a grain of defiance inside him. “I won’t blast people out of my way just because they’re there,” said Harry. “That’s Voldemort’s job.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7))
I want to see Milo,” I replied. “He’s going to come with me while I look around Delphi.” “Milo?” the other soldier echoed as we left the sanctuary grounds. “You know, the little Calydonian,” his comrade said. “How stupid are you? It’s not like he blends in with the rest of us. A good lad, but fretful. He was up half the night worrying about how he’d ever know whether Lady Helen would need him to run errands for her while we’re at Delphi.” “Is that right?” I asked. The soldier nodded. “Yes, Lady Helen. It was a great kindness you did, freeing him from slavery, but now gratitude’s made him enslave himself to you. You’ve got a fine servant in that boy.” “Not forever,” I said. “Right now there’s no choice about it--he’s got no family, no way to feed himself--but once we get home I’ll apprentice him to one of the palace craftsmen. Then he can live his own life.” “A jug of wine says he’ll only be happy if he can live it close to her,” the first soldier muttered to the other, but when I demanded he repeat his words to my face, he claimed he’d said nothing at all.
Esther M. Friesner (Nobody's Princess (Nobody's Princess, #1))
Poppy Pink is a unicorn, but not just any unicorn. She is a member of the Pinkerton Manor family of unicorns. She was indeed a vision as she stepped from her transport. Poppy Pink is pink all over, but her mane and tail are the purest white and so soft and silky. Her hooves are silver and look like dancing shoes, and they match her sparkling, silver, spiralled horn. 'Oh Poppy,' gasped Oona. 'You look beautiful.' 'I know I do Oona. I suppose you don't look too bad either… for a dragon.' Poppy Pink was a snob, and there wasn't anyone, unicorn or dragon, who was better than her. Well, she was a third generation Pinkerton Manor unicorn, and Pinkerton Manor was only the biggest Manor House in the county. How could anyone possibly be better? Poppy Pink looked down at her feet. They were very muddy. 'Ugh, look at my beautiful, shiny, hooves Oona,' whined Poppy Pink. 'We don't have mud at Pinkerton Manor, even when it rains.' Poor Oona Orange-Blackspot looked downhearted. 'So sorry Poppy. I wish it hadn't rained for your visit.' 'So do I,' sniffed Poppy Pink. 'I find this weather very tiresome. It never rains enough to cause mud at Pinkerton Manor.
Ann Perry (The Dragon Sanctuary)
The bonds of family can be wonderful but there is a time to know when to stand apart." She held out a hand to Rycca on the nearby bench. "Besides, we are your family now, all of us, and we know your worth." Deeply touched, Rycca had to blink several times before she could respond. She knew both women spoke pure truth and loved them for it.After a lifetime of emotional solitude unbroken but for Thurlow, it was still difficult for her to comprehend that she was no longer alone. Yet was she beginning to understand it. Softly,she said, "I worry over Dragon. He refuses to talk of my father or of what will happen now that we are here, but I fear he is planning to take matters into his own hands." Cymbra and Krysta exchanged a glance. Quietly,Cymbra said, "Your instinct is not wrong. Dragon simmers with rage at the harm attempted to you. In Landsende I caught a mere glimpse of it,and it was like peering into one of those mountains that belch fire." Despite the heat of the sauna, Rycca shivered. "He came close to losing his life once because of me.I cannot bear for it to happen again." There was silence for a moment,broken only by the crackling of the fire and the hiss of steam.Finally, Cymbra said, "We are each of us married to an extraordinary man. There is something about them...even now I don't really know how to explain it." She looked at Krysta. "Have you told Rycca about Thorgold and Raven?" Krysta shook her head. "There was no time before." She turned on her side on the bench,facing the other two. "Thorgold and Raven are my...friends. They are somewhat unusual." Cymbra laughed at that,prompting a chiding look from Krysta,who went on to say, "I'm not sure how but I think somehow I called them to me when I was a child and needed them very much." "Krysta has the gift of calling," Cymbra said, "as I do of feeling and you do of truthsaying. Doesn't it strike you as odd that three very unusual women, all bearing special gifts, ccame to be married to three extraordinary men who are united by a common purpose,to bring peace to their peoples?" "I had not really thought about it," said Rycca, who also had not known of Krysta's gift and was looking at her with some surprise. All three of them? That was odd. "I believe," said Cymbra, who clearly had been thinking about it, "that there is a reason for it beyond mere coincidence. I think we are meant to be at their sides, to help them as best we can, the better to transform peace from dream to reality." "It is a good thought," Krysta said. Rycca nodded. Very quietly, she said, "Blessed are the peacemakers." Cymbra grinned. "And poor things, we appear to be their blessings. So worry not for Dragon, Rycca. He will prevail. We will all see to it." They laughed then,the trio of them, ancient and feminine laughter hidden in a chamber held in the palm of the earth. The steam rose around them, half obscuringm half revealing them. In time,when the heat had become too intense,they rose, wrapped themselves in billowing cloths,and ran through the gathering darkness to the river, where they frolicked in cool water and laughed again beneath the stars. The torches had been lit by the time they returned to the stronghold high on the hill. They dressed and hastened to the hall,where they greeted their husbands, who stood as one when they entered,silent and watchful men before beauty and strength, and took their seats at table. Wine was poured, food brought,music played. They lingered over the evening,taking it into night. The moon was high when they found the sweet,languid sanctuary of their beds. Day came too swiftly.
Josie Litton (Come Back to Me (Viking & Saxon, #3))
Kendra rubbed her eyes. She had slept in her clothes. “Come in, then.” The door opened and Cody entered with a tray. “Scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, yogurt, and juice,” he announced, setting the tray on the desk. “You barge down the stairs, infuriate Torina, and end up with a first-rate breakfast. Maybe I should start acting a little less compliant!” “Don’t get too jealous. This may be my last meal.” Cody shrugged. “They’re expecting visitors. They told me to deliver this. I’m supposed to suggest that you be on your best behavior. So I’ve suggested it.” “You want some bacon or something?” He hesitated. “I couldn’t take your food.” “Have a strip. And some sausage, too. How am I supposed to eat all that?” “Personally, I’d use the toast to make a breakfast sandwich. If you’re willing to part with a strip and a link, I’ll call it my tip.” Cody placed some bacon and sausage on a napkin and exited the room. She heard the lock reengage. Kendra sat at the desk. Molten cheese glued chunks of ham to the fluffy eggs. The sausages glistened with grease but tasted good, and the bacon had a pleasant crunch. As she was sipping some juice, the door unlocked and Torina entered, wearing a flirtatious sundress and sandals. “He’s here,” she announced, girlishly flustered. “Did
Brandon Mull (Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary (Fablehaven, #4))
Psalm 5 Song of the Clouded Dawn For the Pure and Shining One, for her who receives the inheritance.11 By King David. 1Listen to my passionate prayer! Can’t You hear my groaning? 2Don’t You hear how I’m crying out to You? My King and my God, consider my every word, For I am calling out to You. 3At each and every sunrise You will hear my voice As I prepare my sacrifice of prayer to You. Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on the altar And wait for Your fire to fall upon my heart.12 4I know that You, God, Are never pleased with lawlessness, And evil ones will never be invited As guests in Your house. 5Boasters collapse, unable to survive Your scrutiny, For Your hatred of evildoers is clear. 6You will make an end of all those who lie. How You hate their hypocrisy And despise all who love violence! 7But I know the way back home, And I know that You will welcome me Into Your house, For I am covered by Your covenant of mercy and love. So I come to Your sanctuary with deepest awe, To bow in worship and adore You. 8Lord, lead me in the pathways of Your pleasure, Just like You promised me You would, Or else my enemies will conquer me. Smooth out Your road in front of me, Straight and level so that I will know where to walk. 9For you can’t trust anything they say. Their hearts are nothing but deep pits of destruction, Drawing people into their darkness with their speeches. They are smooth-tongued deceivers Who flatter with their words! 10Declare them guilty, O God! Let their own schemes be their downfall! Let the guilt of their sins collapse on top of them, For they rebel against You. 11But let them all be glad, Those who turn aside to hide themselves in You, May they keep shouting for joy forever! Overshadow them in Your presence As they sing and rejoice, Then every lover of Your name Will burst forth with endless joy. 12Lord, how wonderfully You bless the righteous. Your favor wraps around each one and Covers them Under Your canopy of kindness and joy. 11. 5:Title The Hebrew word used here is Neliloth, or “flutes.” It can also be translated “inheritances.” The early church father, Augustine, translated this: “For her who receives the inheritance,” meaning the church of Jesus Christ. God the Father told the Son in Psalm 2 to ask for His inheritance; here we see it is the church that receives what Jesus asks for. We receive our inheritance of eternal life through the cross and resurrection of the Son of God. The Septuagint reads “For the end,” also found in numerous inscriptions of the Psalms. 12. 5:3 Implied in the concept of preparing the morning sacrifice. The Aramaic text states, “At dawn I shall be ready and shall appear before You.
Brian Simmons (The Psalms, Poetry on Fire (The Passion Translation Book 2))
It works far better,” Jane went on, apparently still intent on berating him, “when you trust those people with the truth. When you give them all the facts.” Her tone put him on the defensive. “You mean, the way you did when you told me about Nancy’s disappearance?” Jane paled. “Well…that was different.” “How so?” He approached her with a scowl. “You left out the important fact that she might be pregnant. If I’d known, we would all have left for York as soon as Tristan could join us, and we wouldn’t have wasted so much time.” Her throat moved convulsively. “You can’t blame me for that. I was protecting Nancy.” “And all those years ago, I was protecting you,” he said fiercely. He took another step toward her. “I know you resent how I manipulated you into jilting me, but my damned brother had just torn my family apart, and I wasn’t sure what lay ahead of me. I couldn’t bear to watch your love for me die in the slums of London.” “So you killed it instead?” she choked out. His heart faltered. “Did I?” Alarm spread over her face. Then she turned, as if to flee. He grabbed her arm to tug her up close to him. She wouldn’t look at him, which only inflamed him more. “I answered your questions,” he rasped. “Now answer mine.” He could feel her tremble, see uncertainty flash over her face in profile. Utter silence reigned in the room. Even the servants had apparently finished in the dining room across the hall, for no sound penetrated their private little sanctuary. “I can’t,” she whispered at last. “I don’t know the answer.
Sabrina Jeffries (If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4))
Obviously, the first place I go is Sanctuary. The omegas scatter like flies as I stalk through the doors, pausing to inspect the fact one is hanging precariously to the side. Bobo rounds the corner with a toolbox, smiling over at me before, he bows at the waist. “What happened here?” I ask when he straightens from the weird bow. He shrugs, and I remember he’s fucking mute. Right. Guess I’ll get answers elsewhere. Leiza freezes when she rounds the corner and spots me. “What happened to the front door?” I ask her. She turns and darts inside a wall. Bloody hell. I’m not wearing an angry expression, am I? I check the mirror, finding no major scare factor. I’m fucking devilishly good looking and my smile is positively charming. Usually she’s less skittish around me. At least in recent days. Shera is coming down the stairs, but she oddly pales when she sees me. What happened to front door?” I ask her. I’ve never seen my beta run so fast. “I’ll let Violet tell you about it,” she calls over her shoulder. “Gotta run, Boss.” Again, I check the mirror. Good hair. Perfect teeth. Excellent outfit. Not a fucking clue what’s going on. Typically, I enjoy instilling that sort of terror, but I’m still in trouble with Violet, and she doesn’t like her Sanctuary members feeling scared in their own home. I work harder on giving a wider smile and aim for looking like a nice vampire alpha. Literally, everyone scatters and disappears, aside from Bobo, who starts hammering away on the door, trembling just a little after jerking his gaze away from me. My smile falls. “You’re all scared little insects,” I call out very loudly, feeling mildly insulted. I think a cricket chirps, and it’s the only sound I get in response. Rolling my eyes, I head up the stairs to Violet’s room.
Kristy Cunning (Gypsy Truths (All the Pretty Monsters, #6))
Taking the catcher’s place, he sank to his haunches and gestured to Arthur. “Throw some easy ones to begin with,” he called, and Arthur nodded, seeming to lose his apprehensiveness. “Yes, milord!” Arthur wound up and released a relaxed, straight pitch. Squinting in determination, Lilian gripped the bat hard, stepped into the swing, and turned her hips to lend more impetus to the motion. To her disgust, she missed the ball completely. Turning around, she gave Westcliff a pointed glance. “Well, your advice certainly helped,” she muttered sarcastically. “Elbows,” came his succinct reminder, and he tossed the ball to Arthur. “Try again.” Heaving a sigh, Lillian raised the bat and faced the pitcher once more. Arthur drew his arm back, and lunged forward as he delivered another fast ball. Lillian brought the bat around with a grunt of effort, finding an unexpected ease in adjusting the swing to just the right angle, and she received a jolt of visceral delight as she felt the solid connection between the bat and the leather ball. With a loud crack the ball was catapulted high into the air, over Arthur’s head, beyond the reach of those in the back field. Shrieking in triumph, Lillian dropped the bat and ran headlong toward the first sanctuary post, rounding it and heading toward second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy hurtling across the field to scoop up the ball, and in nearly the same motion, throwing it to the nearest boy. Increasing her pace, her feet flying beneath her skirts, Lillian rounded third, while the ball was tossed to Arthur. Before her disbelieving eyes, she saw Westcliff standing at the last post, Castle Rock, with his hands held up in readiness to catch the ball. How could he? After showing her how to hit the ball, he was now going to tag her out? “Get out of my way!” Lillian shouted, running pellmell toward the post, determined to reach it before he caught the ball. “I’m not going to stop!” “Oh, I’ll stop you,” Westcliff assured her with a grin, standing right in front of the post. He called to the pitcher. “Throw it home, Arthur!” She would go through him, if necessary. Letting out a warlike cry, Lillian slammed full-length into him, causing him to stagger backward just as his fingers closed over the ball. Though he could have fought for balance, he chose not to, collapsing backward onto the soft earth with Lillian tumbling on top of him, burying him in a heap of skirts and wayward limbs. A cloud of fine beige dust enveloped them upon their descent. Lillian lifted herself on his chest and glared down at him. At first she thought that he had been winded, but it immediately became apparent that he was choking with laughter. “You cheated!” she accused, which only seemed to make him laugh harder. She struggled for breath, drawing in huge lungfuls of air. “You’re not supposed…to stand in front…of the post…you dirty cheater!” Gasping and snorting, Westcliff handed her the ball with the ginger reverence of someone yielding a priceless artifact to a museum curator. Lillian took the ball and hurled it aside. “I was not out,” she told him, jabbing her finger into his hard chest for emphasis. It felt as if she were poking a hearthstone. “I was safe, do you…hear me?” She heard Arthur’s amused voice as he approached them. “Actually, miss—” “Never argue with a lady, Arthur,” the earl interrupted, having managed to regain his powers of speech, and the boy grinned at him. “Yes, milord.” “Are there ladies here?” Daisy asked cheerfully, coming from the field. “I don’t see any.” Still smiling, the earl looked up at Lillian.
Lisa Kleypas (It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2))
Who May Enter? Who may worship in your sanctuary, Lord? Who may enter your presence on your holy hill? Those who lead blameless lives and do what is right, speaking the truth from sincere hearts. Psalm 15:1-2 When we kneel at the altar, we present our hearts in reverent worship to God. It is our inward sacrifice of praise. In these verses the psalmist presents another side of worship—the worship that praises God with our lives. We offer this type of worship when we live in integrity and honesty in everyday situations. We offer it when we treat others with fairness in business deals and speak highly of others no matter who is listening. When we avoid the bitter tongue of gossip, tell the truth instead of resorting to a lie, or keep a promise we have made even at great cost, we are showing that our lives are a living sacrifice of worship to God. I’m thankful that we don’t have to be perfect to worship God. No one is without fault. However, when we endeavor to worship God through the way we live our lives, we offer him more than a show of worship. We present him with a heartbeat that sincerely desires to please him. Ask God today to help you live in such a way that your life is an offering of praise to his name. GOD, I am far from perfect, but I desire to serve you in integrity and honesty. I realize that others watch my life and that my daily decisions influence others. I pray that they will see you in both my words and my actions. Lord, I sincerely desire to worship you not only with my heart but with my character. Help me to live a blameless life. Only you can do this. May I speak your truth from a sincere heart so that you will receive the glory and honor you deserve.   THE HEART THAT IS NOT ENTRUSTED TO GOD FOR HIS SEARCHING, WILL NOT BE UNDERTAKEN BY HIM FOR CLEANSING. Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879)
Cheri Fuller (The One Year Praying through the Bible: Experience the Power of the Bible Through Prayer (One Year Bible))
You look beautiful,” my dad said as he walked over to me and offered his arm. His voice was quiet--even quieter than his normal quiet--and it broke, trailed off, died. I took his arm, and together we walked forward, toward the large wooden doors that led to the beautiful sanctuary where I’d been baptized as a young child just after our family joined the Episcopal church. Where I’d been confirmed by the bishop at the age of twelve. I’d worn a Black Watch plaid Gunne Sax dress that day. It had delicate ribbon trim and a lace-up tie in the back--a corset-style tie, which, I realized, foreshadowed the style of my wedding gown. I looked through the windows and down the aisle and could see myself kneeling there, the bishop’s wrinkled, weathered hands on my auburn hair. I shivered with emotion, feeling the sting in my nose…and the warm beginnings of nostalgia-driven tears. Biting my bottom lip, I stepped forward with my father. Connell had started walking down the aisle as the organist began playing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” I could close my eyes and hear the same music playing on the eight-track tape player in my mom’s Oldsmobile station wagon. Was it the London Symphony Orchestra or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir? I suddenly couldn’t remember. But that’s why I’d chosen it for the processional--not because it appeared on Modern Bride’s list of acceptable wedding processionals, but because it reminded me of childhood…of Bach…of home. I watched as Becky followed Connell, and then my sister, Betsy, her almost jet-black hair shining in the beautiful light of the church. I was so glad to have a sister. Ms. Altar Guild gently coaxed my father and me toward the door. “It’s time,” she whispered. My stomach fell. What was happening? Where was I? Who was I? At that very moment, my worlds were colliding--the old world with the new, the past life with the future. I felt my dad inhale deeply, and I followed his lead. He was nervous; I could feel it. I was nervous, too. As we took our place in the doorway, I squeezed his arm and whispered, “I love thee.” It was our little line. “I love thee, too,” he whispered back. And as I turned my head toward the front of the church, my eyes went straight to him--to Marlboro Man, who was standing dead ahead, looking straight at me.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Wondering if Westcliff was going to reprimand the boys for allowing her and Daisy to play, Lillian said uneasily, “Arthur and the others—it wasn’t their fault—I made them let us into the game—” “I don’t doubt it,” the earl said over her shoulder. “You probably gave them no chance to refuse.” “You’re not going to punish them?” “For playing rounders on their off-time? Hardly.” Removing his coat, Westcliff tossed it to the ground. He turned to the catcher, who was hovering nearby, and said, “Jim, be a good lad and help field a few balls.” “Yes, milord!” The boy ran in a flash to the empty space on the west side of the green beyond the sanctuary posts. “What are you doing?” Lillian asked as Westcliff stood behind her. “I’m correcting your swing,” came his even reply. “Lift the bat, Miss Bowman.” She turned to look at him skeptically, and he smiled, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “This should be interesting,” Lillian muttered. Taking up a batter’s stance, she glanced across the field at Daisy, whose face was flushed and eyes over-bright in the effort to suppress a burst of laughter. “My swing is perfectly fine,” Lillian grumbled, uncomfortably aware of the earl’s body just behind hers. Her eyes widened as she felt his hands slide to her elbows, pushing them into a more compact position. As his husky murmur brushed her ears, her excited nerves seemed to catch fire, and she felt a flush spreading over her face and neck, as well as other body parts that, as far as she knew, there were no names for. “Spread your feet wider,” Westcliff said, “and distribute your weight evenly. Good. Now bring your hands closer to your body. Since the bat is a few inches too long for you, you’ll have to choke up on it—” “I like holding it at the base.” “It’s too long for you,” he insisted, “which is why you pull your swing just before you hit the ball—” “I like a long bat,” Lillian argued, even as he adjusted her hands on the willow handle. “The longer the better, as a matter of fact.” A distant snicker from one of the stable boys caught her attention, and she glanced at him suspiciously before turning to face Westcliff. His face was expressionless, but there was a glitter of laughter in his eyes. “Why is that amusing?” she asked. “I have no idea,” Westcliff said blandly, and turned her toward the pitcher again.
Lisa Kleypas (It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2))