Zahara Quotes

Drive-by declaration of love, how romantic,” Becca joked. Zahara smirked. “Hey, it’s either that or sending a carrier pigeon, but I have a feeling Rekesh would be pissed if a bird crapped all over him.” ~Zahara and Becca

[...] what's the use of lying down to die as long as we can stand up and walk.

Enough with the games, I know what you are, Nephilim and if you make one move, I promise I will carve you open.” ~Zahara

Zahara didn’t respond, she just ran, knowing if she turned around she might be as likely to kiss him as she would be to grab the dagger and ram it into his mouth.

Bryan pulled back and laid his forehead against Zahara’s, his breath ragged and intense enough to set her on fire. “You’e making this difficult.” “Making what difficult?” Zahara huffed. “Leaving you.” Bryan closed his eyes and kissed her again.

Any chance I’d get to see you in that bikini?” Zahara punched him in the arm. “No more talk of me in anything remotely skimpy or I’m gonna drop-kick you, got it?” ~Zahara and Bryan

Nice to meet His Creepiness,” Zahara said with a sneer. “In case your douchebag of a boss has never told you, sneaking up on a girl with a blade is never a nice way of saying hello.” ~Zahara

Hamet, Seid, and Abdallah were stung by the irony that on the wild desert, where people had virtually nothing, they shared freely, but here, where resources were comparatively abundant, no one would offer them so much as a drink.

Zahara roared and threw herself at him, smacking Bryan back against the ground and swinging a right hook into his nose. She exclaimed in triumph as her fist connected with his face, hoping it hurt his nose as bad as the punch hurt her knuckles. Zahara’s triumphant smile turned into a yelp of pain as Bryan knocked her onto her back and rolled her onto her stomach, twisted her arms behind her, and locked them in place with a grip strong enough to bend steel.

Your husband had something he meant to pass on to you,” Zahara said. “I just wanted to make sure that you got it.” Reaching into her pocket, she handed the woman a single tattered sheet of flimsi.

Please, like I believe that,” Zahara scoffed. “I know what your boss wants, and I’m not playing house with him.” Chamuel chuckled. “Too bad you’re off limits, I wouldn’t mind playing house with you,” he said and winked. Zahara’s cheeks flushed and she balled her hands into fists. “I’ll chop off your manhood if you come close to me,” she seethed. “With what? Your teeth? Sounds like playing house to me,” Chamuel teased, raising both his eyebrows suggestively. ~Zahara and Chamuel

Bryan pressed her closer against him and placed her arms to circle his neck from behind. He moved a little faster and Zahara fell into step, laying her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes to drown out the crowd. She focused on the hard muscles of Bryan’s chest, his heated breath against her hair, and his fingers gripping her waist. She absently wondered if it was wrong that an angel was dancing inside of a club full of youth, and if this was as weird and exhilarating for him as it was for her. Bryan spun her around to face him and kissed her. He wasn’t as gentle as he usually was, digging his hand into her hair and nibbling on her bottom lip. Zahara whimpered and moved her fingers underneath his shirt, digging her fingers into his back. ~Zahara and Bryan

So our plan hinges on the hope that this evil guy has his head stuck in the sand and doesn't notice a large army of elves and men marching on his gates? And if he is paying attention, he'll destroy us all and we will have come all of this way for nothing?" ... "Yes

Zahara olhou para a mão dele, e um pouco hesitante tocou-lhe, fechando os olhos. Várias imagens começaram a chegar até si, a maioria não era suficientemente nítida para as poder interpretar, contudo surgiu uma que a abalou. Viu uma casa em chamas, as labaredas elevavam-se na direcção do céu, os gritos eram audíveis. Distinguiu os de uma mulher e também os de uma criança. - Papá... - ouviu nitidamente. A imagem desapareceu. Viu os braços de Lochan entrelaçarem uma mulher pela cintura, viu-o voltá-la para si, beijá-la. Sentiu um arrepio ao ver a cara dessa mulher, era ela! Viu-o desabotoar os atilhos do vestido que envergava, beijar-lhe o peito enquanto ela inclinava a cabeça para trás e as suas mãos deslizavam pelos cabelos dele.Viu-o voltar a beijá-la... Viu-se a tirar a camisa dele, a tocar-lhe no peito, beijá-lo, viu-se a beijar a boca dele com um desejo intenso... as roupas de ambos estavam espalhadas pelo chão de uma divisão, viu-os deitados sobre uma cama, viu-o beijar-lhe o corpo, as suas mãos percorrerem as costas dele, reparou que ele tinha uma tatuagem... viu os seus corpos tocarem-se...

Riley had no doubt that an "immediate and merciful act of the Almighty" had saved them from the surf at Bojador. According to him, all of his men believed this too. Later, when a friend advised him to play down this conviction, because skeptics would use it to discredit the rest of his account of the voyage, Riley refused.

As mãos de Zahara apertaram fortemente a saia. - Vais infligir-me a humilhação de ser eu a dizê-lo? Lochan levantou-se. - Jamais desejaria que te humilhasses. Eu sei, sei-o há já demasiado tempo. Zahara sentiu o coração pular. - Se o sabes, porque nunca… - Esquece-me, Zahara, pois não sinto o mesmo – interrompeu ele. Ela recuou. - Mentes… Porquê? Eu sei… O modo como me tratas, como me olhas. Eu sei que gostas de mim, vejo-o no teu olhar, vejo-o neste instante! Lochan sentiu os olhos dela mergulharem nos seus. - Durante anos foram-me apresentados pretendentes das mais nobres famílias – ouviu – Todos me dariam o conforto a que estava habituada, todos me cobririam de jóias, de vestidos luxuosos... no entanto, eu recusava-os. Recusava-os porque não via nada no seu olhar. Para eles, eu seria como um troféu, serviria apenas para provocar inveja. Uma nuvem cobriu o sol, deixando-os na sombra. - Inconscientemente tornei-me arrogante, altiva, somente para os afastar de mim, para que não desejassem casar-se com alguém como eu… Mas tu, tu viste para além da máscara que construí. Naquele dia, na capital, tu viste o que ninguém foi capaz de ver: o meu coração. - Zahara… - Não acredito que não sintas qualquer amor por mim. Lochan voltou-lhe as costas. - Não quero saber se és pobre, não me importo com o teu passado. O que sinto por ti é o que sempre desejei sentir – ouviu. O silêncio envolveu-os por momentos. - Lamento… Zahara correu para a frente dele. No seu olhar era visível desespero. - Não te agrado, é isso? Ele limitou-se a desviar o rosto. - Responde-me! - Como poderia ficar indiferente a alguém como tu – disse voltando a olhar nos olhos dela. - Então porquê, porquê? Lochan agarrou-lhe nos ombros, assustando-a. - Esquece-me por favor. Odeia-me. Odeia-me por isto com todas as tuas forças, mas não me ames, nunca me ames, Zahara. Lochan largou-lhe os ombros. Ela ficou sem reacção, e as lágrimas voltaram a molhar o seu rosto. - Não me faças isto… - implorou. O olhar dele tornou-se gélido. O seu rosto mostrava-se agora tão indecifrável, como o de uma estátua. - Odeia-me pelo sofrimento que te acabo de causar e depois esquece-me – disse deixando-a só. Zahara viu-o desaparecer por entre as colunas do palácio.

What they could use and carry from a shipwreck, the Sahrawis took. What they could not take, it was their custom to burn. To the victims who witnessed this destruction of their personal articles and the cargo of their vessel, it was often the last cruel blow before they assumed the life of a slave to some of the poorest people on earth, living in some of the harshest conditions imaginable.

The women in this camp examined the tattered Christians, whose skin had turned to chaff before the sun. Instead of arousing sympathy, the spectacle ignited a fit of disgust in women deeply encumbered with superstitious fears. In a culture where females were often denounced as conduits of evil, any contact with Christians was dangerous. They reviled the men with shrill curses and spat on them.

For all their piety- they prayed regularly and devoutly, as their religion required - Riley wondered how the Arabs could ignore the fact that under their care he and his men lacked the most basic necessities of life and suffered inhumanly.

To the Arabs, hardened by life on the desert, tears from a man were shameful. When the Frenchman Brisson was reduced to weeping in front of the Bou Sbaa, he wrote, "some women perceiving it, instead of being moved to compassion threw sand in my eyes, as they said, to wipe away my tears.

... while we were in inhabited country every Bedu for miles around would come to feed at our expense. It would be impossible to refuse them food: in the desert one may never turn a guest away, however unwanted he may be. T.E. Lawrence observed that 'the desert was held in a crazed communism by which Nature and the elements were for the free use of every known friendly person for his own purposes and no more.

Before Riley, the French traveler Saugnier had wrestled with the Sahrawi ethic regarding property. According to him, on the desert things stolen unperceived became rightfully the property of the thief, and things unwatched, it followed, deserved to be stolen.

Massa was also where British merchant James Grey Jackson once saw a pair of colossal whale jawbones arching up from the sand. A local informed him that they had always been there and that, when the whale had beached, a man named Jonah had emerged from it's belly. Jackson laughed at the tale. His earnest informant responded only that 'nobody but a Christian would doubt the fact.

Zahara’s my opposite in every way that counts. I can’t compare to a woman who can light up a room with her smile alone. She’s like the sun, with everyone orbiting around her to bask in her warmth.. Unlike me, who keeps people away from me with nothing but a scowl.

Yet here I am, Zahara thought now, queen of her own miniature kingdom, after all, duchess of the empty bunks, and our lady of the perpetual stomachache. Involuntary lust-object of a hundred emotionally frustrated prison guards and deprived stormtroopers. Dispenser of medicine, charged with keeping the inmates of the Imperial Prison Barge Purge alive long enough to be permanently detained on some remote prison moon.

Jolie. You will marry me today, or you won't live until tomorrow. If I can’t have you in life, no one will. But in death, you’ll be mine.

Nope. You’ll still be mine, even in death, doll. Remember what I said.” Hell slid the ring onto my ring finger, caging the digit in white gold. “I will haunt you until your heart stops beating. Possess you more than I do now. And then, you’ll be mine again. There’s no escaping now.

In Lincoln’s day, Riley’s account also spoke to a burning issue: the troubling institution of slavery. Inverting the American paradigm, it provided a useful perspective and helped expose the brutality of that abysmal practice. In our time, when one of the great challenges we face is to find common ground for Muslims, Christians, and Jews, the plight of the crew of the Commerce achieves a new relevance. It

Let's see how you feel about yourself now that your face is as fucking ugly as your soul.

Well, I’d have said your smile, soul, or something. I’ve heard what comes out of your ass while you sleep at night.

Oh, it’s about this guy who’s obsessed with this girl who lives in this huge manor. He watches her from outside.

Remi’s fingers roved over a string of words placed randomly on my stomach. Ugly. Infertile. THE DECOY’S SLUT.

(Warning, the first half of this chapter is very dark.)

The black heart is to show you’re mine. You’ll forever wear a heart as black as Cole. Pun intended.

And yet, look at us. An actual human slave and a doped-up rockstar.

And I’ll say this now. I don’t want to see even one more derogatory comment about my wife. Anything regarding her eyes, or her lips, or her body, or the fact that she is still alive,” he bit out, crunching that last word. “She’s been through a lot, way more than most. She deserves better. You’re supposed to be my fans. That’s my person, you guys. My favorite person in the whole fucking world, and the slander she’s getting isn’t fucking cool.

I'd never allow him to end my life. . . I’d just allow him to ruin it. Because ruining it was better than racing through my afterlife with him in my shadow, because after driving the blade into my flesh, he'd drag it across his own throat. He wouldn't live without me, that was clear. He didn't know how.

You see the real me. . . and I know all versions of who I am will fall in love with you one day.

Since at least Homer’s day, such accounts of distant voyages, especially voyages gone bad, have mesmerized their audiences, reawakening them from domestic slumber to the world’s wonders: its raging elements, its exotic and unyielding geography, its isolated peoples.

Zahara de la Sierra is a picturesque village of whitewashed houses famously known as pueblos blancos. Tourists flock to the town for breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains and the clear, turquoise waters of the Zahara-El Gastor reservoir—not to mention the scintillating

in his head as ran.

¿Me está viniendo la regla o es que me alegro de verte? #semaforismo

When you’re standing so close to the edge, it’s important to avoid those who make you feel like jumping. . . or those who would push you without remorse.