“Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. M. B. loves a fair gentlema. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Old Mr Verschole with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs VErschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.”
―
James Joyce,
Ulysses
“Stop shining your lantern in my face.""It's such a lovely face.” ― Y.S. Lee, The Traitor in the Tunnel
“He laughed, then became serious once more. "Mary............" The expression in his eyes set her heart pounding. "Yes?" Twice he began to frame a sentence, and twice his voice seemed to fail him. And she thought she understood. What could he possibly say to her now, when he was on the verge of leaving forever? Even something as simple as asking her to write to him carried a distinct sort of promis, the type of promise he was ten years and a half a world removed from being able to make. She forced a polite smile and held out her hand. "Good luck, James." Regret-and relief-flooded his eyes. he took her hand, cradling it for a long moment. "And to you." It was foolish to linger. She slid her fingers from his grasp, turned, and began to walk away in the direction of the Academy. She'd gone about thirty paces when she heard his voice. "Mary!" She spun about. "What is it?" "Stay out of wardrobes!" She laughed, shook her head, and began to walk again. She was smiling this time.” ― y.s. lee, A Spy in the House
“His hand was a claw, sharp enough to open her. She would be like all the others—Ruta Badowski, in her broken dancing shoes. Tommy Duffy, still with the dirt of his last baseball game under his nails. Gabriel Johnson, taken on the best day of his life. Or even Mary White, holding out for a future that never arrived. She’d be like all those beautiful, shining boys marching off to war, rifles at their hips and promises on their lips to their best girls that they’d be home in time for Christmas, the excitement of the game showing in their bright faces. They’d come home men, heroes with adventures to tell about, how they’d walloped the enemy and put the world right side up again, funneled it into neat lines of yes and no. Black and white. Right and wrong. Here and there. Us and them. Instead, they had died tangled in barbed wire in Flanders, hollowed by influenza along the Western Front, blown apart in no-man’s-land, writhing in trenches with those smiles still in place, courtesy of the phosgene, chlorine, or mustard gas. Some had come home shell-shocked and blinking, hands shaking, mumbling to themselves, following orders in some private war still taking place in their minds. Or, like James, they’d simply vanished, relegated to history books no one bothered to read, medals put in cupboards kept closed. Just a bunch of chess pieces moved about by unseen hands in a universe bored with itself.” ― Libba Bray, The Diviners
“Just spunk won't be enough; you've got to have gumption. You've got to bear it in mind that nobody that ever lived is specially privileged; the axe can fall at any moment, on any neck, without any warning or any regard for justice. You've got to keep your mind off of pitying your own rotten luck and setting up any kind of howl about it. You've got to remember that things as bad as this and a hell of a lot worse have happened to millions of people before and that they've come through it and you can too. You'll bear it because there isn't any choice--except to go to pieces. . . It's kind of a test, Mary, and it's the only kind that amounts to anything. When something rotten like this happens. Then you have your choice. You start to really be alive, or you start to die. That's all.” ― James Agee , A Death in the Family
“Must love decorating for holidays, mischief, kissing in cars, and wind chimes. No specific height, weight, hair color, or political affiliation required but would prefer a warm spirited non racist. Cynics, critics, pessimists, and “stick in the muds” need not apply. Voluptuous figures a plus. Any similarity in look, mind set, or fashion sense to Mary Poppins, Claire Huxtable, Snow White, or Elvira wholeheartedly welcomed. I am dubious of actresses, fellons and lesbians but dont want to rule them out entirely. Must be tolerant of whistling, tickle torture, James Taylor, and sleeping late. I have a slight limp, eerily soft hands, and a preternatural love of autumn. I once misinterpreted being called a coal-eyed dandy as a compliment when it was intended as an insult. I wiggle my feet in my sleep, am scared of the dark, and think the Muppets Christmas Carol is one of the greatest films of all time. All I want is butterfly kisses in the morning, peanut butter sandwiches shaped like a heart, and to make you smile until it hurts.” ― Matthew Grey Gubler
“True greatness is when your name is like ampere, watt, and fourier—when it's spelled with a lower case letter.” ― Richard Hamming
“My birth certificate says: Female Negro Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. is planning a march on Washington, where John F. Kennedy is president. In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox talking about a revolution. Outside the window of University Hospital, snow is slowly falling. So much already covers this vast Ohio ground. In Montgomery, only seven years have passed since Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus. I am born brown-skinned, black-haired and wide-eyed. I am born Negro here and Colored there and somewhere else, the Freedom Singers have linked arms, their protests rising into song: Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday. and somewhere else, James Baldwin is writing about injustice, each novel, each essay, changing the world. I do not yet know who I’ll be what I’ll say how I’ll say it . . . Not even three years have passed since a brown girl named Ruby Bridges walked into an all-white school. Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds of white people spat and called her names. She was six years old. I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. I do not know what the world will look like when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . Another Buckeye! the nurse says to my mother. Already, I am being named for this place. Ohio. The Buckeye State. My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby’s hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .” ― Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming
“He asks me which of them two I liked best. Perhaps I liked Mr. Harry Carson once--I don't know--I've forgotten; but I loved James Wilson, that's now on trial, above what tongue can tell--above all else on earth put together; and I love him now better than ever, though he has never known a word of it till this minute... I never found out how dearly I loved another till one day, when James Wilson asked me to marry him, and I was very hard and sharp in my answer (for indeed, sir, I'd a deal to bear just then), and he took me at my word and left me; and from that day to this I've never spoken a word to him, or set eyes on him; though I'd fain have done so, to try and show him we had both been too hasty; for he'd not been gone out of my sight above a minute before I knew I loved--far above my life," said she, dropping her voice as she came to this second confession of the strength of her attachment. "But, if the gentleman asks me which I loved the best, I make answer, I was flattered by Mr. Carson, and pleased with his flattery; but James Wilson, I"--She covered her face with her hands, to hide the burning scarlet blushes, which even dyed her fingers.” ― Elizabeth Gaskell, Mary Barton
“Harvey and I sit in the bars... have a drink or two... play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people they turn toward mine and they smile. And they're saying, "We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fella." Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We've entered as strangers - soon we have friends. And they come over... and they sit with us... and they drink with us... and they talk to us. They tell about the big terrible things they've done and the big wonderful things they'll do. Their hopes, and their regrets, and their loves, and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then I introduce them to Harvey... and he's bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back; but that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us.” ― Elwood P. Dowd
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Silence please!" Every one was startled. They looked round-at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking? The Voice went on- a high clear voice.You are charged with the following indictments:Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March, 1925, cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees.Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the 5th November, 1931, you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor.William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor on October 10th, 1928.Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe. John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 4th of January, 1917, you deliberately sent your wife's lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death.Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, you were guilty of murder of John and Lucy Combes.Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady.Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton.Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defense?” ― Agatha Christie
“My dearest Mary,Both my words and my conduct at our last meeting were ungentlemanly - born of haste and high emotion, rather than friendship and good judgement - and yet I cannot find it within me to apologize. I am glad I kissed you; glad to have revelled in your scent, your taste, the touch of your hands; glad, even, to have quarrelled with you because during those moments of anger, I was in your presence.Mary, you are the most singular woman I know: intelligent, brave and honest, and I crave your friendship. I confess to only the haziest notion of what I ask, having never been friends with a woman before. My friendships are male and conventional; pleasant and without distinction. But a friendship with you would be a bright, new, rare thing - if you would do me the honour.I expect that what I ask is impossible. But it is sweet to dream, Mary, and thus I tender one last, insolent, unapologetic request: write to me only if you can say yes.Yours,James” ― Y.S. Lee, The Traitor in the Tunnel
“Newly confident, Mary says yes. Notice that she does so in absolute freedom. No one coerces her. And she was free to say no. Mary also makes her decision without appealing to a man. She doesn’t ask Joseph for permission. Nor does she tell the angel that she must consult with her father. The young woman living in a patriarchal time makes a decision about the coming king. Someone with little power agrees to bring the powerful one into the world: “Let it be with me according to your word.” ― James Martin, Jesus: A Pilgrimage
“His thumb caressed her cheek. His eyes held her, warm and strong. “I, Christian James, take you, Violet Mary, to be my wife. To have, to hold. To love, honor, and cherish. To amuse, to pleasure, to make smile and laugh. To dance with, at every opportunity. To respect always, and tease on occasion. To confide in, whenever need be. To treasure, protect, admire—” She couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh. “I don’t think these words are in the vows.” “They’re in my vows,” he said gravely. “But in the interests of time, I shall to return to form. All that richer-poorer, sickness-health business goes without saying. And I will gladly forsake all others, so long as we both shall live.” His hand slid back into her hair, grasping tight. Raw emotion roughened his voice. “I need a lifetime with you.” ― Tessa Dare, Once Upon a Winter's Eve
“I find it appalling that the Church claims Mary consented at the age of thirteen to become the mother of God.”“But she did,” James said. “There is ample evidence to show she consented.”“Isn’t that the classic defense of the pedophile?” Helena asked. “In Christ’s time and even today in some countries in the Middle East and India, child marriages are customary. But that doesn’t make it right. In Europe and the U.S. we prosecute adults for preying on children. God would be arrested for impregnating a girl below the age of consent.”“People didn’t live as long then,” James said.Helena would not back down. “But human biology hasn’t changed. My point is she was too young to consent. The brain of a young teenager isn’t fully developed.”“The mysteries of the faith require us to have faith.” “Don’t hide behind that nonsense. What kind of message is the Church sending to women? Only virgin children are pure? Experienced mothers are impure and unfit to raise Christ? It’s creepy and insulting when you think about it, but you would have me suspend rational judgment and just accept something I would tear your eyes out for thinking about my underage sister?” ― Janet M. Tavakoli, Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits
“I know a little more about you now, Audray, or whoever you really are. The New Year is near, and my son’s resolution will not include you. Or I could make your life very uncomfortable after I tell James about you.” ― Marie Montine, Mourning Grey: Part One: The Guardians Of The Temple Saga
“(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case)You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” –“A RAINBOW IN THE DARK”Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN”“HOLY DIVER” will lurk“BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA”“ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY”“JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”-“LORD OF THE LAST DAY”“MASTER OF THE MOON” you areWhen my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE”With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”,“MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you craveYou’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”,“BETWEEN TWO HEARTS”When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN”“HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts“FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART”“FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD”“I AM” “ANOTHER LIE”“AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)”Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO”“DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL”Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow“DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS”Those “EVIL EYES” can see“LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”;“MY EYES” hate to fancy“SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT”Now it’s “TIME TO BURN”“TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER”And today its our turn“BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN”I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS”The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are!Forever you are deathless“SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS”Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN”“THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”!Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain“IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT”I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY”“ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD”Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity!By “KILLING THE DRAGON”“I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER”I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM”Like an “INVISIBLE” screamerNow that you are gone“THE END OF THE WORLD” is here“STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART”“PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear“CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA”Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”?“FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking forA “GYPSY” from aboveDear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS”Our love “HERE’S TO YOU”“WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD”The “OTHER WORLD” anew“ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS”“THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND”The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN”Is what we long to find“THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING”Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN”“SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE”“WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to planTo “STAND UP AND SHOUT”before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL”Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL”“EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)” ― Munia Khan
“Another kind of transcendence myth has been dramatization of human life in terms of conflict and vindication. This focuses upon the situation of oppression and the struggle for liberation. It is a short-circuited transcendence when the struggle against oppression becomes an end in itself, the focal point of all meaning. There is an inherent contradiction in the idea that those devoted to a cause have found their whole meaning in the struggle, so that the desired victory becomes implicitly an undesirable meaninglessness. Such a truncated vision is one of the pitfalls of theologies of the oppressed. Sometimes black theology, for example that of James Cone, resounds with a cry for vengeance and is fiercely biblical and patriarchal. It transcends religion as a crutch (the separation and return of much old-fashioned Negro spirituality) but tends to settle for being religion as a gun. Tailored to fit only the situation of racial oppression, it inspires a will to vindication but leaves unexplored other dimensions of liberation. It does not get beyond the sexist models internalized by the self and controlling society — models that are at the root of racism and that perpetuate it. The Black God and the Black Messiah apparently are merely the same patriarchs after a pigmentation operation — their behavior unaltered.” ― Mary Daly, Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women's Liberation
“Miss Kelly, you know, when you wear my flower you make it beautiful.” ― Elwood P. Dowd
“Stop shining your lantern in my face.""It's such a lovely face.” ― Y.S. Lee, The Traitor in the Tunnel
“He laughed, then became serious once more. "Mary............" The expression in his eyes set her heart pounding. "Yes?" Twice he began to frame a sentence, and twice his voice seemed to fail him. And she thought she understood. What could he possibly say to her now, when he was on the verge of leaving forever? Even something as simple as asking her to write to him carried a distinct sort of promis, the type of promise he was ten years and a half a world removed from being able to make. She forced a polite smile and held out her hand. "Good luck, James." Regret-and relief-flooded his eyes. he took her hand, cradling it for a long moment. "And to you." It was foolish to linger. She slid her fingers from his grasp, turned, and began to walk away in the direction of the Academy. She'd gone about thirty paces when she heard his voice. "Mary!" She spun about. "What is it?" "Stay out of wardrobes!" She laughed, shook her head, and began to walk again. She was smiling this time.” ― y.s. lee, A Spy in the House
“His hand was a claw, sharp enough to open her. She would be like all the others—Ruta Badowski, in her broken dancing shoes. Tommy Duffy, still with the dirt of his last baseball game under his nails. Gabriel Johnson, taken on the best day of his life. Or even Mary White, holding out for a future that never arrived. She’d be like all those beautiful, shining boys marching off to war, rifles at their hips and promises on their lips to their best girls that they’d be home in time for Christmas, the excitement of the game showing in their bright faces. They’d come home men, heroes with adventures to tell about, how they’d walloped the enemy and put the world right side up again, funneled it into neat lines of yes and no. Black and white. Right and wrong. Here and there. Us and them. Instead, they had died tangled in barbed wire in Flanders, hollowed by influenza along the Western Front, blown apart in no-man’s-land, writhing in trenches with those smiles still in place, courtesy of the phosgene, chlorine, or mustard gas. Some had come home shell-shocked and blinking, hands shaking, mumbling to themselves, following orders in some private war still taking place in their minds. Or, like James, they’d simply vanished, relegated to history books no one bothered to read, medals put in cupboards kept closed. Just a bunch of chess pieces moved about by unseen hands in a universe bored with itself.” ― Libba Bray, The Diviners
“Just spunk won't be enough; you've got to have gumption. You've got to bear it in mind that nobody that ever lived is specially privileged; the axe can fall at any moment, on any neck, without any warning or any regard for justice. You've got to keep your mind off of pitying your own rotten luck and setting up any kind of howl about it. You've got to remember that things as bad as this and a hell of a lot worse have happened to millions of people before and that they've come through it and you can too. You'll bear it because there isn't any choice--except to go to pieces. . . It's kind of a test, Mary, and it's the only kind that amounts to anything. When something rotten like this happens. Then you have your choice. You start to really be alive, or you start to die. That's all.” ― James Agee , A Death in the Family
“Must love decorating for holidays, mischief, kissing in cars, and wind chimes. No specific height, weight, hair color, or political affiliation required but would prefer a warm spirited non racist. Cynics, critics, pessimists, and “stick in the muds” need not apply. Voluptuous figures a plus. Any similarity in look, mind set, or fashion sense to Mary Poppins, Claire Huxtable, Snow White, or Elvira wholeheartedly welcomed. I am dubious of actresses, fellons and lesbians but dont want to rule them out entirely. Must be tolerant of whistling, tickle torture, James Taylor, and sleeping late. I have a slight limp, eerily soft hands, and a preternatural love of autumn. I once misinterpreted being called a coal-eyed dandy as a compliment when it was intended as an insult. I wiggle my feet in my sleep, am scared of the dark, and think the Muppets Christmas Carol is one of the greatest films of all time. All I want is butterfly kisses in the morning, peanut butter sandwiches shaped like a heart, and to make you smile until it hurts.” ― Matthew Grey Gubler
“True greatness is when your name is like ampere, watt, and fourier—when it's spelled with a lower case letter.” ― Richard Hamming
“My birth certificate says: Female Negro Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. is planning a march on Washington, where John F. Kennedy is president. In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox talking about a revolution. Outside the window of University Hospital, snow is slowly falling. So much already covers this vast Ohio ground. In Montgomery, only seven years have passed since Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus. I am born brown-skinned, black-haired and wide-eyed. I am born Negro here and Colored there and somewhere else, the Freedom Singers have linked arms, their protests rising into song: Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday. and somewhere else, James Baldwin is writing about injustice, each novel, each essay, changing the world. I do not yet know who I’ll be what I’ll say how I’ll say it . . . Not even three years have passed since a brown girl named Ruby Bridges walked into an all-white school. Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds of white people spat and called her names. She was six years old. I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. I do not know what the world will look like when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . Another Buckeye! the nurse says to my mother. Already, I am being named for this place. Ohio. The Buckeye State. My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby’s hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .” ― Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming
“He asks me which of them two I liked best. Perhaps I liked Mr. Harry Carson once--I don't know--I've forgotten; but I loved James Wilson, that's now on trial, above what tongue can tell--above all else on earth put together; and I love him now better than ever, though he has never known a word of it till this minute... I never found out how dearly I loved another till one day, when James Wilson asked me to marry him, and I was very hard and sharp in my answer (for indeed, sir, I'd a deal to bear just then), and he took me at my word and left me; and from that day to this I've never spoken a word to him, or set eyes on him; though I'd fain have done so, to try and show him we had both been too hasty; for he'd not been gone out of my sight above a minute before I knew I loved--far above my life," said she, dropping her voice as she came to this second confession of the strength of her attachment. "But, if the gentleman asks me which I loved the best, I make answer, I was flattered by Mr. Carson, and pleased with his flattery; but James Wilson, I"--She covered her face with her hands, to hide the burning scarlet blushes, which even dyed her fingers.” ― Elizabeth Gaskell, Mary Barton
“Harvey and I sit in the bars... have a drink or two... play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people they turn toward mine and they smile. And they're saying, "We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fella." Harvey and I warm ourselves in all these golden moments. We've entered as strangers - soon we have friends. And they come over... and they sit with us... and they drink with us... and they talk to us. They tell about the big terrible things they've done and the big wonderful things they'll do. Their hopes, and their regrets, and their loves, and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. And then I introduce them to Harvey... and he's bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And when they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back; but that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us.” ― Elwood P. Dowd
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Silence please!" Every one was startled. They looked round-at each other, at the walls. Who was speaking? The Voice went on- a high clear voice.You are charged with the following indictments:Edward George Armstrong, that you did upon the 14th day of March, 1925, cause the death of Louisa Mary Clees.Emily Caroline Brent, that upon the 5th November, 1931, you were responsible for the death of Beatrice Taylor.William Henry Blore, that you brought about the death of James Stephen Landor on October 10th, 1928.Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe. John Gordon Macarthur, that on the 4th of January, 1917, you deliberately sent your wife's lover, Arthur Richmond, to his death.Anthony James Marston, that upon the 14th day of November last, you were guilty of murder of John and Lucy Combes.Thomas Rogers and Ethel Rogers, that on the 6th of May, 1929, you brought about the death of Jennifer Brady.Lawrence John Wargrave, that upon the 10th day of June, 1930, you were guilty of the murder of Edward Seton.Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to say in your defense?” ― Agatha Christie
“My dearest Mary,Both my words and my conduct at our last meeting were ungentlemanly - born of haste and high emotion, rather than friendship and good judgement - and yet I cannot find it within me to apologize. I am glad I kissed you; glad to have revelled in your scent, your taste, the touch of your hands; glad, even, to have quarrelled with you because during those moments of anger, I was in your presence.Mary, you are the most singular woman I know: intelligent, brave and honest, and I crave your friendship. I confess to only the haziest notion of what I ask, having never been friends with a woman before. My friendships are male and conventional; pleasant and without distinction. But a friendship with you would be a bright, new, rare thing - if you would do me the honour.I expect that what I ask is impossible. But it is sweet to dream, Mary, and thus I tender one last, insolent, unapologetic request: write to me only if you can say yes.Yours,James” ― Y.S. Lee, The Traitor in the Tunnel
“Newly confident, Mary says yes. Notice that she does so in absolute freedom. No one coerces her. And she was free to say no. Mary also makes her decision without appealing to a man. She doesn’t ask Joseph for permission. Nor does she tell the angel that she must consult with her father. The young woman living in a patriarchal time makes a decision about the coming king. Someone with little power agrees to bring the powerful one into the world: “Let it be with me according to your word.” ― James Martin, Jesus: A Pilgrimage
“His thumb caressed her cheek. His eyes held her, warm and strong. “I, Christian James, take you, Violet Mary, to be my wife. To have, to hold. To love, honor, and cherish. To amuse, to pleasure, to make smile and laugh. To dance with, at every opportunity. To respect always, and tease on occasion. To confide in, whenever need be. To treasure, protect, admire—” She couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh. “I don’t think these words are in the vows.” “They’re in my vows,” he said gravely. “But in the interests of time, I shall to return to form. All that richer-poorer, sickness-health business goes without saying. And I will gladly forsake all others, so long as we both shall live.” His hand slid back into her hair, grasping tight. Raw emotion roughened his voice. “I need a lifetime with you.” ― Tessa Dare, Once Upon a Winter's Eve
“I find it appalling that the Church claims Mary consented at the age of thirteen to become the mother of God.”“But she did,” James said. “There is ample evidence to show she consented.”“Isn’t that the classic defense of the pedophile?” Helena asked. “In Christ’s time and even today in some countries in the Middle East and India, child marriages are customary. But that doesn’t make it right. In Europe and the U.S. we prosecute adults for preying on children. God would be arrested for impregnating a girl below the age of consent.”“People didn’t live as long then,” James said.Helena would not back down. “But human biology hasn’t changed. My point is she was too young to consent. The brain of a young teenager isn’t fully developed.”“The mysteries of the faith require us to have faith.” “Don’t hide behind that nonsense. What kind of message is the Church sending to women? Only virgin children are pure? Experienced mothers are impure and unfit to raise Christ? It’s creepy and insulting when you think about it, but you would have me suspend rational judgment and just accept something I would tear your eyes out for thinking about my underage sister?” ― Janet M. Tavakoli, Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits
“I know a little more about you now, Audray, or whoever you really are. The New Year is near, and my son’s resolution will not include you. Or I could make your life very uncomfortable after I tell James about you.” ― Marie Montine, Mourning Grey: Part One: The Guardians Of The Temple Saga
“(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case)You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” –“A RAINBOW IN THE DARK”Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN”“HOLY DIVER” will lurk“BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA”“ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY”“JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”-“LORD OF THE LAST DAY”“MASTER OF THE MOON” you areWhen my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE”With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”,“MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you craveYou’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”,“BETWEEN TWO HEARTS”When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN”“HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts“FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART”“FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD”“I AM” “ANOTHER LIE”“AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)”Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO”“DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL”Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow“DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS”Those “EVIL EYES” can see“LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”;“MY EYES” hate to fancy“SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT”Now it’s “TIME TO BURN”“TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER”And today its our turn“BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN”I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS”The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are!Forever you are deathless“SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS”Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN”“THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”!Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain“IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT”I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY”“ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD”Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity!By “KILLING THE DRAGON”“I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER”I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM”Like an “INVISIBLE” screamerNow that you are gone“THE END OF THE WORLD” is here“STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART”“PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear“CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA”Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”?“FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking forA “GYPSY” from aboveDear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS”Our love “HERE’S TO YOU”“WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD”The “OTHER WORLD” anew“ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS”“THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND”The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN”Is what we long to find“THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING”Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN”“SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE”“WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to planTo “STAND UP AND SHOUT”before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL”Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL”“EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)” ― Munia Khan
“Another kind of transcendence myth has been dramatization of human life in terms of conflict and vindication. This focuses upon the situation of oppression and the struggle for liberation. It is a short-circuited transcendence when the struggle against oppression becomes an end in itself, the focal point of all meaning. There is an inherent contradiction in the idea that those devoted to a cause have found their whole meaning in the struggle, so that the desired victory becomes implicitly an undesirable meaninglessness. Such a truncated vision is one of the pitfalls of theologies of the oppressed. Sometimes black theology, for example that of James Cone, resounds with a cry for vengeance and is fiercely biblical and patriarchal. It transcends religion as a crutch (the separation and return of much old-fashioned Negro spirituality) but tends to settle for being religion as a gun. Tailored to fit only the situation of racial oppression, it inspires a will to vindication but leaves unexplored other dimensions of liberation. It does not get beyond the sexist models internalized by the self and controlling society — models that are at the root of racism and that perpetuate it. The Black God and the Black Messiah apparently are merely the same patriarchs after a pigmentation operation — their behavior unaltered.” ― Mary Daly, Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women's Liberation
“Miss Kelly, you know, when you wear my flower you make it beautiful.” ― Elwood P. Dowd
