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Quote by Munia Khan

“Lions are neither predators nor killers. They just go for hunting like kings; because they are the kings!”

Quote by Munia Khan

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Munia Khan

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“Wynter's Pass was a picturesque region in the north of Vohlfhein, where the Bleak Hills eventually collapsed into the Frozen Sea. From the back of Mr. Buckles, who had been on a slow trot since sunrise, Monch watched the light glisten off of the frozen branches of the evergreens. As the sun warmed the frozen ground, sending the evening's frost into retreat, Monch absorbed the splendor of it all and wondered how expensive the local real estate must be around here. He then contemplated attempting to find an agent that would represent his interests well. "This land is such a spectacular wonder," the Lion of Ahriman declared. "It would be very much sought after if they could just do something about the bears, the White Orts, the wolves, the bloodthirsty cannibals, the snow manapés, the frost wizards, the northern bandit gangs, the dire lynxes, the similarly sounding but not related pygmy bloodthirsty cannibals, the demon possessed yaks, the dead-soul animated trees, the..." Monch paused for a moment. "It just occurred to me that this land is really not safe at all. It seems almost everything in it wants to kill me," the Templar admitted.”

“Monch was on no simple retreat. The journey he had plotted for himself was much longer, and took him many buckets away from Appollon to Angarr's Sorrow, the land of fetid bogs in southeastern Sarthiss. This was a world far away from everything he knew... from everyone he knew. Granted, the list of people he knew was exceptionally short, especially since Monch was horrible with names and only slightly less horrible with faces. Regardless, he did not wish to accidentally advertise his inexperience to anyone he might possibly know, which is why he travelled so far afield. There were ruins in the swamps, ruins hidden under years of neglect and heavy with decay. Things lurked in those ruins, inhuman beasts with forbidden hungers. He intended to use the dangers of the swamps as the whetstone that would hone his abilities to a razor-keen edge. Monch would test his blade against and come back all the stronger... ...or dead. No... that wasn't right. Given the fact that he was immortal, death really wasn't an option. So then, he would come back stronger... ...or something something horrible. Monch decided to fill in those particular details later on, when he had time to ponder his autobiography at length. He would tidy up that particular idiom later.”

“De pronto la miro y ya no está. Vuelvo a mirarla, la define su ausencia. Ha ido a unirse a lago que le da fuerza y no sé lo que es. No puedo seguirla, no entiendo hacia qué espacio invisible se ha dirigido, qué aire inefable la resguarda y la aísla; desde luego ya no está en el mundo y por más que manoteo no me ve, permanece siempre fuera de mi alcance. Sé que mi amor la sustenta, claro, pero su ausencia es sólo suya y en ella no tengo cabida.”

“Then one woman looked directly at her husband. "Is our place gone?" "I'm afraid so, girl," he said. "There isn't much left up there. But we're alive. We're all lucky to be alive. We'd have been dead if we'd stayed up above." "Oh, what a mercy we didn't!" she exclaimed. "How lucky we are!" Incredible though it sounds, within a few moments, a whole lot of people were congratulating each other on their extraordinary good fortune in only having lost all their worldy posessions.”

“Understand this, Glyndon, there’s nothing noble or tender about what I feel for you. It’s a violent volcano of obsession, possession, and deranged lust. If you want love, then I do love you, but it’s the unorthodox version of love. I love you enough to let you within my walls. I love you enough to let you talk to my demons. I love you enough to allow you to have a hold over me when I’ve never allowed anyone to have the power to destroy me from the inside out.”

“If the world despises one of the brethren, the Christian will love and serve him. If the world does him violence, the Christian will succor and comfort him. If the world dishonours and insults him, the Christian will sacrifice his own honour to cover his brother's shame. Where the world seeks gain, the Christian will renounce it. Where the world exploits, he will dispossess himself, and where the world oppresses, he will stoop down and raise up the oppressed. If the world refuses justice, the Christian will pursue mercy, and if the world takes refuge in lies, he will open his mouth of the dumb, and bear testimony to the truth. For the sake of his brother, be he Jew or Greek, bond or free, strong or weak, noble or base, he will renounce all fellowship with the world. For the Christian serves the fellowship of the Body of Christ, and he cannot hide it from the world. He is called out of the world to follow Christ.”

“So you who seek for deep truth, for the mystery and sacredness of life, don't give up looking just because the externals seemed to be the opposite of what they should be. Keep searching, for it is to be found. You will find that pearl of great price, in fact you will be led to it. So don't give up! One day, you will be given that which will set your heart on fire and you will become a new person, the person you were always meant to be.”

“It is said that when times are truly dark, as these times are, when lights have gone out and the culture has become a secular environment, often full of violence, a culture of death some call it - it is in those times of intense darkness that a ray of light can shine brightest. It can be found by those who are seeking, but one must be seeking for it. I would remind you of those marvelous, timeless words from the Gospel of John, that the darkness sought to overcome the Light, but it could not, it cannot overcome it. (S. 120)”

“The hunters raced toward the bawling whitecoats and their nimble parent, who were ducking down bobbing holes. Swiftly they dispatched whitecoat after whitecoat with a quick hard blown on the snout. Almost as swiftly they rolled each plump body over and shucked off the pelt with its lining of fat. These sculps were then fastened to ropes and pulled into one big pile. “Scoting the tow” John Noseworthy called it.”