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Quote by William Makepeace Thackeray

“...the moral world, that has, perhaps, no particular objection to vice, but an insuperable repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name. There are things we do and know perfectly well in Vanity Fair, though we never speak of them: as the Ahrimanians worship the devil, but don't mention him: and a polite public will no more bear to read an authentic description of vice than a truly refined English or American female will permit the word breeches to be pronounced in her chaste hearing. And yet, madam, both are walking the world before our faces every day, without much shocking us. If you were to blush every time they went by, what complexions you would have!”

Quote by William Makepeace Thackeray

Work

Vanity Fair

Vanity Fair is a satirical novel by William Makepeace Thackeray, published in serial form between 1847 and 1848. The story is set against the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars and explores themes of ambition, social status, and the pursuit of wealth and power. The novel features a complex web of characters and is known for its wit and social commentary. more

Author

William Makepeace Thackeray
William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray was a prominent British novelist of the Victorian era, born on July 18, 1811, in India, and died on December 24, 1863. He is known for his satirical and humorous writing style and is considered one of the greatest novelists of the 19th century. His most famous work, 'Vanity Fair', is regarded as a classic of English literature. more

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“By bearing each other’s burdens, we “fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2; see also Mosiah 18:8). Jesus taught, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). Can it be that in our search for joy, the best way to find it is to bring joy to others? My friends, you know and I know this is true! Joy is like a barrel of flour or a jar of oil that will never run out (see 1 Kings 17:8–16). True joy multiplies when it is shared. It doesn’t require something grand or complicated. We can do simple things. Like praying for someone with all our heart. Giving a sincere compliment. Helping someone feel welcome, respected, valued, and loved. Sharing a favorite scripture and what it means to us. Or even just by listening. “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).”

“He stares at me in disbelief. 'You know what? We're not fighting tonight. Not if you want to learn how to shield.' 'Fine. We're not fighting. Teach me.' I tilt my chin. Gods, I barely reach his collarbone. 'Ask me nicely.' He leans closer. 'Have you always been this tall?' I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. 'No, I was a a child at some point.' I roll my eyes. 'Ask me nicely, Violence,' he whispers. 'Or I'm gone.' ... 'Right then. All right. Will you teach me to shield?' A smile curves his mouth, and my gaze drops to his lips. 'Say please.' 'Are you always this difficult?' 'Only when I know I have something you need. What can I say, I like making you squirm. It's like a sweet little slice of payback for what you've put me through these last couple of months.' He brushes the snow off my hair. 'What I've put you through?' Unbelieveable. 'You've scared me nearly to death once or twice, so I think saying please is a fair request.' Like he's ever played fair a day in his life. I take a deep breath, and swat at a snowflake that lands on my nose. 'As you prefer. Xaden?' I smile sweetly up at him and inch a little closer. 'Would you pretty, pretty please teach me how to shield before I accidentally climb you like a tree and we both wake up with regrets?' 'Oh, I'm firmly in control of my faculties.' He smiles again, and I feel it like a caress. Dangerous. This is so damn dangerous.”

“God, she was gorgeous. Pure and cleanly beautiful. From the rounded crests of her cheeks to the delicate sweep of her jaw, she had the kind of face sculptors memorialized in marble and the rest of us gazed upon for centuries to come. Of course she was beautiful. She was an actress. Meant to be idolized on the screen. Emma Maron, a.k.a Princess Anya, future queen and conqueror on Dark Castle. The guys and I used to watch the show while traveling between games. Anya was a favorite. Particularly since... I'd seen her breasts. It hit me like a puck to the helmet, and my ears began to ring. I'd seen those perfect creamy handfuls with sweet pink tips that pointed upward, defying gravity and begging to be sucked. I had watched her on hands on knees, perky tits bouncing as Arasmus slammed into her from behind. I actually blushed. Me. The guy who'd had dozens of women throw themselves at him every night since high school. I'd had sex so many times and in so many ways it had become a blur. Nothing shamed me or made me uncomfortable. Yet I started to get hot under the collar, my cheeks burning. After nearly a year of being disinterested in all things sexual, my dick decided to make its presence known and start rising. Now, of all times. Now, when I was stuck in a damn truck less than three feet from a woman, I finally got a hard-on. Lovely. I felt like a damn lecher. "At least it's a beautiful drive," she said, breaking through heated thoughts of creamy breasts with cotton candy nipples.”

“Grace." He drew out the word so it became a long, deep, guttural growl. A sound as primitive as a lion's roar for its mate. Her skin prickled with animal awareness and the breath caught in her throat. Every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth. Low in her belly, blood began to beat slow and hard with anticipation. Her face must have betrayed her unfurling arousal. Or perhaps, like her, he reacted to the sudden charge in the air, as electric as the pause before a lightning strike. Still without shifting his fierce focus, he set down the box he carried. Then he reached to close the doors and slide the bolt across. Any doubt as to his purpose fled. A delicious thrill rippled through her. The summerhouse was raised on a platform so the windows opened above eye height. With the doors locked, it was a bower designed for private sin. Sin was clearly his aim. Now she looked more closely, she realized it wasn't anger that tightened the skin over the bones of his face. It was incendiary hunger. She should protest. Question. Demand he tell her why he was here. But overwhelming need kept her silent and pinned to the window seat.”