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All B Quotes

“But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust; The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.”

“But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace.”

“But at some point it becomes obvious that, ultimately, the adventure of faith is the most sensible thing to do, and in fact the only thing worth doing. As Sam says toward the end of The Two Towers, no one remembers the tales in which the characters give up and turn back. Great and heroic deeds remain undone if no one leaps into the dark to do them. That's true when it comes to faith, too. You can't play a meaningful role in the great story by playing it safe. Once you hit the road, there is no going back to life as it was before. When Jesus asks His disciples if they will leave him to, Peter says, "Lord to whom will we go?" (verse 68). It's either walk with Jesus, unsafe as it seems sometimes, or go home.”

“But at some point you have to make peace with what you were given and if God wanted me to be a shy girl with think, dark hair, He would have made me that way, but He didn't. Useful, then, might be to accept how I was made and embody myself fully therein.”

“But at some point, you have to recognize that you have no control over anybody and you have to step back and be ready to catch them when they fall and that's all you can do. It feels like throwing yourself to sea. Or, maybe not that. Maybe it's more like throwing someone you love out to sea and then praying they float on their own, knowing they might well drown and you'll have to watch.”

“But at some point, you know that - you know what poem keeps going through my mind is, "first they came for the Jews." People, all of us, are like, "Well, this news doesn't really affect me." "Well, I'm not a bondholder." "Well, I'm not in the banking industry." "Well, I'm not a big CEO." "Well, I'm not on Wall Street." "Well, I'm not a car dealer." "I'm not an auto worker." Gang, at some point, they're going to come for you!”

“But at that moment all I could see was the wolf in the white van, so alive, so strong. Hidden from view, unnoticed, concealed. And I thought, maybe he's real, this wolf, and he's really out there in a white van somewhere, riding around. Maybe he's in the far back, pacing back and forth, circling, the pads of his huge paws raw and cracking, his thick, sharp claws dully clicking against the raised rusty steel track ridges on the floor. Maybe he's sound asleep, or maybe he's just pretending. And then the van stops somewhere, maybe, and somebody gets out and walks around the side to the back and grabs hold of the handle and flings the doors open wide. Maybe whoever's kept him wears a mechanic's jumpsuit and some sunglasses, and he hasn't fed the great wolf for weeks, cruising the streets of the city at night, and the wolf's crazy with hunger now; he can't even think. Maybe he's not locked up in the back at all: he could be riding in the passenger seat, like a dog, just sitting and staring out the open window, looking around, checking everybody out. Maybe he's over in the other seat behind the steering wheel. Maybe he's driving.”

“But at that moment the most incredible part of an incredible day happened. My mind, human, dolphin, both minds, opened up like a flower opening to the sun. And a silent, but somehow huge, voice filled my head, it spoke no words. It simply filled every corner of my mind with a simple emotion. Gratitude. The whale was telling me that it was grateful. We had saved it. Now it would save our schoolmate. I told Rachel and Jake. ... The humpback rose beneath a sputtering Marco. The broad leathery back lifted him up. And when I looked again, I saw Marco, sitting nervously on what could have been a small island, high and dry above the choppy waves. ... The whale called me to him. Listen, little one, he commanded, in a silent voice that seemed to fill the universe. I listened. I listened to his wordless voice in my head. I felt like it went on forever. Tobias said later it was only ten minutes. But during that ten minutes, I was lost to the world. I was being shown a small part of the whale's thoughts. he had lived eighty migrations. He had many mates, many mothers, who had died in their turn. His children traveled the oceans of the word. He had survived many battles, traveled to the far southern ice and the far northern ice. He remembered the days when men hunted his kind from ships that belched smoke. He remembered the songs of the many fathers who had gone before. As others would remember his song. But in all he had seen and all he had known, he had never seen one of the little ones become a human. Marco, I realized. He means Marco. And little ones? Is that what the whales call dolphins? We are not truly... little ones. No. You are something new in the sea. But not the only new thing. I wasn't sure what he was telling me. He spoke only in feelings, in a sort of poetry of emotion, without words. Part of it was in song. Part of it I could only sense the same way I could sense echolocation. Something new? -Animorphs #4, The Visitor page 41”

“But at the centre of his own faith there always stood the convincing mystery--that they were made in God's image. God was the parent, but He was also the policeman, the criminal, the priest, the maniac, and the judge. Something resembling God dangled from the gibbet or went into odd attitudes before the bullets in a prison yard or contorted itself like a camel in the attitude of sex. He would sit in the confessional and hear the complicated dirty ingenuities which God's image had thought out...”

“But at the centre of his own faith there always stood the convincing mystery—that we were made in God's image. God was the parent, but He was also the policeman, the criminal, the priest, the maniac, and the judge. Something resembling God dangled from the gibbet or went into odd attitudes before bullets in a prison yard or contorted itself like a camel in the attitude of sex. He would sit in the confessional and hear the complicated dirty ingenuities which God's image had thought out, and God's image shook now, up and down on the mule's back, with the yellow teeth sticking out over the lower lip, and god's image did its despairing act of rebellion with Maria in the hut among the rats. He said, Do you feel better now? Not so cold, eh? Or so hot? and pressed his hand with a kind of driven tenderness upon the shoulders of God's image.”

“But at the end of February, out of a cold black north a dozen meandering snowflakes fell. They drifted about the air like thrums - blown from the raw edges of the coming storm. Next morning, colour had gone from the world. Shapes, sounds, the energies and acuteness of life, were muffled in the dull white that covered both earth and sky. No sun came through. The weeks dragged on with no lifting of the pallor. The snow melted a little and froze again with smears of dirt marbelling its surfaces. To the northward of the dykes it was lumped in obstinate seams, at the cottage doors trodden and caked, matted with refuse, straws and stones and clots of dung carried in about on clorted boots. The ploughs lay idle, gaunt, like half-sunk among the furrows.”

“But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you've got going on at home that's no excuse ... Where you are right now doesn't have to determine where you'll end up. No one's written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future.”

“But at the end of three days the Brahman arrived in an Indian boat, and went to the captain-major's ship, and came on board, and made a great salutation to the captain-major, saying : " Sir, as I bring you a good message, I did not ask leave to come on board. The Zamorim sends you this letter. Order it to be read, and give me an answer, as I wish to return imme-diately." The captain-major asked him of what race he was. He said that he was a Nair and a Brahman. The captain-major ordered a scribe of the King of Cochym, who was in the ship, reckoning cargo, to read the letter, and he read it. The captain-major then sent the Brahman, with the letter, to the King of Cochym, in the skiff, and the Indian boat with the rowers remained at the ship. When the King heard the letter, he laughed to himself without answering anything, and sent it back to the ship. The captain-major summoned before him the rowers of the Indian boat, and ordered them to sit down on the ground, and told them not to get up, or he would order them to be executed; and he ordered their hands to be tied together, and told them to look well at everything. He then ordered the Brahman to be taken by the arms by two Negroes, that he might not fling himself into the sea, and said to him: " Brahman, tell me what the Zamorim ordered you to do." He replied that the King had not told him anything, except to deliver that letter and return immediately with the answer. The captain-major told him to swear by the head of the Zamorim that he spoke the truth, and he would not swear. Then he ordered him to be tied to the bits, and sent for an iron shovel full of embers, and ordered them to be put close to his shins, until large blisters rose upon them, whilst the interpreter snouted to him to tell the truth about what he came for, and what orders he had received, but he would not speak. The captain-major let him remain thus, and the fire was brought closer by degrees, until he could not bear it, and he said ho would speak the truth, and he confessed all that the King had said to him, and had ordered him to look and see; and he said that now that he had spoken the truth, let him order him to be killed, since he would not return to Calecut, for if they did not kill him, he should kill himself by his own hands. The captain-major questioned him why he would not return to Calecut, and would kill himself in order not to go thither. He said: "I do not deserve to live since I have discovered the King's secret." The captain-major said: " If, then, you will kill yourself, who will carry the answer to the King?" He replied, the Negro boatmen would carry it. Then the captain-major ordered the Negroes of the Indian boat to be unbound, and a white cloth to be given to each of them, telling them to row hard and return quickly. He then ordered the upper and lower lips of the Brahman to be cut off, so that all his teeth shewed, and he ordered the ears of a dog on board the ship to be cut off, and he had them fastened and sewn with many stitches on the Brahman instead of his, and he sent him in the Indian boat to return to Calecut.”