Quotessence
Home / Quotes / L Quotes

L Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with L. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All L Quotes

“Lord, where shall I find you? Your place is lofty and secret. And where shall I not find you? The whole earth is full of your glory! You are found in our innermost heart, yet you fixed earth's boundaries. You are a strong tower for those who are near and the trust of those who go far. I have sought to come near you; I have called to you with all my heart; and when I went out towards you, I found you coming towards me.”

“Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! Parents first season us; then schoolmasters deliver us to laws; they send us bound to rules of reason, holy messengers, pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, fine nets and stratagems to catch us in, bibles laid open, millions of surprises, blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness, the sound of glory ringing in our ears: without, our shame; within, our consciences; angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears. Yet all these fences and their whole array one cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.”

“Lord, You have told me who You are, You have in mercy revealed Yourself to me, I know You to be that blessed 'gift of God' which alone can save and satisfy my soul. The depth and compass of heavenly love are manifested in You, and You have shown me, not my need only, but the sufficiency of Your grace and power to meet it. I am an empty sinner, You are a full Christ!”

“Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can't make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people.”

“Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.”

“Lordship and the (re-)construction of affinities: A lord’s familia (his aggregate dependents) has been likened to a series of concentric circles, with the lord at the centre, and inner, middle, and outer circles... This description of concentric circles is merely illustrative since members of an affinity often overlapped between these categories, and the rings in themselves obviously lacked clear boundaries which makes the definitive assigning of individuals to such groupings difficult (p. 78). …though it seems a reasonable assumption to base strength of attachment on frequency of involvement, it is impossible to tell whether one client was less strongly attached than another; thus, irrespective of frequency, all clients require consideration… As a result of these uncertainties and limitations, the reconstruction of affinities is something of an imprecise art. Connection construction is not a simple task; the difficulties, and awareness of the subtleties, mean that there are few, if any, certainties regarding clients, so it is necessary to speak of only possibilities, probabilities, and likelihoods (p. 83). …This continuity of connections indicates how alignments continually changed and altered, were recreated and reshaped. While the politics and alignments of one decade or series of several years might appear evanescent, in reality, beneath the tumultuous surface of the manoeuvrings of local politics, affinities proved to be a durable foundation. Thus, perhaps, we should refer not so much to great-magnate-commanded affinities as to leading-gentry-led affiliations (p. 350).”

“Lordy, lordy, lordy do I love money. It is a character flaw, no doubt, one that springs from a panicked childhood in which I always felt as if our family was only a couple missed child support payments from being tossed onto the pitiless streets of our suburban New Jersey town.”

“Loreen hob ihren Blick, und sah ihm in das Gesicht – direkt in seine dunklen Augen, aus denen goldene Sterne leuchteten. Wunderschön. Er war nur wenige Zentimeter von ihr entfernt und Nervosität machte sich in ihrer Brust breit. Bevor sie ein weiteres Mal blinzeln konnte, überbrückte er auch den letzten kleinen Abstand. Slash beugte sich hinab und seine Lippen berührten flüchtig die ihren. Zuerst war es ein zaghaftes herantasten, eine leichte Berührung, wie zarte Schmetterlingsflügel. So stark sein Körper auch war, muskelbepackt und voller Stolz, bewegte sich sein Mund ganz vorsichtig, als hätte er Angst, Loreen könnte unter ihm zerbrechen.”

“Lorel once told me that fate is a poet, organizing beauty out of chaos. I believed that for a long time—that life happens to a person, buoying them along on its tide whichever way it pleases, instead of bending and shaping itself around my will. And even now I’m not sure that I can entirely discard the idea, because God knows my life has spiraled into gothic prose, and even in the depths of my insanity I could not have thought up the repeating rhythms of horrible motif. Blood as oil, oil as sacred chrism, the suffocating paradox of its sacred and sensual nature, and can oil really run in a person’s blood? Because when I think of one, I think of the other—they are inseparable in my mind. When I think of the times I dipped my fingers in green-gold oil, memory calls forth the image of blood on a warehouse floor, and blood mixed with oil in the creases of my hands.”

“Lorelei isn't Zeus. I see that now with scathing clarity. No, she is Atlas, with an entire world poised between her shoulder blades, crushing her with its moral weight. The world of artificial minds in all their terrifying incarnations. Self-driving cars saving innumerable lives but ending others. Platforms that enable information sharing and yet also the manipulative spread of disinformation that leads to the overthrow of democratic governments. Autonomous weapons systems hunting out terrorists while taking out busloads of civilians. And who knows what other nonhuman perversions of human imaginings. And Lorelei sees herself as their conscience. As their soul.”

“Lorelei Lorelei, you wait, sad and beautiful, Up on a rock, on a deep night, You wait for your desire to be fulfilled, Wait for the one, who promised you, That he will deliver you from fate, That you will escape the accursed life. But the waters cooled his feet, He feared and fled; you hardened And you have become unrecognized, And with your naked bosom you lure, Caress, disenchant and confess to Strangers, men, who in you Believe, let themselves be attracted, while you, You will lead them to perdition...”

“Loren held out her hand. "It's been fun listening to your stories, Mr...." The old cook smiled. "Cussler, Clive Cussler. Mighty nice to have met you, ma'am." When they were on the road again, the Pierce Arrow and its trailer smoothly rolling toward the border crossing, Pitt turned to Loren. "For a moment there, I thought the old geezer might have given me a clue to the treasure site." "You mean Yaeger's far-out translation about a river running under an island?" "It still doesn't seem geologically possible." Loren turned the rearview mirror to reapply her lipstick. "If the river flowed deep enough it might conceivably pass under the Gulf." "Maybe, but there's no way in hell to know for certain without drilling through several kilometers of hard rock." "You'll be lucky just to find your way to the treasure cavern without a major excavation." Pitt smiled as he stared at the road ahead. "He could really spin the yarns, couldn't he?" "The old cook? He certainly had an active imagination." "I'm sorry I didn't get his name." Loren settled back in the seat and gazed out her window as the dunes gave way to a tapestry of mesquite and cactus. "He told me what it was." "And?" "It was an odd name." She paused, trying to remember. Then she shrugged in defeat. "Funny thing...I've already forgotten it.”

“Loren isn't convinced. "Serahs have been here before, asking for stuff. They always ask for things in the nicest possible way, and they're always actually serahs. Why are you *really* here, Sabre Black? I know there's some other reason you traveled through miles of forest and water just to get here. You desperately want something. What is it?" I lower my head. "I'm here to earn back the Llum's trust." "Ah. And you think running off by yourself will achieve that?”

“Lorenzo married a local English woman called Patricia Brown, who was also getting used to life's disappointments, having exchanged her dream of being an actress for the mundane, daily theatre of the suburban housewife, and whose culinary skills were forever under the ghostly shadow of her dead Puglian mother-in-law and her legendary spaghetti dishes, which, in Lorenzo's eyes, could never be surpassed.”

“Lorenzo steps closer, his body a breath away from mine as he whispers, "Trust me?" I have no idea what he's asking, but I nod because what else am I gonna do? We're about to go to dinner and pretend like we're happy newlyweds with someone who could blow up my entire social circle, and likely my professional life, with a single well-placed word. Lorenzo walks me backward until my back hits the wall. I gasp, surprised. But he's not done. "Trust me," he orders softly. And with that, he picks me to straddle him and slams my back against the door with a thump. It rattles loudly behind me. "Fuck, Abigail, Quick, mia rosa. Come on my cock before your friends get here or they're going to hear me fucking you deep and hard. I want your cum on me and my cum in you while we sit at this prim and proper dinner, wife." I gasp, both at his filthy talk and the ridge of his cock pressing against my core. "Ungh." I can't make words, am barely making incoherent sounds, and Lorenzo lifts one hand from my thigh to hold my head still. He meets my eyes, one of his brows lifted pointedly. If I couldn't feel his cock, I wouldn't even know what this is doing to him. For all the fire rushing through my body and turning my brain to melted goo, he's clear-eyed and has a plan. I blink and realize what he's doing. Emily needs to think we're newlyweds, and what do newlyweds do non-stop? Fuck. Now that I've caught on, he winks at me and I smile back. He thrusts against me and I bounce on the door. "Yes, hard ... just like that," I moan. He grunts, finding a pace that is actually doing a lot for me even though I just came in the shower a bit ago. I'd be embarrassed at the wet heat of my core, but his cock jumps against me. I like that he's carried away too as he dry humps me, only hinting at what we're playacting. "Take it. Take me, Abigail," he hisses through clenched teeth. Is that for effect or is he holding the reins that tightly? "Yes, my Italian Stallion!" I cry out, clawing at his shoulders for purchase. Confusion mars his face as he mouths, "Italian Stallion?" I shake me head and whisper back, "I don't know, it just came out." He grins like that's the funniest thing he's ever heard and goes back to thrusting against me with renewed furor. "That's it, mia rosa. Are you going to come for me?" Oh shit. I am. Like I am ... for real. Any sane, rational, reasonable person would tilt their hips and move away from the power of his thrusts to save a little face. Do I? Absolutely not. If anything, I'm humping him back, riding him like the pony at my sixteenth birthday party. Don't laugh ... it was an amazing blowout. Like I'm about to have ... "Yes, yes. Right there Lorenz-ohh!" He pulls me tight against him, his cock grinding against my clit as he grunts through several short strokes and says something I don't understand in Italian. Is he? Did he? As I float back to Earth and realize what just happened, there's another knock on the door. This one is harder and louder. "Hey, Abi! We have reservations, you know?" Emily yells through the wood, literally inches away from where I just loudly came on Lorenzo's cock for real.”

“Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!”