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M Quotes

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“Mary Magdalene With wandering eyes and aimless zeal, She hither, thither, goes; Her speech, her motions, all reveal A mind without repose. She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea, By madness tortured, driven; One hour's forgetfulness would be A gift from very heaven! She slumbers into new distress; The night is worse than day: Exulting in her helplessness; Hell's dogs yet louder bay. The demons blast her to and fro; She has not quiet place, Enough a woman still, to know A haunting dim disgrace. A human touch! a pang of death! And in a low delight Thou liest, waiting for new breath, For morning out of night. Thou risest up: the earth is fair, The wind is cool; thou art free! Is it a dream of hell's despair Dissolves in ecstasy? That man did touch thee! Eyes divine Make sunrise in thy soul; Thou seest love in order shine:- His health hath made thee whole! Thou, sharing in the awful doom, Didst help thy Lord to die; Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb, Didst hear him Mary cry. He stands in haste; he cannot stop; Home to his God he fares: 'Go tell my brothers I go up To my Father, mine and theirs.' Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice; Cry, cry, and heed not how; Make all the new-risen world rejoice- Its first apostle thou! What if old tales of thee have lied, Or truth have told, thou art All-safe with Him, whate'er betide Dwell'st with Him in God's heart!”

“Mary Mallon was born in 1869 in Cookstown, County Tyrone, then part of British-ruled Ireland. Like many of her countrymen, she immigrated to the United States at a young age, where she eventually found employment as a cook. During her lifetime, it was suspected that she has unintentionally (albeit perhaps negligently) infected over fifty people with typhoid. Typhoid fever is a bacterial disease caused by gastrointestinal infection by Salmonella enterica serovar Typhi. In most patients, it causes an unpleasant but manageable disease that resolves fully. However, as many as one in twenty patients become chronic carriers, who continue to be infectious for their lifetimes. Mary Mallon was one of the unfortunate few who fell into that category. It is hypothesised today that she contracted typhoid at birth. Her case, which involved prolonged quarantine on North Brother Island for almost half her life, raises complex moral and ethical questions about reconciling the interests of public health with the moral imperative to respect individual liberties and treat the sick (even if asymptomatic) with compassion.”

“Mary! Mary! My dear, let me reason with you. I hate reasoning, John,—especially reasoning on such subjects. There's a way you political folks have of coming round and round a plain right thing; and you don't believe in it yourselves, when it comes to practice. I know you well enough, John. You don't believe it's right any more than I do; and you wouldn't do it any sooner than I.”

“Mary me dijo: ahora ya eres una mujer, y eso me hizo llorar. Entonces ella me abrazó y me consoló mejor de lo que hubiera podido hacerlo mi madre, que siempre estaba demasiado ocupada, cansada o enferma. Después me prestó su enagua de franela roja hasta que yo tuviera una y me enseñó cómo doblar y sujetar los paños y me dijo que algunos lo llamaban «la maldición de Eva», cosa que a ella le parecía una estupidez, ya que la verdadera maldición de Eva era tener que aguantar las idioteces de Adán que, en cuanto surgió un problema, le echó toda la culpa a ella.”

“Mary Midgley on osuvasti todennut, etteivät ihmiset ole eläinten kaltaisia: Ihmiset ovat eläimiä. Ihminen viettää suurimman osan elämästään kuten muutkin nisäkkäät. Ne nukkuvat, juovat, hankkivat ruokaa (kukin tavallaan), syövät, sosiaalisimmat kuluttavat aikaansa lajikumppaneittensa kanssa, rupatellen ja seksuaalisissa puuhissa.”

“MARY: My wrath! When do I ever get wrathful? CATHERINE: It’s your particular kind of wrath. You don’t shout—you just get precise and icy. MARY: That’s not wrath. I don’t think that counts as wrath. DIANA: It’s Mary wrath. Your particular kind, as Cat said. Not that I’m scared of it, mind you. But it’s worse than being shouted at. MARY: I have no idea what either of you are talking about. Alice, am I ever wrathful? ALICE: Well, yes, actually. If you don’t mind my saying so, miss. When you learned what the Order of the Golden Dawn had done to me and Mr. Holmes— CATHERINE: Oh no, you don’t! We have chapters to go before you can talk about that. Really, not one of you has any idea of narrative timing.”

“Mary properly bore the name of Virgin, and possessed to the full all the attributes of purity. She was a virgin in both body and soul, and kept all the powers of her soul and her bodily senses far above any defilement. This she did authoritatively, steadfastly, decisively and altogether inviolably at all times, as a closed gate preserves the treasure within, and a sealed book keeps hidden from sight what is written inside. The Scriptures say of her, 'This is the sealed book' (cf. Rev. 5:1-6:1; Dan. 12:4) and 'this gate shall be shut, and no man shall enter by it' (Ezek. 44:2).”

“Mary Queen of Scots had a little dog, a Skye terrier, that was devoted to her. Moments after Mary was beheaded, the people who were watching saw her skirts moving about and they thought her headless body was trying to get itself to its feet. But the movement turned out to be her dog, which she had carried to the block with her, hidden in her skirts. Mary Stuart is supposed to have faced her execution with grace and courage (she wore a scarlet chemise to suggest she was being martyred), but I don’t think she could have been so brave if she had not secretly been holding tight to her Skye terrier, feeling his warm, silky fur against her trembling skin.”

“MARY: Renaissance, not medieval. Most of the castle was built during the sixteenth century, although I believe its foundations date from the fourteenth. CATHERINE: And our readers will care why? MARY: You may not care for accuracy, but I do—and Carmilla will, when she reads this book. CATHERINE: If I ever get the damn thing written, with all these interruptions!”

“Mary’s childhood was rough. She was frequently beaten and chastised by the nuns who served as her protectors and brutalized by the older girls in the orphanage. Oh how I wept those first few years of my life. My tears came like tropical storms. Every pore in my body wept. I heaved and shuddered and sighed. Everything around me seemed dark and terrifying.”

“Mary's His mother and all who do His will, He calls us His brothers. Appreciate Him while He's around because when the well dries up, you'll know the worth of the water. The word of the Father, Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth, basic instructions to follow the Son born of a virgin, chosen at birth. The chosen of first and the chosen of last, Alpha and Omega, we're chosen as facts.”

“Mary's month of May brings new life and beauty. Her obedience and humility, which I strive to emulate, and her steadfast faith even in times of utter despair She is the Queen of Heaven and loves me enough to be my mother as well. She listens attentively and carries all my petitions to her Son; leaning in closer to Him with her motherly charm, she knows how to move His mercy toward me. Mary, your sweet presence is my comfort. I love you.”

“Mary's Song Blue homespun and the bend of my breast keep warm this small hot naked star fallen to my arms. (Rest... you who have had so far to come.) Now nearness satisfies the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps whose eyelids have not closed before. His breath (so slight it seems no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps to sprout a world. Charmed by doves' voices, the whisper of straw, he dreams, hearing no music from his other spheres. Breath, mouth, ears, eyes he is curtailed who overflowed all skies, all years. Older than eternity, now he is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed to my poor planet, caught that I might be free, blind in my womb to know my darkness ended, brought to this birth for me to be new-born, and for him to see me mended I must seen him torn.”

“Mary Stuart and Elizabeth both aimed at toleration in an intolerant age, in the same ways that Catherine de’ Medici, the mother-in-law of one and the almost mother-in-law of another English queen, labored her whole life to heal the rift between Catholic and Protestant in France. All three of these queens worked as diligently and as astutely as they might to restrain the fratricidal wars of Christian against Christian. What they had to hold up against that violent seismic shift in human sensibility was the orderly traditions of monarchy. If they did not ultimately succeed, they slowed and tempered the disorder and violence.”

“Mary.' The voice was familiar, but oh, so tired. Startled, she looked up. Sherlock Holmes was awake! He was looking at her with kind, grey eyes. 'I shot you. I almost killed you!' She wanted to make sure he knew that, her culpability. 'I know. I remember.' 'I don't expect you to forgive me. You could have died.' He reached up and touched her cheek. 'Mary.' 'If you wish me to hand in my letter of resignation, I will, of course, do so. I can't imagine that you would want to work with me after—' 'Mary, come here.' He pulled her down toward him. And suddenly, it seemed so natural, so inevitable, that she should lean down and kiss him with all the longing of the last few days, the last few months.”

“Mary.” Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. “Lassiter?” “I’m over here.” “Where?” She looked all around. “Why is your voice echoing?” “Chimney.” “What?” “I’m stuck in the fucking chimney.” She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. “Lass? What the hell are you doing up there?” His voice emanated from somewhere above her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” “What are you—” An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. “You’re stuck!” she exclaimed. “And thank God no one lit this fire!” “You’re telling me,” he muttered in his disembodied voice. “I had to blow out Fritz’s match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I’m not doing this again, even for her.” Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. “Lassiter. Why can’t you free yourself by dematerializing—” “I’m impaled on a hook that’s iron. I can’t go ghost. And will you just take this?” “What?” “This.” He turned his hand toward her and there was…a box…in it? A small navy blue box. “Open it. And before you ask, I already cleared it with your pinheaded hellren. He’s not jel or anything.” Mary sat back and shook her head. “I’m more worried about you—” “Justopenthefuckingthingalready.” Taking off the top, she found a slightly smaller box inside. That was velvet. “What is this?” As she lifted the lid, she…gasped. It was a pair of diamond earrings. A pair of perfectly matched, sparkly, diamond… “A mother’s tears,” Lassiter’s slightly echo-y voice said softly. “So hard, so beautiful. I told you everything was going to be all right. And those are to remind you of how strong you are, how strong your love for your daughter is…how, even in the worst of times, things have a way of working out as they should.” Blinking away tears, she thought of her crying in the foyer in front of the angel, crying because all had been lost. “They’re just beautiful,” she said hoarsely. -Lassiter & Mary”