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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“The evening air was cool and slick tickling across her bare chest. She kneeled beside Guillermo’s grave, and under her breath, for long minutes afterwards she mumbled prayers to guide him from the afterlife . . . She bent forward, bracing herself on her forearms, knees locked, ass hitched high like a puta patiently waiting to be mounted . . . Even before she finished [praying]. . . [h]e slid her pants down around her thighs; his fingers, feeling like they were coiled in tight, spiral vines brushed between her legs, making her whimper.”

“The evening Bartolomeo left her the radish rose, he also ignored the words of her gray-haired mother and gave Stella an extra serving of pappardelle, made fresh from ricotta, eggs, and goat milk, fried to perfection and dusted in sugar. They were called "gobble-ups" for a good reason, and the principessa was pleased to indulge, that is until her mother bade Bartolomeo to take the plate away. She glared at her mother and snatched one last fritter. Sugar coated the edge of her pretty lips and Bartolomeo thought he might swoon. He would give anything to kiss the sweetness away. The rose was gone when he went to clear the plates. He could only hope she had secreted it away in the finely embroidered saccoccia hanging at her hip.”

“The evening I went for a walk. To walk for the sake of walking is something I seldom do.Inside my apartment I'd felt inexplicably anxious. I needed to talk to someone, to be reassured. Or perhaps I needed to confess my sin: I was once again having impure thoughts about saving the world. Or it was neither of these--I was afraid I was dreaming. Indeed, considering the events of the day, it was likely that I was dreaming. I sometimes fly in my dreams, and each time I say to myself, "At last--it's happening in reality and not in a dream!" In any case, I needed to talk to someone, and I was alone. This is my habitual condition, by choice--or so I tell myself. Mere acquaintanceship leaves me unsatisfied, and few people are willing to accept the burdens and risks of friendship as I conceive of it.”

“The evening light was like honey in the trees When you left me and walked to the end of the street Where the sunset abruptly ended. The wedding-cake drawbridge lowered itself To the fragile forget-me-not flower. You climbed aboard. Burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones, Dreams I had, including suicide, Puff out the hot-air balloon now. It is bursting, it is about to burst”

“The evening was remarkably fine for early spring. Thistlemarsh Hall lay against the lawn like a forlorn jewelry box, framed in unruly embroidered green velvet. Mouse’s father had designed the gardens as an intricate pattern of interweaving vines to complement the Elizabethan splendor of the architecture. The Hall’s towers sprang from each corner, carved with flowers and thistles. The mass of windows along each side meant that the sun could shine through the house at certainties of day, illuminating the inside.”

“The evening was very professionally organized, and most of the people were exceptionally polite, although it did make me a little nervous when one church official told me after the debate when a big crowd of people surrounded me that he had assigned me a body guard "just in case." Just in case what? I thought Christians were suppose to be exceptionally tolerant. Well, in any case, I guess I was grateful for the gesture, "just in case."”

“The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, among some tall old elm-trees at the bottom of the garden, that neither my mother nor Miss Betsey could forbear glancing that way. As the elms bent to one another, like giants who were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, as if their late confidences were really too wicked for their peace of mind.”

“The evenings grew longer; kitchen windows stayed open after dinner and peepers could be heard in the marsh. Isabelle, stepping out to sweep her porch steps, felt absolutely certain that some wonderful change was arriving in her life. The strength of this belief was puzzling; what she was feeling, she decided, was really the presence of God.”

“The event concept was sparked from a shared observation amongst these leading lifestyle brands that the economic rebound has spurred greater liquidity into real estate, the stock market is setting new heights and consumers are generally stepping out more for luxury goods and services. After many years of pulling back, it was fun to see guests flirting with temptation, whether that was a new home, a new car, a new look or just to learn more about the trends. Others were happy to take in all the action.”

“The event is not what you should be working on. You should be working on your response or reaction to an event. You either react to it - that means you become victimized, and you say this thing is happening to you - or you respond to it and say the solution must come through you - that's where you stay focused, not on the rightness, wrongness, fairness of the event, but on the appropriateness of your response.”

“The event itself played over in her mind, and the role she'd taken in the police investigation, the things she'd told them - worse, the thing she hadn't - made the panic so bad sometimes that she could hardly breathe. No matter where she went at Greenacres - inside the house or out in the garden - she felt trapped by what she'd seen and done. The memories where everywhere, they were inescapable; made worse because the event that caused them was utterly inexplicable.”

“The event of falling in love is of such a nature that we are right to reject as intolerable the idea that it should be transitory. In one high bound it has overleaped the massive of our selfhood; it has made appetite itself altruistic, tossed personal happiness aside as a triviality and planted the interests of another in the centre of our being. Spontaneously and without effort we have fulfilled the law (towards one person) by loving our neighbour as ourselves. It is an image, a foretaste, of what we must become to all if Love Himself rules in us without a rival. It is even (well used) a preparation for that.”

“The event of reading, like the event of loving, is singular. Just as our love for another creates a new reality as it unfolds, each reading of a particular text makes us lovers without precedent. Reading creates in us new ways of loving, and thus new ways of being. Or it can. In order for a book to work on us this way, we have to open ourselves up to an intentionality and signifying practice that originates outside of our own “egological sphere.” Because we cannot anticipate the way we will be changed by an event of reading, we commit ourselves first to the act of surrender itself and, through that surrender of our own intentionality, find ourselves remade.”

“The events happening in our life are random, we attach meaning to them, give reasons to justify why it happened, to save ourselves from drowning into madness. What compels me to make peace with this truth is the injustice that prevails all over the world, in private or public sphere. I don’t think if there is a God, amongst us or in Heaven, He will silently tolerate the pain and suffering of good, let them be massacred ruthlessly, while the evil flourishes and prospers. In this hopeless world where everything seems meaningless, the intended hope of religion to provide stability, contentment, and harmony has failed, and it itself lead the whole existence into unending vicious cycle of hatred and chaos.”