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W Quotes

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All W Quotes

“Where this will end? In the Abyss, one may prophecy; whither all Delusions are, at all moments, travelling; where this Delusion has now arrived. For if there be a Faith, from of old, it is this, as we often repeat, that no Lie can live for ever. The very Truth has to change its vesture, from time to time; and be born again. But all Lies have sentence of death written down against them, and Heaven's Chancery itself; and, slowly or fast, advance incessantly towards their hour.”

“Where those two energies [male and female energies] intersect, all creativity is possible. We already have divine creative energy within us. And what is the most powerful of these energies? The energy that patriarchy and misogyny constantly try to repress. The divine female sexual energy. The creative energy of the female. That is why I worship divine sexual female energy.”

“Where to find the borrowers with high FICO scores? Here the Wall Street bond trading desks exploited another blind spot in the rating agencies’ models. Apparently the agencies didn’t grasp the difference between a “thin-file” FICO score and a “thick-file” FICO score. A thin-file FICO score implied, as it sounds, a short credit history. The file was thin because the borrower hadn’t done much borrowing. Immigrants who had never failed to repay a debt, because they had never been given a loan, often had surprisingly high thin-file FICO scores. Thus a Jamaican baby nurse or Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 looking to borrow three-quarters of a million dollars, when filtered through the models at Moody’s and S&P, became suddenly more useful, from a credit-rigging point of view. They might actually improve the perceived quality of the pool of loans and increase the percentage that could be declared triple-A. The Mexican harvested strawberries; Wall Street harvested his FICO score.”

“Where to touch? The worst of the waxy spikes were stuck from waist to groin. She swiped at his hip, managed to knock off a few. She made a wider sweep on his outer thigh, and cleared a few more. Her hand over his zipper. Shook. Cade was still picking needles off his abdomen. He widened his stance. "Don't be shy." There was challenge in his tone. He was getting even with her. She'd forced him to replace the bulbs. His request for her to remove the prickles seemed a fair exchange. Her heart gave an unfamiliar flutter. Her stomach knotted. They presently stood between the tall box of headstones and a privacy hedge. They weren't visible from the road. She decided to pick off the needles individually instead of making a palm-wide sweep. There'd be less touching. In her hurry, her knuckles bumped his sex. He sucked air. Enlarged. The tab on the zipper slid down an inch. He made the adjustment. "Good enough." He pushed her hand away. She sighed her relief. He twisted, struggled with the prickles on his back, stretching to brush those between his shoulder blades. Frustrated by those he couldn't reach, he snagged the hem on his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Shook it out. Grace's eyes rounded and her mouth went dry. Her had a magnificent chest. Broad and bare, his chest tempted her. Her fingers itched to touch him. Even for a second. This was so unlike her. The need to satisfy her curiosity outweighed the consequences. She went with the urge. She traced his flat stomach and six-pack abs. His jeans hung low. Sharp hip bones, man dents, and sexy lick lines. The man was sculpted. Cade clutched his shirt to his thigh. Stood still. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn't meet his eyes. Not after she flattened her hand over his abdomen, and his heat suffused her palm. His stomach contracted. Her fingers flexed. She scratched him. He groaned.”

“Where today are the Pequot? Where are the Narragansett, the Mohican, the Pokanoket, and many other once powerful tribes of our people? They have vanished before the avarice and the oppression of the White Man, as snow before a summer sun. Will we let ourselves be destroyed in our turn without a struggle, give up our homes, our country bequeathed to us by the Great Spirit, the graves of our dead and everything that is dear and sacred to us? I know you will cry with me, 'Never! Never!'”

“Where truth is high ignorance is low. Where certainty is high speculation is low. Where pleasure is high pain is low. Where joy is high grief is low. Where love is high fear is low. Where modesty is high ego is low. Where tolerance is high injustice is low. Where mercy is high vengeance is low. Where integrity is high distrust is low. Where justice is high crime is low. Where equality is high abuse is low. Where freedom is high slavery is low. Where wealth is high poverty is low. Where knowledge is high illiteracy is low. Where wisdom is high imprudence is low. Where harmony is high anarchy is low. Where peace is high turmoil is low. Where order is high chaos is low. Where faith is high doubt is low. Where light is high darkness is low. Where good is high evil is low. Where strength is high weakness is low. Where pride is high wisdom is low. Where sorrow is high bliss is low. Where error is high truth is low. Where despair is high confidence is low. Where silence is high speech is low. Where tyranny is high liberty is low. Where shame is high honor is low. Where guilt is high innocence is low. Where illusion is high reality is low. Where bitterness is high happiness is low. Where want is high needs is low. Where pain is high pleasure is low. Where fear is high love is low. Where trouble is high comfort is low. Where fear is high certainty is low. Where desire is high fulfillment is low. Where apathy is high hope is low. Where confusion is high clarity is low. Where greed is high contentment is low. Where disloyalty is high friendship is low. Where wrath is high goodness is low. Where vice is high virtue is low.”

“Where Truth Lies by Stewart Stafford My television lost picture, Grew lips, told the truth, Then it finished speaking, My voice froze after that. My elderly self turned, In a white, shining chair, Cutting my lips from me, To let the truth ooze out. The moon in three cups, Providence's hinterland, The old bait-and-switch, Shows truth has no price. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Where truth rises ignorance falls. Where certainty rises speculation falls. Where pleasure rises pain falls. Where joy rises grief falls. Where love rises fear falls. Where modesty rises ego falls. Where tolerance rises injustice falls. Where mercy rises vengance falls. Where integrity rises distrust falls. Where justice rises crime falls. Where equality rises abuse falls. Where freedom rises slavery falls. Where wealth rises poverty falls. Where knowledge rises illiteracy falls. Where wisdom rises dullness falls. Where harmoney rises anarchy falls. Where peace rises turmoil falls. Where order rises chaos falls. Where faith rises doubt falls. Where light rises darkness falls. Where good rises evil falls. Where strength rises weakness falls.”

“Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them." In the midst of two or three hundred, the divine presence becomes more problematical. And when the numbers run into thousands, the likelihood of God being there, in the consciousness of every individual, declines almost to the vanishing point. For such is the nature of an excited crowd (and every crowd is automatically self-excited) that, where two or three thousand are gathered together, there is an absence not merely of deity, but even of common humanity.”

“Where two or three are met together, the prayer of one strikes fire from the soul of another; and the latter in his turn leads the way to nobler heights of devotion. And lo! as their joy increases, there is One in their midst whom they all recognize and cling to. He was there before, but it is only when their hearts begin to burn that they recognize Him; and in a true sense they may be said to bring Him there.”

“Where utopianism is advanced through gradualism rather than revolution, albeit steady and persistent as in democratic societies, it can deceive and disarm an unsuspecting population, which is largely content and passive. It is sold as reforming and improving the existing society's imperfections and weaknesses without imperiling its basic nature. Under these conditions, it is mostly ignored, dismissed, or tolerated by much of the citizenry and celebrated by some. Transformation is deemed innocuous, well-intentioned, and perhaps constructive but not a dangerous trespass on fundamental liberties.”

“Where virtue is, sensibility is the ornament and becoming attire of virtue. On certain occasions it may almost be said to become virtue. But sensibility and all the amiable qualities may likewise become, and too often have become, the panders of vice and the instruments of seduction.”

“Where vision’s depth and spirit’s breath converge, a cosmos where reality and dreams diverge, in every spectrum, life’s quantum strings vibrate, in soul’s vast universe, where thoughts create. A dance of light reveals the shades of your internal day, in ego’s fire, some truths may turn to gray, yet essence pure, in radiant array. In the interplay of shadow and gleam, you find the heart of your chosen dream.”