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Arm Quotes

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Arm Quotes

“Whenever He answers prayers, God usually prioritizes those by people who, instead of their mouths, have prayed with their hands and/or feet.”

GodHumorHandsActionFunnyReligionQuotesWishChurchPrayerFateFeetAtheismHumourArmsPrayingWorshipJokesHumorousAtheistLegsBelieverKarmaSatirePrayAphorismQuotationsJokeGodsHilariousActPaganAphorismsPrayersWishful ThinkingDoersCongregationDoBelieversPrioritizeHandPrioritySynagogueReligionsAphoristAphoristsWorshippersAtheistsChurchesDaydreamDoerArmFootNonbelieverNonbelieversPraying WomanLegPrayedSynagoguesCongregationsDaydreamerWorshipersWorshipperPraying WomenWorshiperDaydreamersChurchgoerChurchgoersPraying ManPraying Men
Author:Mokokoma Mokhonoana
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“It’s true what they say, that words are the true weapons. Those who fight with steel are limited to the strength of their arm, the reach of their blade, and the timing of their strike; but those who fight with persuasion know no limits – not time, nor status, nor chance.”

PeopleTruthTimeEnergyChangeInfluenceStrengthLimitsWeaponsWordsIronManipulationFightTimingSteelPersuasionOthersStatusSwordReachStrikeBladeArmMass InfluenceMass ManipulationLimited Energy
Book:Rise of the Morningstar
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“Ich liebe das Leben", gestand der Alte und wurde fast verlegen. "Ich liebe das Leben erst recht, seit ich arm bin. Manchmal könnte ich vor Freude in den Sonnenschein hineinbeißen oder in die Luft, die in den Parks weht. Wissen Sie, woran das liegt? Ich denke oft an den Tod, und wer tut das heute? Niemand denkt an den Tod. Jeder lässt sich von ihm überraschen wie von einem Eisenbahnzusammenstoß oder einer anderen unvorhergesehenen Katastrophe. So dumm sind die Menschen geworden. Ich denke täglich an ihn, denn täglich kann er winken. Und weil ich an ihn denke, liebe ich das Leben.”

LiebeLebenTodArm
Book:Fabian: die Geschichte eines Moralisten
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“Hello, freak,” Drake said. Lana backed away, but too late. Drake leveled his gun at her. “I’m right-handed. ’Least I used to be. But I can still hit you from this distance.” “What do you want?” Drake motioned toward the stump of his right arm. It was gone from just above the elbow. “What do you think I want?” The one time she’d seen Drake Merwin, he had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark’s grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance. “I’ll try,” Lana said. “You’ll do more than try,” he said. He convulsed in pain, face scrunched. A low, eerie moan escaped his throat. “I don’t know if I can grow a whole arm back,” Lana said. “Let me touch it.” “Not here,” he hissed. He motioned with his gun. “Through the back door.” “If you shoot me, I can’t help you,” Lana argued. “Can you heal dogs? How about if I blow his brains out? Can you heal that, freak?”

DogHealFreakArmThreatenDrake MerwinLana
Author:Michael Grant
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“Has Orc shown up here?” But neither Caine nor Diana answered. Both were staring at Drake, who sauntered toward them, all his cockiness restored, no longer the ragged scarecrow who had wept when he saw the melted stump of his hand lying on the tile floor. “Drake,” Caine said. “We thought you were dead.” “I’m back,” Drake said. “And better than ever.” The red tentacle unwrapped itself from around his waist, like a python releasing its victim. “Like it, Diana?” Drake asked. The arm, that impossible bloodred snake, coiled above Drake’s head, swirled, writhed. And then, so fast that the human eye could barely register the movement, it snapped like a bullwhip. The sound was a loud crack. A mini–sonic boom. Diana cried out in pain. Stunned, she stared at the cut in her blouse and the trickle of red from her shoulder. “Sorry,” Drake said with no attempt at sincerity. “I’m still working on my aim.” “Drake,” Caine said and, despite the blood, despite Diana’s wound, he grinned. “Welcome back.” “I brought some help,” Drake said. He extended his left hand, and Caine shook it awkwardly with his right. “So. When do we go take down Sam Temple?”

AliveHelpDianaCaineArmWhipSadistDrake
Author:Michael Grant
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“Das Proletariat ist ein Interessenverband. [...] Dass ihr euer Recht wollt, ist eure Pflicht. Und ich bin euer Freund, denn wir haben denselben Feind, weil ich die Gerechtigkeit liebe. Ich bin euer Freund, obwohl ihr darauf pfeift. Aber, mein Herr, auch wenn Sie an die Macht kommen, werden die Ideale der Menschheit im Verborgenen sitzen und weiterweinen. Man ist noch nicht gut und klug, bloß weil man arm ist.”

GutArmGerechtigkeitKlugProletaroat
Book:Fabian: die Geschichte eines Moralisten
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“The 2ams have held my hopes all these years as I calm my nerves down for there would only be three more hours for the world to wake up to my screams and wails of excruciating pain. Probably the drug store would open if I wait for three more hours then. 8am and the doc would prescribe me a few medicines over whatsapp. I would make three cups of tea by then. I would quiet my mouth as it would bite on my arm. By twelve I would finally be relieved as the meds would work. But it's only midnight now... wish you another goodnight's sleep....”

PainNightSleepTearsSadQuietDiseaseSickPainfulIllnessCryingNightmaresMouthMoaningWailingGoodnightBiteArmUnwell
Author:Sanhita Baruah
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“Are we taking the Subaru?” “No. We’ll run.” Running is not part of my plan. Stopping right here is my plan. “I’m not actually supposed to run,” I try to say. “The arm and everything.” “I’m sorry about your arm.” “Really?” He swoops me up as if I weigh nothing, leans me against his chest, and carries me the way grooms are supposed to carry brides over thresholds. He is cold now, away from the fire. He smells of mushrooms. “Are you afraid of heights?” He keeps my good arm against him, and doesn’t even jostle my cast arm. It’s smooth and quick and I don’t have time to ...He sets me down on the rolling ground in a large clearing in the middle of tall pine trees. My breath whooshes out like I’d been holding it. “Oh, that was amazing,” I say before I realize it. “You’re glowing. I thought you hated me.” “I do. But flying? I don’t hate flying. I read this book once where—” “You read?” “Yeah.” “Good. I like philosophy myself. It’s good to have a daughter who reads.” I swallow, shift my weight on my feet. They won’t be able to follow us here; we left no tracks. I can’t believe we flew. “Can all pixies fly? Because I was totally unprepared for that. I mean, I didn’t read that.” “Only ones with royal blood. You can.”

HateFatherReadFlyRunArmPixie King
Book:Need
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