A Quote by Eminem

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgettin' What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out He's chokin', how, everybody's jokin' now The clocks run out, times up, over, blaow!

Eminem

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Arms Bombs Calm Clocks Come Crowd Down Drop Everybody Goes Heavy His How Keeps Knees Looks Loud Mom Mouth Nervous Now Opens Out Over Palms Ready Run Spaghetti Surface Sweater Sweaty Times Up Vomit Weak Whole Words Wrote

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Eminem
American - Rapper
Born: October 17, 1972

Fright is something one can never get over. When a warrior is caught in such a tight spot he would simply turn his back to the ally without thinking twice. A warrior cannot indulge thus he cannot die of fright. A warrior allows the ally to come only when he is good and ready. When he is strong enough to grapple with the ally he opens up his gap and lurches out, grabs the ally, keeps him pinned down and maintains his stare on him for exactly the time he has to, then he moves his eyes away and releases the ally and lets him go. A warrior, my little friend, is the master at all times

Carlos Castaneda

We're all so clogged with dead ideas passed from generation to generation that even the best of us don't know the way out We invented the Revolution but we don't know how to run it Look everyone wants to keep something from the past a souvenir of the old regime This man decides to keep a painting This one keeps his mistress He [ pointing ] keeps his garden He [ pointing ] keeps his estate He keeps his country house He keeps his factories This man couldn't part with his shipyards This one kept his army and that one keeps his king

Peter Weiss

Will spread his arms wide. On his knees, grinning like a demon, blood dripping from his mouth, he barely looked human himself. “Come and get me.

Cassandra Clare

Blood trickled down his chin as he was hauled up onto his knees, the golden rope securing his arms behind him and his ankles together. Arthur looked up and saw the fizzing sparkling crown coming down. I’m Arthur Penhaligon, he thought desperately... The crown was wedged tightly upon his head- and Arthur fell silently screaming into darkness.

Garth Nix

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty look, repeats his words, Remembers me of his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form

William Shakespeare

Check this out,” Nine says. He holds up a small purple stone and then places it on the back of his hand. The stone slides into his hand—through it. Nine turns his hand over just as the stone pops out in his palm. “Pretty cool, right?” he asks me, waggling his eyebrows. “Uh, but what is it supposed to do?” Eight asks, looking up from his own Chest. “I dunno. Impress girls?” Nine looks over at me. “Did it work?” “Um . . .” I hesitate, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. “Not really. But, I’ve seen guys teleport so I’m kind of hard to impress.” “Tough crowd.

Pittacus Lore

The 9th chamber, leave you trapped inside my hallway You try to flee but you got smoked up by the doorway (blaow! blaow! blaow!) No question, I send your ass back, right to the essence Your whole frame is smothered in dirt, now how you restin

Ghostface Killah

He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?

Karen Marie Moning

Phury knelt beside him and stroked his face. "I've only ever had you to live for. If you die I have nothing. I'm utterly lost. And you are needed here." Zsadist tried to reach out, but couldn't lift his arms as Phury stood up. "God, Z, I keep thinking this tragedy of ours is going to be over. But it just keeps going, doesn't it?" Zsadist blacked out to the sound of his twin's boots heading from the room.

J.R. Ward

He could hear himself screaming and he knew it was his death cry. Still he fought on, as he had fought all his life. I...will...control... The words came from his mouth, stained with his blood... I will control... Reaching out, his hands closed over the Staff on Magius. I will!

Margaret Weis

Miraculously, smoke curled out of his own mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes, as if his soul had been extinguished within his lungs at the very moment the sweet pumpkin gave up its incensed ghost.

Ray Bradbury

I call upon all of you to wage a second American nonviolent revolution, to use civil disobedience, and to demand that this president leave town, to get up, to put the Quran down, to get up off his knees, and to figuratively come out with his hands up.

Larry Klayman

Surely in much talk there cannot choose but be much vanity. Loquacity is the fistula of the mind,--ever-running and almost incurable, let every man, therefore, be a Phocion or Pythagorean, to speak briefly to the point or not at all; let him labor like them of Crete, to show more wit in his discourse than words, and not to pour out of his mouth a flood of the one, when he can hardly wring out of his brains a drop of the other.

Herbert Spencer

Then Drew shuffles into the dining hall. I drop my toast, and my mouth drifts open. Calling him “bruised” would be an understatement. His face is swollen and purple. He has a split lip and a cut running through his eyebrow. He keeps his eyes down on the way to his table, not even lifting them to look at me. I glance across the room at Four. He wears the satisfied smile I wish I had on.

Veronica Roth

When we stray from His presence, He longs for you to come back. He weeps that you are missing out on His love, protection and provision. He throws His arms open, runs toward you, gathers you up, and welcomes you home.

Charles Stanley

If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shoulders - What would you tell him?" I…don't know. What…could he do? What would you tell him?" To shrug.

Ayn Rand

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