A Quote by Mohammed Khair-Eddine

I have lived in the redness of the stones that mark a path through my blood; I am the descendant of a forgotten race, but I carry in my hands the remnants of their fire. — © Mohammed Khair-Eddine
I have lived in the redness of the stones that mark a path through my blood; I am the descendant of a forgotten race, but I carry in my hands the remnants of their fire.
I learned that not only am I a descendant of slaves, but that I am also a descendant of royalty, that there are politicians from the 1800s as well as Tuskegee Airmen in my lineage.
I am delighted to be joining hands with Colors Tamil for a path breaking show like Singing Stars' and this is an exciting way to mark my debut in the TV space.
I was walking along a path with two friends - the sun was setting - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.
On a day of fire and blood, a tattered banner waved above Dumai's wells, bearing the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai. On a day of fire and blood and the one power, as prophecy had suggested, the unstained tower, broken, bent knee to the forgotten sign. The first nine Aes Sedai swore fealty to the Dragon Reborn, and the world was changed forever.
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
Something your father wouldn't have told you, he began. Taking blood, it leaves a mark on you. No matter how it's done, or how it's justified, it leaves a mark that goes in deep. Be sure you're willing to wear that mark before you take the blood.
Being a strongman is a real test of functional strength. What can you pick up, carry and how fast can you move it. It's not a weight room strength, it takes brute strength and power to lift, carry and pull all types objects from fire engines, Mack trucks, transport planes and large stones.
The world today is sick to its thin blood for lack of elemental things, for fire before the hands, for water welling from the earth, for air, for the dear earth itself underfoot. In my world of beach and june these elemental presences lived and had their being.
I was born by myself but carry the spirit and blood of my father, mother and my ancestors. So I am really never alone. My identity is through that line.
All that I've lived I've forgotten, as if I'd vaguely heard it. All that I'll be reminds me of nothing, as if I'd lived and forgotten it.
I am, of course, directly descended from Brian Boru, the last king of Ireland, a fact certified by my mother and therefore beyond dispute. But as everybody else with a drop of Irish blood in his carcass is also a guaranteed descendant of the old billy goat, I am not overly arrogant because of this royal strain.
I had the blood and fire rule when my boys were young. You know, unless it's blood or fire, don't bother me.
In the first place you can't see anything from a car; you've got to get out of the goddamned contraption and walk, better yet crawl, on hands and knees, over the sandstone and through the thornbush and cactus. When traces of blood begin to mark your trail you'll begin to see something, maybe. Probably not.
I was born with a stain. A mark. Like the mark of Cain. But is the mark of my father, my family. The mark of Borgia. I have tried to be other than I am. And I have failed. And If I have failed you in the process, I am truly sorry.
Race, blood, lineage, and nationality don't matter; they're just the way that small minds keep score. All that matters about blood is that it's warm and that it beats through a loving heart.
How many years have slipped through our hands??At least as many as the constellations we still can identify.?The quarter moon, like a light skiff,? floats out of the mist-remnants?Of last night’s hard rain.?It, too, will slip through our fingers? with no ripple, without us in it.
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