A Quote by Richelle Mead
In an undertone, I murmured, "This isn't over. I won't give up on you." "I've given up on you," he said back, voice also soft. "Love fades. Mine has.
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I've given up on you...Love fades. Mine has.
The Archangel." I murmured. looking back over my shoulder at the ride, which had started its next ascent. "It means high-ranking angel." There was a definite smugness to his voice. "The higher up, the harder the fall.
I think," Tehanu said in her soft, strange voice, "that when I die, I can breathe back the breath that made me live. I can give back to the world all that I didn't do. All that I might have been and couldn't be. All the choices I didn't make. All the things I lost and spent and wasted. I can give them back to the world. To the lives that haven't been lived yet. That will be my gift back to the world that gave me the life I did live, the love I loved, the breath I breathed.
I stood on my toes and stole a soft kiss from his lips. "Surprise attack," I said. Sam leaned down and kissed me back, his mouth lingering on mine, teeth grazing my lower lip, making me shiver. "Surprise attack back." "Sneaky," I said, my voice breathier than I intended.
Someone's dead," said Malfoy, and his voice seemed to go up an octave as he said it. "One of your people...I don't know who, it was dark...I stepped over the body...I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way.
God is a God who has not given up on His people. If He wanted to give up, He would have given up back in the Garden of Eden.
Nonetheless, I'm not sure this entirely accounts for my Buddhist voice, which tells me forever to give up writing, to give up on relationships, simply to give up. Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to me to be the voice of innocence.
I give up so much to do what I do. Like, I give up a personal life. I give up my friends, my family. I give up a lot of stuff to pursue what I love and to make my fans happy. I give up so much. So, I'm going to be the best.
I collapsed to my knees and looked up at the predawn sky. "I hate you," I said softly."I love you," the voice whispered back.
When we were kids, we couldn't wait to have our own rooms, not to have to share anymore. And that is what I love about having my own bedroom. It is mine. My sleep is mine. Both pillows are mine. If I wake up, it is me who has woken me up... It makes me feel like a grown-up. I love it.
Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O Never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.
At least to look back over their own lives, as I have looked back over mine, for certain themes and patterns and signals that are so easy to miss when you're caught up in the process of living them. If God speaks to us at all other than through such official channels as the Bible and the church, then I think he speaks to us largely through what happens to us, so listen to what has happened to you-for the sound, above all else, of his voice.
If we are given a chance to go back to our youth, we won't go back, because we cannot give up our accumulated wisdom and we cannot give up things that belong to our time!
You gotta pick yourself up. Sometimes you just gotta do it over and over, but you gotta do it. You can't give up. I wouldn't give up. I didn't give up - or doubt myself - in becoming a successful musician with a successful band.
An Indian's dress of deer skins, which is wet a hundred times upon his back, dries soft; and his lodge also, which stands in the rains, and even through the severity of winter, is taken down as soft and as clean as when it was first put up.
Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked. ”Enough to accept my apologies?” I suggested in a small voice. ”Heck no,” he said, and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward. When he reached me, he put his hands up and touched the sides of my neck with the tips of his fingers – as if I were something fragile. ”No apologies from you,” he told me, his voice soft enough to melt my knees and most of my other parts.
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