Blackstorm Mech Quotes & Sayings

Our greatest hope comes from the knowledge that the Savior broke the bands of death. His victory came through His excruciating pain, suffering, and agony. He atoned for our sins if we repent. — James E. Faust

One has only the choice between God and idolatry. There is no other possibility. For the faculty of worship is in us, and it is either directed somewhere into this world, or into another. — Simone Weil

Now every idiot from high school's like, 'I'm back!' We weren't supposed to meet again. Stop poking me and inviting me to your weird vampire parties. No, I don't want to follow you on Twatter. Like, nobody's interested in you. I don't want to see you in real life, why would I want to follow you in the imaginary one? — Amy Schumer

Rank and riches are chains of gold, but still chains. — Giovanni Ruffini

He had no idea how wonderful he was. How his hands were so beautiful she could hardly look at them. How his truest smile was crooked and lifted higher on the left side than the right, which made her feel like he might understand her better, her hemiplegic face that was all crooked half smiles, too. But it couldn't be denied. He was also slightly crazy. Maybe more than slightly. — Cammie McGovern

The distinction between talent and genius is definite. Talent combines and uses; genius combines and creates. — Anna Brownell Jameson

He who dreads hostility too much is unfit to rule. — Lucius Annaeus Seneca

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers
goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me at every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.
I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.
New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat. — Sylvia Plath