Breckon Pennell Quotes & Sayings

Shall I ask you how the church is to be filled, if a man is neither to take orders with a living, nor without? — Jane Austen

Russia has always had a global history. Global history is a bummer. You suffer invasions of all different kinds. And Russia was not defended against them. — Ian Frazier

I have a heart problem, so I have to simplify my life and be content with memories and friends and music. — Gian Carlo Menotti

Theon," I said, "are you ... asking me to marry you right now?" When I turned back to him, his eyes met mine with a kind of evenness I hadn't anticipated. There was no fear. No embarrassment. Only honesty. "I am telling you to marry me right now." It felt like it'd been years since we'd seen each other, and I remembered him - everything which had brought us to this point - vividly now. My heart ached, and my throat became tight with joy. "Okay," I whispered. — Bella Forrest

Life without dreams or goals such as life without vision. — Launa Rissadia

You cannot change the wind, but you can adjust the sails. — Elizabeth Edwards

By evening, when the winds rose yet again, the power began to stutter at half-strength, and the sirens to fail. From those streetlights whose bulbs hadn't been stoned, a tea-colored dusk settled in uncertain tides. It fell on the dirty militias of pack dogs, all bullying and foaming against one another, and on the abandoned cars, and everything - everything - was flattened, equalized in the gloom of half-light. Like the subjects in a browning photograph in some antique photo album, only these times weren't antique. They were now. — Gregory Maguire

Legana Breed spoke: 'You are all marines?'
'Aye,' Fiddler said.
'Tonight, then, I too am a marine. Let us go kill people. — Steven Erikson

In the end Navidson is left with one page and one match. For a long time he waits in darkness and cold, postponing this final bit of illumination. At last though, he grips the match by the neck and after locating the friction strip sparks to life a final ball of light.
First, he reads a few lines by match light and then as the heat bites his fingertips he applies the flame to the page. Here then is one end: a final act of reading, a final act of consumption. And as the fire rapidly devours the paper, Navidson's eyes frantically sweep down over the text, keeping just ahead of the necessary immolation, until as he reaches the last few words, flames lick around his hands, ash peels off into the surrounding emptiness, and then as the fire retreats, dimming, its light suddenly spent, the book is gone leaving nothing behind but invisible traces already dismantled in the dark. — Mark Z. Danielewski