Dark Two Word Quotes & Sayings

There seems to be something poetically that doesn't work or is limiting when you call God 'God' in a poem. When I tried to be honest with myself in my relationship with God, Christ is, on the one hand, completely dark, he's transcendent and unknown. On the other hand, he is completely imminent and completely knowable as Jesus. Our tradition speaks of him in both ways as transcendent but also as a lover who comes to us, and the two word 'Dark One' seem to me to contain both things, the transcendence and otherness of Christ, but also like a kind of dark lover who comes to us. — Kevin Hart

He studied me with his predator's gaze, assessing me from head to toe. I studied him back. He didn't just occupy space; he saturated it. The room had been full of books before, now it was full of him. About thirty, six foot two or three, he had dark hair, golden skin, and dark eyes. His features were strong, chiseled. I couldn't pinpoint his nationality any more than I could his accent; some kind of European crossed with Old World Mediterranean or maybe an ancestor with dark Gypsy blood. He wore an elegant, dark gray Italian suit, a crisp white shirt, and a muted patterned tie. He wasn't handsome. That was too calm a word. He was intensely masculine. He was sexual. He attracted. There was an omnipresent carnality about him, in his dark eyes, in his full mouth, in the way he stood. He was the kind of man I wouldn't flirt with in a million years. — Karen Marie Moning

I bite my lip as I begin reading: She needs some sun! Her eyes are hard to see - they're too dark; her nose is thin; no cheek bones!; I think her lips are uneven; her chin is really square, and my favorite: is that a mole or a zit? Awesome. Twenty pages of these cryptic remarks sure do make a girl feel good about herself. The last page changes my sour mood completely. On it there is a sketch of my face - no, sketch is the wrong word. It's too common a word. This is more than a sketch. This is a portrait of my face. The image of the girl staring back at me is so stunning, that I actually gasp. The handwriting on the bottom of the page, which is small and elegant, holds only two words: You're perfect. — Danielle Bannister

Without another word, we began to eat. I was hungry, but no appetite would excuse the way we set upon those dishes. We shoveled food into our mouths in a manner ill befitting our fine attire. Bears would have blushed to see us bent over our plates. The pheasant, still steaming from the oven, its dark flesh redolent with the mushroom musk of the forest floor, was gnawed quickly to the bone. It was a touch gamy - no milk-fed goose, this - but it was tender, and the piquant hominy balanced that wild taste as I had hoped it would. The eggs, laced pink at the edges and floating delicately in a carnal sauce, were gulped down in two bites. The yolks were cooked to that rare liminal degree, no longer liquid but not yet solid, like the formative moment of a sun-colored gem. — Eli Brown

In the early 1700's, two physicians ... learned about pinkroot's efficacy from the Indians. The word soon spread to the general public, who praised this worm treatment, particularly against roundworms, for the next 200 years. Pinkroot fell into disuse in the early 1900's, simply because greedy herb dealers adulterated or even substituted shipments of true pinkroot with quantities of other plants ... — Michael Savage

With restraint she didn't realize she had, she tore her mouth from his.
He let out a growl of protest, his eyes dark and filled with hunger. The thought of getting devoured by him had all her muscles pulling taut.
"I don't want to be with your brother," she blurted.
She'd come to terms with the fact that when she mated it might be with two males. Unlike some of her friends, she'd adjusted to that part of this culture. But she and Con weren't getting mated and she didn't want to be with anyone else. She needed that to be clear to him.
"Good." The word came out as a rumble. "Do you want to be with anyone else?"
Did he seriously have to ask?
She shook her head.
He nipped at her jaw. "Say it." A soft, dominant demand.
Another rush of heat flooded her at the command in his tone.
"No. Just you."

-Leilani & Con — Savannah Stuart

Safe," she said with a hollow smile. "That is a pretty word." "Come on," snapped Kate beside the door. "But--" "Don't worry, August. I'm not afraid of the dark." Our sister has two sides. He took Ilsa's face in his hands. "Please be careful." They do not meet. "Go," she said. "Before the cracks catch up. — Victoria Schwab

Barrons's hold tightened further. "Give me one good reason not to kill him. Ms. Lane," he growled roughly around thick, long black fangs. "Because I asked you not to, Barrons. That's good enough. You killed the other princes, and I was grateful. I wasn't ready then. I was still afraid of what I'd become. But this last prince is mine to kill or not to kill. And I say no. At the moment. And although Cruce is incapable of understanding that word, I know you know that a no from me means no. And you will honor it," I said in a voice that brooked no resistance. It was one of the defining differences between the two proud, dark, violent males. And if he didn't honor it, he wasn't the man I believed he was. — Karen Marie Moning

My love lies across linen sheets, snow white beneath cream coloured flesh an expanse of gentle curves,two rosy buds a dimple of a navel a dark thatch of curls I can describe her beauty And spill precious ink to tell of her goodness But to express my love ... Come to my arms, and I'll whisper words I dare not write. How you could damn ore save me with just a word Let me love you with my body the sacred dance of one My Julia — Sylvain Reynard

What shall I tell you of the years that ensued? You know well the recent history of this beleaguered country. I need not to rehash for you those dark days. I tire at the mere thought of writing it, and, besides, the suffering of this country has already been sufficiently chronicled, and by pens far more learned and eloquent than mine.
I can sum it up in one word: war. Or rather, wars. Not one, not two, but many wars, both big and small, just and unjust, wars with shifting casts of supposed heroes and villains, each new hero making one increasingly nostalgic for the old villain. — Khaled Hosseini

And you expect us to take the word of your ... very pregnant wife, over a DNA test? No offense, but pregnancy tends to lower a female's IQ."
Burnett turned to the warlock, but before he could add his two cents - which didn't look as if it would be pleasant - Holiday added her own.
"That's funny," she said, but without humor.
"I've heard it also makes us vicious if provoked. And for your information, I'd be happy to put my IQ up against yours, pregnant or not."
Hunter, C. C. (2014-05-20). Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark) (p. 336). St. Martin's Press. Kindle Edition. — C.C. Hunter

Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two, who had never seen each other until that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I would go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us. — Arthur Conan Doyle

For that is the meaning of a farewell in the full, important sense of the word: that the two people, because they part, come to an understanding of how they have seen and experienced each other. What succeeded between them and what failed. That takes fearlessness: you have to be able to endure the pain of dissonance. It is also about acknowledging what was impossible. Parting is also something you do with yourself: to stand by yourself under the look of the other. The cowardice of a farewell resides in the transfiguration: in the attempt to bathe what was in a golden light and deny the dark. What you forfeit in that is nothing less than the acknowledgement of your self in those features produced by darkness. — Pascal Mercier

Forget, too, the lamb-y, metaphor-male, the groinless, bourgeois Jesus,
with his Easter-egg, candy-store-window eyes
ogling the cruciform crosspiece of his eyebrows.
If you meet such a Christ on the way,
kill him.
Do you wish to love? Do you wish to love?
Leave love. Love nothing.
Life is dark; life is dark at the no-place
of the shocked heart cut two by the bone-handled, thrice-bladed Word. — Tim Lilburn

All about us, in earth and air, wherever the eye or ear can reach, there is a power ever breathing itself forth in signs, now in daisy, now in a wind-waft, a cloud, a sunset; a power that holds constant and sweetest relation with the dark and silent world within us. The same God who is in us, and upon whose tree we are the buds, if not yet the flowers, also is all about us- inside, the Spirit; outside, the Word. And the two are ever trying to meet in us ... — George MacDonald