Katsika Me Siderakia Quotes & Sayings

I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of body ... not exactly from living among the hills, and seeing one set of faces, and one series of actions, from year's end to year's end: but I have undergone sharp discipline which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have read more than you would fancy. — Emily Bronte

The Lord will give to truth and righteousness victory "at the last"; and, as Mr. Bunyan says, that means for ever, for nothing can come after the last. — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

A wiccan?" Ian's deep voice rang out. Hunter did not have to look to know that his friend was tense with the idea of the unknown.

"Relax." James answered. "It's like a witch without powers... or a human with magic. Something like that."

Jonathan looked as confused by James' description as the rest of those present. — K.S. Marsden

The trajectory of Parker's critical acceptance has often been charted far below that of her popular acclaim, a curious reversal of the situation of many other mid-twentieth-century writers, who are so often pushed to the front of the group by their very own personal critics, the authors looking a great deal like reluctant children, aware of their limitations, who are shoved onto the stage by aggressively solicitous parents eager for them to perform so that their own talents can be validated. — Dorothy Parker

She came naked behind him as the soft melancholy yearning of the song filled the dark. Her hand stroked his hair, gathered it tight at the nape of his neck. She swayed, and he felt her press against his back, her breasts soft now, yielding and warm through his shirt, her breath tickling his ear. Her hand rested on his shoulder briefly, then slid down inside his shirt, fingers cool on his chest. He could feel the warm hard metal of her ring on his skin, and felt a surge of possession that pulsed through him like a gulp of whisky, a heat suffusing his flesh. He ached to turn and take hold of her, but pushed the urge down, heightening anticipation. He bent his head closer to the strings, and sang until all thought left him and there was nothing left but his body and hers. He could not have said when her hand closed over his on the frets, and he rose and turned to her, still filled with the music and his love, soft and strong and pure in the dark. — Diana Gabaldon