Kavaleria Quotes & Sayings

Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created,comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! Leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again. — William Wordsworth

Sometimes I forget about taking care of myself. — Tracey Gold

They said I have to." "Have to what?" "Break you." ... "I don't believe you wanted to hurt me." I said. "And I don't believe you would have, even if Monroe hadn't
" ... "I wouldn't have." Ren whispered. — Andrea Cremer

Every 'no' is a 'yes' to something. — Eric Micha'el Leventhal

Even when you don't see Him working, He's busy working on your behalf. Forever grateful for God's grace! — Yvonne Pierre

One day I have to wake up and realize that you are gone. — Liv-Christine Hoem

Woman's weakness, not man's merit, oftenest gains the suitor's victory. — Nicolas Chamfort

Tucked in the back of one of the shelves is a small bottle, rounded with a short neck and closed with a matching glass stopper. He picks it up carefully. It is heavier than he had expected. Removing the stopper, he is confused, for at first the scent and the sensation do not change. Then comes the aroma of caramel, wafting on the crisp breeze of an autumn wind. The scent of wool and sweat makes him feel as though he is wearing a heavy coat, with the warmth of a scarf around his neck. There is the impression of people wearing masks. The smell of a bonfire mixes with the caramel. And then there is a shift, a movement in front of him. Something grey. A sharp pain in his chest. The sensation of falling. A sound like howling wind, or a screaming girl. — Erin Morgenstern

Words were cannibals eating up their own past.

-- Like Being Killed — Ellen Miller

Every night is Christmas Eve on old East Main,
Sailors and their sweethearts all agree.
Neon signs of red and green
Shine upon the friendly scene,
Welcoming you in from off the sea.
Santa's bag is filled with all your dreams come true:
Nickel beers that sparkle like champagne,
Barmaids who all love to screw,
All of them reminding you
It's Christmas Eve on old East Main. — Thomas Pynchon