Scours Quotes & Sayings

Pretty doll," rasped the dark haired vampire as he went about behind her, and she could feel his ravenous hunger practically radiating off him. — J.E. Keep

Little lies are very dangerous, because there are so many of them, and because each one of them scours upon the character as diamond-pointed. — Henry Ward Beecher

Do not keep the slanderer away,
treat him with affection and honor:
Body and soul, he scours all clean,
babbling about this and that. — Kabir

Friends are not a number. You can't collect connections. You can't just go out one day and be like, "Hey, I need some friends!" *goes shopping, scours social media* — Connor Franta

It was terrifying, liberating, and risky. But one day I woke up and decided to try it." (On writing her first novel, "Miss Dreamsville and the Collier County Women's Literary Society") — Amy Hill Hearth

Now the amygdala is our early warning detector, our danger detector. It sorts and scours through all of the information looking for anything in the environment that might harm us. So given a dozen news stories, we will preferentially look at the negative news. — Peter Diamandis

Never did form more fairy thread the dance Than she who scours the hills to find it flowers; Never did sweeter lips chained ears entrance Than hers that move, true to its striking hours; No hands so white e'er decked the warrior's lance, As those which tend its lamp as darkness lours; And never since dear Christ expired for man, Had holy shrine so fair a sacristan. — Alfred Austin

But Fortune, who never forgets her duty, turns her wheel suddenly. — Marie De France

For when cynicism becomes the default language, playfulness and invention become impossible. Cynicism scours through a culture like bleach, wiping out millions of small, seedling ideas. Cynicism means your automatic answer becomes "No." Cynicism means you presume everything will end in disappointment. And this is, ultimately, why anyone becomes cynical. Because they are scared of disappointment. Because they are scared someone will take advantage of them. Because they are fearful their innocence will be used against them - that when they run around gleefully trying to cram the whole world in their mouth, someone will try to poison them. — Caitlin Moran

The sled runners had been replaced by wheels and they traveled on a rutted, muddy road that formed a dark line between two fields of snow that occasionally showed a patch of matted, tangled weeds. Seeing them got her thinking. She wiped her face with the blanket and, digging her brush out of a nearby pack, began the arduous process of clearing the snarls from her hair.

She pulled, grunted, and then sighed. Modina looked over with a questioning expression, and Arista explained by letting go of the brush and leaving it to hang.

Modina smiled and crawled over to her. "Turn around," she said, and taking the brush, the empress began working the back of Arista's head. "You have quite the rat's nest here."

"Be careful one doesn't bite you," Arista replied. — Michael J. Sullivan

It is impossible for a man who is bogged to extricate another who is bogged. — Gautama Buddha

Until you've lived through all that," he said, "don't you ever complain about what we have. Because to me ... to me ... " He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. "This - us - is heaven. I can't bear to hear you say otherwise. — Julia Quinn

This world rubs me raw, scours me smooth like an SOS pad put to a grease-caked skillet. And pain: it stabs and scrapes and pulls me back to earth, my final B&B, that worm-spun cot of cool black sod. — Chila Woychik

All things in the natural world symboliZe God, yet none of them speak of him but in broken and imperfect words. High above all he sits, sublimer than mountains, grander than storms, sweeter than blossoms and tender fruits, nobler than lords, truer than parents, more loving than lovers. His feet tread the lowest places of the earth; but his head is above all glory, and everywhere he is supreme. — Henry Ward Beecher

Spilt, glistering milk of moonlight on the frost-crisped grass; on such a night, in moony, metamorphic weather, they say you might easily find him, if you had been foolish enough to venture out late, scuttling along by the churchyard wall with half a juicy torso slung across his back. The white light scours the fields and scours them again until everything gleams and he will leave paw-prints in the hoar-frost when he runs howling round the graves at night in his lupine fiestas. — Angela Carter