Throe Quotes & Sayings

He also said that I would never get an apology out of you." There was a long pause. "I want one. Now."
Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood - which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him.
"And then what," he said in a rough voice.
"You'll have to find out."
Fair enough, Xcor thought.
Without grace - not that he had any, anyway - he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his ... friend.
Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. "I am sorry."
Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn't go nearly far enough.
"I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am ... not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought - as I have e'er wanted to be. — J.R. Ward

Water is taught by thirst;
Land, by the oceans passed;
Transport, by throe;
Peace, by its battles told;
Love, by memorial mould;
Birds, by the snow. — Emily Dickinson

Indeed, Xcor stayed away for the wrong reason, the bad reason, an unacceptable reason - in spite of all his training, he found himself choosing Throe's life over ambition: His anger had taken him in one direction, but his regret had led him in another. And the latter one was what won out. — J.R. Ward

As he lifted his head, he saw himself in the crude metal sheets that were supposed to be mirrors. Even though the reflection was dull, he noted his ugliness and thought of Throe just now. In spite of the fact that the soldier had been out fighting all night, his handsome visage had appeared fresh as a daisy, his well-bred looks overshadowing the reality that he had slayer blood on his clothes and had been scraped and bruised.
Xcor, however, could have taken rest for two weeks straight, eaten a large meal, and fed from a fucking Chosen, and he would still appear as repulsive. — J.R. Ward

Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power
The blonde Assassin passes on
The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God. — Emily Dickinson

Phury stepped up in front of her, blocking the view as leaned down and put his mouth right to Throe's ear. As he squeezed Throe's biceps until it screamed in pain, the Brother growled softly, "You get hard and I'll castrate you as soon as she leaves."
Well .. If that wasn't crystal clear. — J.R. Ward

Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! — Robert Browning

Life is endless reality. There is reality after reality, spinning on endlessly into the cosmos, billions and billions of manifest universes. Underlying all of this is the unmanifest, the absolute reality. — Frederick Lenz

I did use my own accent in a play once. It's a very freeing, liberating experience. Actors are often asked to adopt a different accent, and sometimes a different voice, so when that's taken away and you don't have to think about it, that's a lovely thing. — Luke Evans

Throe accepted the soup and went over to where Xcor had been sitting. Sinking down to the floor, he put the brass box on the far side of himself and began to eat.
Xcor joined him on the stain of the blood he had shed during the day, and in silence, they completed their reunion. But it was not over, at least not on Xcor's part.
His regret stayed with him, the heaviness of the burden of his actions altering him forever, like an injury that had scarred over and healed wrong.
Or rather, in this case ... healed right. — J.R. Ward

Every work of art reaches man in his inner powers. It reaches him more profoundly and insidiously than any rational proposition, either cogent demonstration or sophistry. For it strikes him with two terrible weapons, Intuition and Beauty, and at the single root in him of all his energies ... Art and Poetry awaken the dreams of man, and his longings, and reveal to him some of the abysses he has in himself. — Jacques Maritain

If stone-sober people can fuck like they're out of their minds
can actually be out of their minds while caught in that throe
why shouldn't writers be able to go bonkers and still stay sane? — Stephen King

WEATHERS
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,'
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I. — Thomas Hardy

I am not worthy." he said softly.
"Damn fucking straight," someone growled. — J.R. Ward

Rhage cleared his throat. My lord and ruler, Wrath, son of Wrath, blooded father of Wrath, I present you with Throe, Piece of Shit. — J.R. Ward

In the cave's innermost entryway, a band of four stood tall and thick, shouldered and heavily weaponed.
Members of the Brotherhood.
He knew this quartet by name: Ahgony, Throe, Murhder, Tohrture. — J.R. Ward

For the first time I noticed - as I would notice repeatedly during my ordeal, between one throe of agony and the next - that my suffering was taking place in a grand setting. I saw my suffering for what it was, finite and insignificant, and I was still. My suffering did not fit anywhere, I realized. And I could accept this. It was all right. — Yann Martel

I don't see why a poem couldn't be spoken out a car window or written on the beach at low tide. In fact, I'm sure people are doing it. — James Arthur