Frigid Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
there-are-no-frigid-women-only-clumsy-men
all-we-need-really-is-a-change-from-a-near-frigid-to-a-tropical-attitude-of-mind
men-always-fall-for-frigid-women-because-they-put-on-the-best-show
nature-is-a-burning-and-frigid-transparent-and-limited-universe-in-which-nothing-is-possible-but-everything-is-given
frigid-air-leaves-me-breathless-foolish-agony-fills-my-lungs-as-i-try-to-scream-for-he-alesana
she-was-no-malleable-since-frigid-substance-upon-which-desires-might-be-executed-she-was-not-true-prostitute-for-she-was-object-on-which-men-prostituted-themselves-angela-carter
i-test-my-bath-before-i-sit-and-im-always-moved-to-wonderment-that-what-chills-finger-not-bit-is-frigid-upon-fundament-ogden-nash
i-grew-up-in-boston-suburbs-inherited-stubborn-new-england-refusal-to-acknowledge-frigid-temperatures
a-nation-ants-morose-frigid-still-preserving-same-dread-happiness-joy-as-in-days-john-knox-max-orell
and-you-stagger-down-to-break-your-fast-greasy-bacon-lacquered-eggs-and-coffee-composed-frigid-dregs-ogden-nash
its-hard-for-me-to-believe-that-i-will-die-because-im-bubbling-in-frigid-freshness-my-life-is-going-to-be-long-because-each-instant-is-the-impression-is-that-im-still-to-be-born-
a-shady-friend-for-torrid-days-is-easier-to-find-than-one-higher-temperature-for-frigid-hour-mind-emily-dickinson
jealousy-seems-absolute-reversal-love-it-is-swinging-from-sunny-warmth-equator-to-frigid-cold-north-pole-elbert-hubbard
crashing-into-trembling-void-stretching-my-hand-to-you-losing-myself-to-frigid-regret-is-this-fragile-love-a-way-to-say-goodbye-maggie-stiefvater
whence-had-they-come-the-hand-lash-that-beat-down-frigid-rome-what-sacred-drama-through-her-body-heaved-when-worldtransforming-charlemagne-was-william-butler-yeats
two-days-like-icebergs-bleak-blank-halfmelting-all-frigid-mainly-out-sight-definitely-threat-to-peace-mind-drifted-by-were-good-to-put-behind-roger-zelazny
from-bard-to-bard-frigid-caution-crepttill-declamation-roard-while-passion-slept-samuel-johnson
show-me-frigid-woman-nine-times-out-ten-ill-show-you-little-man-julie-burchill
show-me-a-frigid-women-and-nine-times-out-of-ten-ill-show-you-a-little-man
if-in-actor-there-appears-utter-vacancy-meaning-frigid-equality-stupid-languor-torpid-apathy-greatest-kindness-that-can-be-shown-him-is-speedy-samuel-johnson
ive-kicked-at-notre-dame-past-four-years-ive-been-in-frigid-cold-weather-snow-ive-kicked-at-yankee-stadium-in-december-whatever-is-thrown-at-me-im-kyle-brindza
when-i-first-submerged-my-feet-into-frigid-water-they-hurt-badly-i-yanked-them-out-again-i-persisted-dunking-them-for-longer-longer-periods-until-cold-finally-blistered-sara-grue
american-soldiers-were-dying-in-frigid-korea-one-our-greatest-generals-told-us-that-president-his-team-were-not-trying-to-win-and-some-strident-voices-were-saying-that-that-was-b
both-wet-to-bone-exhausted-one-unconscious-kedean-thought-all-in-all-they-were-faring-rather-well-for-two-unarmed-men-whod-only-just-hour-ago-escaped-fleet-fairy-pirates-into-fri
a-wind-rose-quickening-it-seemed-at-same-instant-invade-my-nostrils-vibrate-my-gut-no-ive-gone-through-this-million-times-beauty-is-not-hoax-come-on-i-say-to-creek-surprise-me-it
Beginning in 1519 and continuing until the end of his life, Luther expounded a theme that the Sacrament brings and means a fellowship of love and mercy: "This fellowship sonsists in this, that all the spiritual possessions of Christ and his saints are shared iwth and become the common property of him who receives this sacrament. Again all sufferings and sins also become common property; and thus love engenders love in return and [mutual love' unites... It is like a city where every citizen shares with all the others the city's name, honor, freedom, trade, customs, usages, help, support, protection, and the like, while at the same time he shares all the dangers of fire and flood, enemies and death, losses taxes and the like. For he who would share in the profits must also share in the costs, and ever recompense love with love... " For Luther, unity with respect to the Sacrament meant both doctrinal agreement and love. When the prerequisite to church fellowship is defined merely (however important!) in terms of doctrinal fellowship, it can end in a Platonic pursuit of a frigid and rigid mental ideal. Doctrinal unity, true unity in Christ's body and blood, is also a unity of deep love and mercy. If I will not lay down my burden on Christ and the community, or take up the burdens of others who come to the Table, then I should not go to the Sacrament. Close(d) Communion is also a fellowship of love and mercy with my brother and sister in Christ as Luther taught in the previous citation.

Matthew C. Harrison
beginning-in-1519-continuing-until-end-his-life-luther-expounded-theme-that-sacrament-brings-means-fellowship-love-mercy-this-fellowship-sonsists-in-this-that-all-spiritual-posse
A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky's stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off. At the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I'll not go northing this year. I'll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow's fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow's seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.

Annie Dillard
a-kind-northing-is-what-i-wish-to-accomplish-singleminded-trek-towards-that-place-where-any-shutter-left-open-to-zenith-at-night-will-record-wheeling-all-skys-stars-as-pattern-pe
Except fang. I glared at him. "Go on, try to stop me, I dare you." It was like the old days when we used to wrestle, each trying to get the better of the other. I was ready to take him down, my hands curled into fist. "I was just going to say be careful, " Fang told me. He stepped closer and brushed some hair out of my eyes. "And I've got your back." He motioned with his head toward the torpedo chamber. Oh my God. It hit me like a tsunami then, how perfect he was for me, how no one else would ever, could ever, be so perfect for me, how he was everything I could possibly hope for, as a friend, boyfriend, maybe even more. He was it for me. There would be no more looking. I really, really loved him, with a whole new kind of love I'd never felt before, something that made every other kind of love I'd ever felt feel washed out and wimpy in comparison. I loved him with every cell in my body, every thought in my head, every feather in my wings, every breathe in my lungs. and air sacs. Too bad I was going out to face almost certain death. Right there in front of everyone, I threw my arms around his neck and smashed my mouth against his. He was startled for a second, then his strong arms wrapped around me so tightly I could hardly breathe. "ZOMG, " I heard Nudge whisper, but still fang and I kissed slanting our heads this way and that to get closer. I could have stood there and kissed him happily for the next millennium, but Angel, or what was left of her was still out there in the could dark ocean. Reluctantly, I ended the kiss, took a step back. Fang's obsidian eyes were glittering brightly and his stoic face had a look of wonder on it."Gotta go, " I said quietly. A half smile quirked his mouth. "Yeah. Hurry back." I nodded and he stepped out of the air lock chamber, keeping his eyes fixed on me, memorizing me as he hit the switch that sealed the chamber. The doors hissed shut with a kind of finality, and I realized that my heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to start snapping ribs. I was scared. I was crazily, deeply, incredibly, joyously, terrifyingly in love. I was on a death mission. Before my head simply exploded from so much emotion, I hit the large button that pressurized the air lock enough for the doors to open to the ocean outside. I really, really hoped that I would prove somewhat uncrushable, like Angel did. The door cracked open below me and I saw the first dark glint of frigid water.

James Patterson
except-fang-i-glared-at-him-go-on-try-to-stop-me-i-dare-you-it-was-like-old-days-when-we-used-to-wrestle-each-trying-to-get-better-other-i-was-ready-to-take-him-down-my-hands-cur
Tonight, however, Dickens struck him in a different light. Beneath the author's sentimental pity for the weak and helpless, he could discern a revolting pleasure in cruelty and suffering, while the grotesque figures of the people in Cruikshank's illustrations revealed too clearly the hideous distortions of their souls. What had seemed humorous now appeared diabolic, and in disgust at these two favourites he turned to Walter Pater for the repose and dignity of a classic spirit. But presently he wondered if this spirit were not in itself of a marble quality, frigid and lifeless, contrary to the purpose of nature. 'I have often thought', he said to himself, 'that there is something evil in the austere worship of beauty for its own sake.' He had never thought so before, but he liked to think that this impulse of fancy was the result of mature consideration, and with this satisfaction he composed himself for sleep. He woke two or three times in the night, an unusual occurrence, but he was glad of it, for each time he had been dreaming horribly of these blameless Victorian works... It turned out to be the Boy's Gulliver's Travels that Granny had given him, and Dicky had at last to explain his rage with the devil who wrote it to show that men were worse than beasts and the human race a washout. A boy who never had good school reports had no right to be so morbidly sensitive as to penetrate to the underlying cynicism of Swift's delightful fable, and that moreover in the bright and carefully expurgated edition they bring out nowadays. Mr Corbett could not say he had ever noticed the cynicism himself, though he knew from the critical books it must be there, and with some annoyance he advised his son to take out a nice bright modern boy's adventure story that could not depress anybody. Mr Corbett soon found that he too was 'off reading'. Every new book seemed to him weak, tasteless and insipid; while his old and familiar books were depressing or even, in some obscure way, disgusting. Authors must all be filthy-minded; they probably wrote what they dared not express in their lives. Stevenson had said that literature was a morbid secretion; he read Stevenson again to discover his peculiar morbidity, and detected in his essays a self-pity masquerading as courage, and in Treasure Island an invalid's sickly attraction to brutality. This gave him a zest to find out what he disliked so much, and his taste for reading revived as he explored with relish the hidden infirmities of minds that had been valued by fools as great and noble. He saw Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte« as two unpleasant examples of spinsterhood; the one as a prying, sub-acid busybody in everyone else's flirtations, the other as a raving, craving maenad seeking self-immolation on the altar of her frustrated passions. He compared Wordsworth's love of nature to the monstrous egoism of an ancient bellwether, isolated from the flock.

Margaret Irwin
tonight-however-dickens-struck-him-in-different-light-beneath-authors-sentimental-pity-for-weak-helpless-he-could-discern-revolting-pleasure-in-cruelty-suffering-while-grotesque-
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