Ravaged 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
her-settlements-on-mainland-will-be-ravaged-by-sword-then-they-will-know-that-i-am-lord-ezekiel-266
his-characters-are-ravaged-beaten-they-walk-through-infernos-emerge-charred-doves-marisha-pessl
i-am-death-i-am-this-blood-these-ravaged-lands-this-wanton-destruction-panchali-draupadi-krishna-udayasankar
only-when-manhood-is-dead-it-will-perish-when-ravaged-femininity-no-longer-sustains-it-only-then-will-we-know-what-it-is-to-be-free-andrea-dworkin
the-civil-war-ravaged-southern-states-while-leaving-north-untouched-eustace-mullins
sharon-shinns-samaria-is-world-populated-by-refugees-from-ravaged-earth-also-many-many-years-in-future
i-am-inheriting-country-which-has-been-badly-ravaged-by-years-misrule-ineptitude-there-has-been-wide-disconnect-between-people-government
the-forty-rules-love-is-wise-joyous-pageturner-one-that-speaks-urgently-to-our-warravaged-times-thrity-umrigar
what-have-they-done-to-earth-what-have-they-done-to-our-fair-sister-ravaged-plundered-ripped-her-bit-her-stuck-her-with-knives-in-side-dawn-and-tied-her-with-fences-dragged-her-d
for-twenty-years-more-whole-planet-had-been-bombed-raped-ravaged-gouged-by-people-whose-fury-had-exceeded-their-judgment-that-only-thing-they-could-think-to-do-to-express-their-d
i-was-burned-out-from-exhaustion-buried-in-hail-poisoned-in-bushes-blown-out-on-trail-hunted-like-crocodile-ravaged-in-corn-come-in-she-said-ill-bob-dylan
lust-for-possession-greed-has-ravaged-soul-humanity-like-great-cancer-metastasizing-throughout-society-in-form-nouveau-posthuman-consumer-hedonism-bryant-mcgill
ive-wrecked-ravaged-half-my-life-in-pursuit-women-i-suffer-pangs-about-seventeen-regrets-seventeen-who-got-away-edward-abbey
a-storm-ravaged-among-spruces-shook-them-it-made-them-even-stronger-the-prouder-did-they-raise-their-tops-next-morning-bathe-them-in-golden-sunrays-they-deserved-to-stretch-up-to
to-speak-them-out-loud-to-speak-their-hunger-pain-loneliness-humour-to-make-them-visible-that-can-not-be-ravaged-in-dark-without-great-eve-ensler
luck-in-all-its-moods-had-to-be-loved-not-feared-bond-saw-luck-as-woman-to-be-softly-wooed-brutally-ravaged-never-pandered-to-pursued-ian-fleming
to-speak-them-out-loud-to-speak-their-hunger-pain-loneliness-humour-to-make-them-visible-that-can-not-be-ravaged-in-dark-without-great-consequence-eve-ensler
the-doctors-nurses-at-biamba-marie-mutombo-hospital-are-saving-lives-every-day-helping-improve-health-care-in-drc-which-has-been-ravaged-by-more-dikembe-mutombo
as-survivor-hurricane-katrina-i-understood-all-too-well-despair-my-colleagues-republican-democrat-alike-were-feeling-as-hurricane-sandy-ravaged-their-communities
you-must-promise-me-you-cant-desire-end-without-desiring-means-ah-but-one-can-he-thought-one-can-one-can-desire-peace-victory-without-desiring-ravaged-towns-graham-greene
that-created-whole-landslide-cobbhating-piling-on-that-was-last-10-months-cobbs-life-i-think-if-any-us-were-portrayed-in-last-10-months-life-when-we-were-ravaged-by-disease-we-wo
Alexander moved her off him, laid her down, was over her, was pressed into her, crushing her. Anthony was right there, he didn't care, he was trying to inhale her, trying to absorb her into himself. "All this time you were stepping out in front of me, Tatiana, " he said. "Now I finally understand. You hid me on Bethel Island for eight months. For two years you hid me and deceived me - to save me. I am such an idiot, " he whispered. "Wretch or not, ravaged or not, in a carapace or not, there you still were, stepping out for me, showing the mute mangled stranger your brave and indifferent face." Her eyes closed, her arms tightened around his neck. "That stranger is my life, " she whispered. They crawled away from Anthony, from their only bed, onto a blanket on the floor, barricading themselves behind the table and chairs. "You left our boy to go find me, and this is what you found... " Alexander whispered, on top of her, pushing inside her, searching for peace. Crying out underneath him, Tatiana clutched his shoulders. "This is what you brought back from Sachsenhausen." his movement was tense, deep, needful. Oh God. Now there was comfort. "You thought you were bringing back him, but Tania, you brought back me." "Shura... you'll have to do... " Her fingers were clamped into his scars. "In you, " said Alexander, lowering his lips to her parted mouth and cleaving their flesh, "are the answers to all things." All the rivers flowed into the sea and still the sea was not full.

Paullina Simons
alexander-moved-her-off-him-laid-her-down-was-over-her-was-pressed-into-her-crushing-her-anthony-was-right-there-he-didnt-care-he-was-trying-to-inhale-her-trying-to-absorb-her-in
excised-and-anatomised-deviscerated-disarray-the-torso-diverged-with-pride-deftly-amputated-evulsed-limbs-now-defunct-the-trunk-imbrued-tatty-stumps-the-berzerker
When a fine old carpet is eaten by mice, the colors and patterns of what's left behind do not change, ' wrote my neighbor and friend, the poet Jane Hirschfield, after she visited an old friend suffering from Alzheimer's disease in a nursing home. And so it was with my father. His mind did not melt evenly into undistinguishable lumps, like a dissolving sand castle. It was ravaged selectively, like Tintern Abbey, the Cistercian monastery in northern Wales suppressed in 1531 by King Henry VIII in his split with the Church of Rome. Tintern was turned over to a nobleman, its stained-glass windows smashed, its roof tiles taken up and relaid in village houses. Holy artifacts were sold to passing tourists. Religious statues turned up in nearby gardens. At least one interior wall was dismantled to build a pigsty. I've seen photographs of the remains that inspired Wordsworth: a Gothic skeleton, soaring and roofless, in a green hilly landscape. Grass grows in the transept. The vanished roof lets in light. The delicate stone tracery of its slim, arched quatrefoil windows opens onto green pastures where black-and-white cows graze. Its shape is beautiful, formal, and mysterious. After he developed dementia, my father was no longer useful to anybody. But in the shelter of his broken walls, my mother learned to balance her checkbook, and my heart melted and opened. Never would I wish upon my father the misery of his final years. But he was sacred in his ruin, and I took from it the shards that still sustain me.

Katy Butler
when-fine-old-carpet-is-eaten-by-mice-colors-patterns-whats-left-behind-do-not-change-wrote-my-neighbor-friend-poet-jane-hirschfield-after-she-visited-old-friend-suffering-from-a
On the first day of November last year, sacred to many religious calendars but especially the Celtic, I went for a walk among bare oaks and birch. Nothing much was going on. Scarlet sumac had passed and the bees were dead. The pond had slicked overnight into that shiny and deceptive glaze of delusion, first ice. It made me remember sakes and conjure a vision of myself skimming backward on one foot, the other extended; the arms become wings. Minnesota girls know that this is not a difficult maneuver if one's limber and practices even a little after school before the boys claim the rink for hockey. I think I can still do it - one thinks many foolish things when November's bright sun skips over the entrancing first freeze. A flock of sparrows reels through the air looking more like a flying net than seventy conscious birds, a black veil thrown on the wind. When one sparrow dodges, the whole net swerves, dips: one mind. Am I part of anything like that? Maybe not. The last few years of my life have been characterized by stripping away, one by one, loves and communities that sustain the soul. A young colleague, new to my English department, recently asked me who I hang around with at school. "Nobody," I had to say, feeling briefly ashamed. This solitude is one of the surprises of middle age, especially if one's youth has been rich in love and friendship and children. If you do your job right, children leave home; few communities can stand an individual's most pitiful, amateur truth telling. So the soul must stand in her own meager feathers and learn to fly - or simply take hopeful jumps into the wind. In the Christian calendar, November 1 is the Feast of All Saints, a day honoring not only those who are known and recognized as enlightened souls, but more especially the unknowns, saints who walk beside us unrecognized down the millennia. In Buddhism, we honor the bodhisattvas - saints - who refuse enlightenment and return willingly to the wheel of karma to help other beings. Similarly, in Judaism, anonymous holy men pray the world from its well-merited destruction. We never know who is walking beside us, who is our spiritual teacher. That one - who annoys you so - pretends for a day that he's the one, your personal Obi Wan Kenobi. The first of November is a splendid, subversive holiday. Imagine a hectic procession of revelers - the half-mad bag lady; a mumbling, scarred janitor whose ravaged face made the children turn away; the austere, unsmiling mother superior who seemed with great focus and clarity to do harm; a haunted music teacher, survivor of Auschwitz. I bring them before my mind's eye, these old firends of my soul, awakening to dance their day. Crazy saints; but who knows what was home in the heart? This is the feast of those who tried to take the path, so clumsily that no one knew or notice, the feast, indeed, of most of us. It's an ugly woods, I was saying to myself, padding along a trail where other walkers had broken ground before me. And then I found an extraordinary bouquet. Someone had bound an offering of dry seed pods, yew, lyme grass, red berries, and brown fern and laid it on the path: "nothing special," as Buddhists say, meaning "everything." Gathered to formality, each dry stalk proclaimed a slant, an attitude, infinite shades of neutral. All contemplative acts, silences, poems, honor the world this way. Brought together by the eye of love, a milkweed pod, a twig, allow us to see how things have been all along. A feast of being.

Mary Rose O'Reilley
on-first-day-november-last-year-sacred-to-many-religious-calendars-but-especially-celtic-i-went-for-walk-among-bare-oaks-birch-nothing-much-was-going-on-scarlet-sumac-had-passed-
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