Snatches 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
if-he-snatches-away-who-can-stop-him-who-can-say-to-him-what-are-you-doing-job-912
medicine-sometimes-snatches-away-health-sometimes-gives-it
poverty-snatches-reins-out-hand-piety-saadi
except-for-him-who-snatches-fragmenthe-gets-pursued-by-piercing-projectile-assaffat-10
terrors-overtake-him-like-flood-tempest-snatches-him-away-in-night-job-2720
inclination-snatches-arguments-to-make-indulgence-seem-judicious-choice-george-eliot
as-heat-drought-snatch-away-melted-snow-grave-snatches-away-those-who-have-sinned-job-2419
not-to-hope-for-things-to-last-forever-is-what-year-teaches-even-hour-which-snatches-nice-day-away-horace
there-was-no-more-yelling-calling-out-but-they-could-not-contain-small-snatches-laughter-they-were-only-humans-playing-in-snow-in-house-markus-zusak
madness-strips-you-memory-leaves-you-scrabbling-around-on-floor-your-brain-for-snatches-snippets-what-happened-what-was-said-when-marya-hornbacher
a-wandering-minstrel-i-a-thing-shreds-patches-of-ballads-songs-snatches-and-dreamy-lullaby-walter-raleigh
a-man-snatches-first-kiss-pleads-for-second-demands-third-takes-fourth-accepts-fifth-endures-all-rest-helen-rowland
praise-is-like-ambergrease-little-whiff-it-by-snatches-is-agreeable-but-when-man-holds-whole-lump-it-to-your-nose-it-is-stink-strikes-you-alexander-pope
i-subscribe-to-that-school-thespian-to-be-wandering-minstrel-traveling-player-thing-ofrags-patches-ballads-songs-snatches-julian-sands
dear-crush-dont-be-scared-if-a-fat-guy-in-a-red-suit-snatches-you-away-on-christmas-eve-sincerely-you-were-on-my-wish-list
he-pries-me-from-his-chest-drops-his-hand-from-back-my-head-tracing-my-ear-along-my-jawline-he-snatches-his-fingers-moment-before-they-press-into-my-lip-rebecca-berto
his-billiards-lessons-regarding-double-kisses-push-strokes-butt-caps-creeping-angles-incidence-snatches-began-to-sound-like-flirting-jennifer-harrison
there-is-danger-for-him-who-taketh-tiger-cub-danger-also-for-whoso-snatches-delusion-from-woman-arthur-conan-doyle
when-anyone-hears-message-about-kingdom-does-not-understand-it-evil-one-comes-snatches-away-what-was-sown-in-his-heart-this-is-seed-sown-along-matthew-1319
whats-difference-between-pickpocket-peeping-tom-a-pickpocket-snatches-watches-redd-foxx
prevention-birth-is-premature-murder-it-makes-no-difference-whether-it-is-life-already-born-that-one-snatches-away-life-that-is-coming-to-birth-tertullian
he-acts-like-animal-has-animals-habits-eats-like-one-moves-like-one-talks-like-one-theres-even-something-subhuman-something-not-quite-to-stage-humanity-yet-yes-something-apelike-
It's okay if you can't. No worries. Just an idea, ' I say quickly, looking away so she won't see how disappointed I am. 'No-I mean, I want to, but-' Hana sucks in a breath. I hate this, hate how awkward we both are. 'I kind of have this party'-she corrects herself quickly- 'this thing I'm supposed to go to with Angelica Marston.' My stomach gets that hollowed-out feeling. It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart. [... ] A rush of hatred overwhelms me. Hatred for my life, for its narrowness and cramped spaces; hatred for Angelica Marston, with her secretive smile and rich parents; hatred for Hana, for being so stupid and careless and stubborn, first and foremost, and for leaving me behind before I was ready to be left; and underneath all those layers something else, too, some white-hot blade of unhappiness flashing in the very deepest part of me. I can't name it, or even focus on it clearly, but somehow I understand that this-this other thing-makes me the angriest of all. [... ] Despite everything, this gives me pause. In the days after the party at Roaring Brook Farms, snatches of music seemed to follow me everywhere: I heard it winging in and out of the wind, I heard it singing off the ocean and moaning through the walls of the house. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, with the notes sounding in my ears. But every time I was awake and trying to remember the melodies consciously, hum a few notes or recall any of the chords, I couldn't. Hana's staring at me hopefully, waiting for my response. For a second I actually feel bad for her. I want to make her happy, like I always did, want to see her give a whoop and put her fist in the air and flash me one of her famous smiles. But then I remember she has Angelica Marston now, and something hardens in my throat, and knowing that I'm going to disappoint her gives me a kind of dull satisfaction.

Lauren Oliver
its-okay-if-you-cant-no-worries-just-idea-i-say-quickly-looking-away-she-wont-see-how-disappointed-i-am-noi-mean-i-want-to-but-hana-sucks-in-breath-i-hate-this-hate-how-awkward-w
To sit indoors was silly. I postponed the search for Savchenko and Ludmila till the next day and went wandering about Paris. The men wore bowlers, the women huge hats with feathers. On the cafe terraces lovers kissed unconcernedly - I stopped looking away. Students walked along the boulevard St. Michel. They walked in the middle of the street, holding up traffic, but no one dispersed them. At first I thought it was a demonstration - but no, they were simply enjoying themselves. Roasted chestnuts were being sold. Rain began to fall. The grass in the Luxembourg gardens was a tender green. In December! I was very hot in my lined coat. (I had left my boots and fur cap at the hotel.) There were bright posters everywhere. All the time I felt as though I were at the theatre. I have lived in Paris off and on for many years. Various events, snatches of conversation have become confused in my memory. But I remember well my first day there: the city electrified my. The most astonishing thing is that is has remained unchanged; Moscow is unrecognizable, but Paris is still as it was. When I come to Paris now, I feel inexpressibly sad - the city is the same, it is I who have changed. It is painful for me to walk along the familiar streets - they are the streets of my youth. Of course, the fiacres, the omnibuses, the steam-car disappeared long ago; you rarely see a cafe with red velvet or leather settees; only a few pissoirs are left - the rest have gone into hiding underground. But these, after all, are minor details. People still live out in the streets, lovers kiss wherever they please, no one takes any notice of anyone. The old houses haven't changed - what's another half a century to them; at their age it makes no difference. Say what you will, the world has changed, and so the Parisians, too, must be thinking of many things of which they had no inkling in the old days: the atom bomb, mass-production methods, Communism. But with their new thoughts they still remain Parisians, and I am sure that if an eighteen-year-old Soviet lad comes to Paris today he will raise his hands in astonishment, as I did in 1908: "A theatre!

Ilya Ehrenburg
to-sit-indoors-was-silly-i-postponed-search-for-savchenko-ludmila-till-next-day-went-wandering-about-paris-the-men-wore-bowlers-women-huge-hats-with-feathers-on-cafe-terraces-lov
My son, you are just an infant now, but on that day when the world disrobes of its alluring cloak, it is then that I pray this letter is in your hands. Listen closely, my dear child, for I am more than that old man in the dusty portrait beside your bed. I was once a little boy in my mother's arms and a babbling toddler on my father's lap. I played till the sun would set and climbed trees with ease and skill. Then I grew into a fine young man with shoulders broad and strong. My bones were firm and my limbs were straight; my hair was blacker than a raven's beak. I had a spring in my step and a lion's roar. I travelled the world, found love and married. Then off to war I bled in battle and danced with death. But today, vigor and grace have forsaken me and left me crippled. Listen closely, then, as I have lived not only all the years you have existed, but another forty more of my own. My son, We take this world for a permanent place; we assume our gains and triumphs will always be; that all that is dear to us will last forever. But my child, time is a patient hunter and a treacherous thief: it robs us of our loved ones and snatches up our glory. It crumbles mountains and turns stone to sand. So who are we to impede its path? No, everything and everyone we love will vanish, one day. So take time to appreciate the wee hours and seconds you have in this world. Your life is nothing but a sum of days so why take any day for granted? Don't despise evil people, they are here for a reason, too, for just as the gift salt offers to food, so do the worst of men allow us to savor the sweet, hidden flavor of true friendship. Dear boy, treat your elders with respect and shower them with gratitude; they are the keepers of hidden treasures and bridges to our past. Give meaning to your every goodbye and hold on to that parting embrace just a moment longer-you never know if it will be your last. Beware the temptation of riches and fame for both will abandon you faster than our own shadow deserts us at the approach of the setting sun. Cultivate seeds of knowledge in your soul and reap the harvest of good character. Above all, know why you have been placed on this floating blue sphere, swimming through space, for there is nothing more worthy of regret than a life lived void of this knowing. My son, dark days are upon you. This world will not leave you with tears unshed. It will squeeze you in its talons and lift you high, then drop you to plummet and shatter to bits. But when you lay there in pieces scattered and broken, gather yourself together and be whole once more. That is the secret of those who know. So let not my graying hairs and wrinkled skin deceive you that I do not understand this modern world. My life was filled with a thousand sacrifices that only I will ever know and a hundred gulps of poison I drank to be the father I wanted you to have. But, alas, such is the nature of this life that we will never truly know the struggles of our parents-not until that time arrives when a little hand-resembling our own-gently clutches our finger from its crib. My dear child, I fear that day when you will call hopelessly upon my lifeless corpse and no response shall come from me. I will be of no use to you then but I hope these words I leave behind will echo in your ears that day when I am no more. This life is but a blink in the eye of time, so cherish each moment dearly, my son.

Shakieb Orgunwall
my-son-you-are-just-infant-now-but-on-that-day-when-world-disrobes-its-alluring-cloak-it-is-then-that-i-pray-this-letter-is-in-your-hands-listen-closely-my-dear-child-for-i-am-mo
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