Taunts 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
then-i-will-answer-one-who-taunts-me-for-i-trust-in-your-word-psalm-11942
the-ego-taunts-truth-with-sarcasm-tf-hodge
at-taunts-those-who-reproach-revile-me-because-enemy-who-is-bent-on-revenge-psalm-4416
where-there-had-been-only-jeers-taunts-at-first-crowds-come-to-listen-with-serious-sympathetic-men
remember-lord-how-your-servant-has-been-mocked-how-i-bear-in-my-heart-taunts-all-nations-psalm-8950
so-long-as-i-am-acting-from-duty-conviction-i-am-indifferent-to-taunts-jeers-i-think-they-will-probably-do-me-more-good-than-harm-winston-s-churchill
deaths-gruesome-face-taunts-soulless-eyes-crimson-grimace-i-really-hate-clowns-katherine-applegate
i-have-heard-insults-moab-taunts-ammonites-who-insulted-my-people-made-threats-against-their-land-zephaniah-28
i-am-about-eight-years-old-when-i-first-become-aware-being-otherforeign-outside-separate-because-this-lesson-comes-from-my-own-family-it-resonates-deeper-truer-than-playground-ta
language-cannot-describe-scene-that-followed-shouts-oaths-frantic-gestures-taunts-replies-little-fights-therefore-i-shall-not-attempt-it-augustus-baldwin-longstreet
confront-page-that-taunts-you-with-its-whiteness-face-your-enemy-fill-it-with-words-you-are-bigger-stronger-than-piece-paper-fennel-hudson
when-i-wasnt-as-attractive-as-i-am-now-i-suffered-at-hands-cruel-children-their-taunts-until-i-realised-that-confidence-bit-aesthetic-care-can-johnny-vegas
try-picking-on-someone-who-can-handle-you-you-worthless-little-limp-dick-shit-in-retrospect-i-could-have-picked-my-taunts-little-better-obviously-horned-god-was-sensitive-about-h
for-people-who-never-tire-telling-world-what-moral-high-ground-theyve-taken-in-opposing-donald-trump-they-sure-dont-seem-to-mind-offering-up-bellyful-gloats-taunts
to-drive-free-to-love-free-to-court-destruction-with-taunts-one-brief-house-madness-joy-walt-whitman
taunts-with-which-your-enemies-have-mocked-o-lord-with-which-they-have-mocked-every-step-your-anointed-one-psalm-8951
big-words-do-not-smite-like-warclubs-boastful-breath-is-not-bowstring-taunts-are-not-sharp-as-arrows-deeds-are-better-things-than-words-are-actions-henry-wadsworth-longfellow
he-was-professional-rugby-player-in-area-that-i-played-as-youngster-so-lot-people-who-i-went-to-school-with-knew-who-he-was-knew-that-he-was-black-so-i-would-get-racist-taunts-in
right-now-ive-got-just-two-rules-to-live-by-rule-one-dont-taunt-elephants-rule-two-dont-stand-next-to-anybody-who-taunts-elephants-sergeant-schlock-howard-tayler
What is Destiny? Is it a doctrine formulated by aristocrats and philosophers arguing that there is some unseen driving force predicting the outcomes of every minuscule and life altering moment in one's life? Or is it the artistry illustrated by those under-qualifed and over-eager to give their future meaning and their ambitions hope? Is it a declaration by those who refuse to accept that we are alone in this universe, spinning randomly through a matrix of accidental coincidences? Or is it the assumptions made by those who concede that there is a divine plan or pre-ordained path for each human being, regardless of their current station? I think destiny is a bit of a tease... It's syndical taunts and teases mock those naive enough to believe in its black jack dealing of inevitable futures. Its evolution from puppy dogs and ice cream to razor blades and broken mirrors characterizes the fickle nature of its sordid underbelly. Those relying on its decisive measures will fracture under its harsh rules. Those embracing the fact that life happens at a million miles a minute will flourish in its random grace. Destiny has afforded me the most magical memories and unbelievably tragic experiences that have molded and shaped my life into what it is today... beautiful. I fully accept the mirage that destiny promises and the reality it can produce. Without the invisible momentum carried with its sincere fabrication of coming attraction, destiny is the covenant we rely on to get ourselves through the day. To the destiny I know awaits me, I thank you in advance. Don't cry because it's over... smile because it happened.

Ivan Rusilko
what-is-destiny-is-it-doctrine-formulated-by-aristocrats-philosophers-arguing-that-there-is-some-unseen-driving-force-predicting-outcomes-every-minuscule-life-altering-moment-in-
Come, Paul!" she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman. I thought he receded; I thought he would go. Pierced deeper than I could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression, I cried - "My heart will break!" What I felt seemed literal heart-break; but the seal of another fountain yielded under the strain: one breath from M. Paul, the whisper, "Trust me!" lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many a deep sob, with thrilling, with icy shiver, with strong trembling, and yet with relief - I wept. "Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass, " said the calm Madame Beck. To be left to her and her cordial seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly - "Laissez-moi!" in the grim sound I felt a music strange, strong, but life-giving. "Laissez-moi!" he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke. "But this will never do, " said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman - "Sortez d'ici!" "I will send for Pe¨re Silas: on the spot I will send for him, " she threatened pertinaciously. "Femme!" cried the Professor, not now in his deep tones, but in his highest and most excited key, "Femme! sortez e  l'instant!" He was roused, and I loved him in his wrath with a passion beyond what I had yet felt. "What you do is wrong, " pursued Madame; "it is an act characteristic of men of your unreliable, imaginative temperament; a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent - a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in the view of persons of steadier and more resolute character." "You know not what I have of steady and resolute in me, " said he, "but you shall see; the event shall teach you. Modeste, " he continued less fiercely, "be gentle, be pitying, be a woman; look at this poor face, and relent. You know I am your friend, and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts, you well and deeply know I may be trusted. Of sacrificing myself I made no difficulty but my heart is pained by what I see; it must have and give solace. Leave me!" This time, in the "leave me" there was an intonation so bitter and so imperative, I wondered that even Madame Beck herself could for one moment delay obedience; but she stood firm; she gazed upon him dauntless; she met his eye, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort; I saw over all M. Paul's face a quick rising light and fire; I can hardly tell how he managed the movement; it did not seem violent; it kept the form of courtesy; he gave his hand; it scarce touched her I thought; she ran, she whirled from the room; she was gone, and the door shut, in one second. The flash of passion was all over very soon. He smiled as he told me to wipe my eyes; he waited quietly till I was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself - re-assured, not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life, and seeking death. "It made you very sad then to lose your friend?" said he. "It kills me to be forgotten, Monsieur, " I said.

Charlotte Bronte«
come-paul-she-reiterated-her-eye-grazing-me-with-its-hard-ray-like-steel-stylet-she-pushed-against-her-kinsman-i-thought-he-receded-i-thought-he-would-go-pierced-deeper-than-i-co
Close your eyes and stare into the dark. My father's advice when I couldn't sleep as a little girl. He wouldn't want me to do that now but I've set my mind to the task regardless. I'm staring beyond my closed eyelids. Though I lie still on the ground, I feel perched at the highest point I could possibly be; clutching at a star in the night sky with my legs dangling above cold black nothingness. I take one last look at my fingers wrapped around the light and let go. Down I go, falling, then floating, and, falling again, I wait for the land of my life. I know now, as I knew as that little girl fighting sleep, that behind her gauzed screen of shut-eye, lies colour. It taunts me, dares me to open my eyes and lose sleep. Flashes of red and amber, yellow and white speckle my darkness. I refuse to open them. I rebel and I squeeze my eyelids together tighter to block out the grains of light, mere distractions that keep us awake but a sign that there's life beyond. But there's no life in me. None that I can feel, from where I lie at the bottom of the staircase. My heart beats quicker now, the lone fighter left standing in the ring, a red boxing glove pumping victoriously into the air, refusing to give up. It's the only part of me that cares, the only part that ever cared. It fights to pump the blood around to heal, to replace what I'm losing. But it's all leaving my body as quickly as it's sent; forming a deep black ocean of its own around me where I've fallen. Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Never have enough time here, always trying to make our way there. Need to have left here five minutes ago, need to be there now. The phone rings again and I acknowledge the irony. I could have taken my time and answered it now. Now, not then. I could have taken all the time in the world on each of those steps. But we're always rushing. All, but my heart. That slows now. I don't mind so much. I place my hand on my belly. If my child is gone, and I suspect this is so, I'll join it there. There...where? Wherever. It; a heartless word. He or she so young; who it was to become, still a question. But there, I will mother it. There, not here. I'll tell it; I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry I ruined your chances - our chances of a life together.But close your eyes and stare into the darkness now, like Mummy is doing, and we'll find our way together. There's a noise in the room and I feel a presence. 'Oh God, Joyce, oh God. Can you hear me, love? Oh God. Oh God, please no, Hold on love, I'm here. Dad is here.' I don't want to hold on and I feel like telling him so. I hear myself groan, an animal-like whimper and it shocks me, scares me. I have a plan, I want to tell him. I want to go, only then can I be with my baby. Then, not now. He's stopped me from falling but I haven't landed yet. Instead he helps me balance on nothing, hover while I'm forced to make the decision. I want to keep falling but he's calling the ambulance and he's gripping my hand with such ferocity it's as though I'm all he has. He's brushing the hair from my forehead and weeping loudly. I've never heard him weep. Not even when Mum died. He clings to my hand with all of his strength I never knew his old body had and I remember that I am all he has and that he, once again just like before, is my whole world. The blood continues to rush through me. Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Maybe I'm rushing again. Maybe it's not my time to go. I feel the rough skin of old hands squeezing mine, and their intensity and their familiarity force me to open my eyes. Lights fills them and I glimpse his face, a look I never want to see again. He clings to his baby. I know I lost mind; I can't let him lose his. In making my decision I already begin to grieve. I've landed now, the land of my life. And still my heart pumps on. Even when broken it still works.

Cecelia Ahern
close-your-eyes-stare-into-dark-my-fathers-advice-when-i-couldnt-sleep-as-little-girl-he-wouldnt-want-me-to-do-that-now-but-ive-set-my-mind-to-task-regardless-im-staring-beyond-m
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