Anatomy Of A Darkened Heart Quotes

Abigail had no interest in the dolls themselves. Only in what she could keep from them. ~ Christie Stratos

Only a fool says in his heart
There is no Creator, no King of kings,
Only mules would dare to bray
These lethal mutterings.
Over darkened minds as these
The Darkness bears full sway,
Fruitless, yet, bearing fruit,
In their fell, destructive way.
Sterile, though proliferate,
A filthy progeny sees the day,
When Evil, Thought and Action mate:
Breeding sin, rebels and decay.
The blackest deeds and foul ideals,
Multiply throughout the earth,
Through deadened, lifeless, braying souls,
The Darkness labours and gives birth.
Taking the Lord's abundant gifts
And rotting them to the core,
They dress their dish and serve it out
Foul seeds to infect thousands more.
'The Tree of Life is dead!' they cry,
'And that of Knowledge not enough,
Let us glut on the ashen apples
Of Sodom and Gomorrah.'


Have pity on Thy children, Lord,
Left sorrowing on this earth,
While fools and all their kindred
Cast shadows with their murk,
And to the dwindling wise,
They toss their heads and wryly smirk.
The world daily grinds to dust
Virtue's fair unicorns,
Rather, it would now beget
Vice's mutant manticores.
Wisdom crushed, our joy is gone,
Buried under anxious fears
For lost rights and freedoms,
We shed many bitter tears.
Death is life, Life is no more,
Humanity buried in a tomb,
In a fatal prenatal w ~ E.A. Bucchianeri

It was the same book, every day. The pages of said book were rounded and soft where Young Sam had chewed them, but to one person in this nursery this was the book of books, the greatest story ever told. Vimes didn't need to read it any more. He knew it by heart.

It was called Where's My Cow?

The unidentified complainant had lost their cow. That was the story, really.

Page one started promisingly:

Where's my cow?

Is that my cow?

It goes, "Baa!"

It is a sheep! That's not my cow!

Then the author began to get to grips with their material:

Where's my cow?

Is that my cow?

It goes, "Neigh!"

It is a horse! That's not my cow!

At this point the author had reached an agony of creation and was writing from the racked depths of their soul.

Where's my cow?

Is that my cow?

It goes, "Hruuugh!"

It is a hippopotamus! That's not my cow!

This was a good evening. Young Sam was already grinning widely and crowing along with the plot.

Eventually, the cow would be found. It was that much of a pageturner. Of course, some suspense was lent by the fact that all other animals were presented in some way that could have confused a kitten, who perhaps had been raised in a darkened room. The horse was standing in front of a hatstand, as they so often did, and the hippo was eating at a trough against wh ~ Terry Pratchett

Her room was darkened with the curtains drawn, but he could sense her inside, moving around quietly. Her heartbeat had turned languid; she must be preparing for bed. He cocked his head, listening intently. The closet door opened and shut, and there was the sound of running water. He held the goblet with such tense care his fingers began to ache.
When she had turned the faucet off, he said telepathically, "Tess, come to your window."
Startled, frozen silence. Then the languid pace of her heart exploded into a furious rhythm.
For a moment, when she didn't move, he thought she might disobey and end their tenuous relationship. Then he heard the soft rustle of cloth, and the creak of floorboards. When she appeared in the darkened window, she looked shadowy, like the half-hidden, opaque moon, her skin pale like pearls and hair lustrous with darkness.
She looked down at him but said nothing.
He held the goblet up to show it to her. "Are you sure you want to give this to me?"
Because it mattered. It mattered what she said. While the struggle made the offering sweet, it was the act of the gift itself that was the vital part of the covenant.
She didn't respond for long moments. He stood motionless as he waited, until finally she moved to put her hand to the windowpane.
"Yes."
He inclined his head to her, brought the goblet to his lips and drank.
Pure, undiluted power slid down his throat. Like the delicate skin at her wrist, it was warm ~ Thea Harrison

Thunder rumbled. My heart beat faster. I turned away from Evernight for the last time and looked back at the flower as it trembled upon its branch. A single petal was torn away by the wind. Pushing my hands through the thorns, I felt lashes of pain across my skin, but i kept going determined.
But when my fingertip touched the flower, it instantly darkened, withering and drying as each petal turned black. ~ Claudia Gray

This week
in live current
events: your eyes.

All power can be
dangerous:
Direct

or alternating,
you, socket to me.
Plugged in and the grid

is humming,
this electricity,
molecule-deep desire:

particular friction, a charge
strong enough to stop
a heart

or start it
again; volt, re-volt--
I shudder, I stutter, I start

to life. I've got my ion
you, copper-top,
so watch how you

conduct yourself.
Here's today's
newsflash: a battery of rolling

blackouts in California, sudden,
like lightning kisses:
sudden, whitehot

darkness and you're
here, fumbling for
that small switch

with an urgent surge
strong enough to kill
lesser machines.

Static makes hair raise,
makes things cling,
makes things rise like

a gathering storm
charging outside
our darkened house

and here I am:
tempest, pouring out
mouthfulls

of tsunami on the ground,
I've got that rain-soaked kite,
that drenched key.

You know what it's for,
circuit-breaker, you know
how to kiss until it's hertz. ~ Daphne Gottlieb

My dream, I have faith in you!
Tell me that reality won't vanquish you;
it won't crush my lively spirit into wafts of sorrowful aches,
that's what you should vow.

I remember you,
you used to make me smile for a hope
I have always desired,
it made my pain worth its dreadfulness.
I waited for the sunshine and
it made me love and enjoy the rain.

We were trapped by dense clouds,
now I think I am free.. to breathe again.

Like the sea waves,
hope visits my shore
carrying the light for the frozen heart
and the darkened soul. ~ Noha Alaa El-Din

In a matter of seconds, the sky darkened and the first fat drops of rain splashed around us. We went from table to table to gather our guests, smiling to mask our nervousness as the wind blew harder. As I watched the empty chairs overturning and the linens on the grape arbor flapping like sails, I was seized with a sudden fear. The wind whipped the trees; the creak of branches presaged the first sharp flash of lightning, followed by a thunder crack that set my heart pounding. ~ Rosie Genova

His eyes darkened in frustration.
"I'm tired of waiting, Thalia. I'm not a patient person. You have to know."
"What do you mean, Keal? You know I like Joss." I tried to move away again, but his hands on either side of me pinned me in. Keal's determination scared me.
"You know what we share is infinitely more powerful than ... that. And you feel this between us, too," he growled. "You melt when I kiss you. You watch me when you think I'm unaware. You can't sleep unless I'm near. Tell me none of that is true."
I swallowed nervously and licked my lips. "No, that's all true."
"I promised your father I'd give you time, but I'm tired of waiting. Tired of watching Joss try and win your heart from me."
"Keal, I don't understand. Ho is joss keeping you from me, when you and I don't think of one another that way?
"Don't think
Thalia! You and I are lifemates. ~ Chanda Hahn

I tried to believe in God, but I confess to you that God meant nothing in my life, and that in my secret heart I too felt a void where my childhood faith had been. But probably this feeling belongs only to individuals in transition. The grandchildren of these pessimists will frolic in the freedom of their lives, and have more happiness than poor Christians darkened with fear of Hell. ~ Voltaire

Evening Solace

The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;­
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back-­a faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress­
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come. ~ Charlotte Bronte

When they had understood the hoopoe's words,
A clamour of complaint rose from the birds:
'Although we recognize you as our guide,
You must accept - it cannot be denied -
We are a wretched, flimsy crew at best,
And lack the bare essentials for this quest.
Our feathers and our wings, our bodies' strength
Are quite unequal to the journey's length;
For one of us to reach the Simorgh's throne
Would be miraculous, a thing unknown.
[...] He seems like Solomon, and we like ants;
How can mere ants climb from their darkened pit
Up to the Simorgh's realm? And is it fit
That beggars try the glory of a king?
How ever could they manage such a thing?'

The hoopoe answered them: 'How can love thrive
in hearts impoverished and half alive?
"Beggars," you say - such niggling poverty
Will not encourage truth or charity.
A man whose eyes love opens risks his soul -
His dancing breaks beyond the mind's control.
[...] Your heart is not a mirror bright and clear
If there the Simorgh's form does not appear;
No one can bear His beauty face to face,
And for this reason, of His perfect grace,
He makes a mirror in our hearts - look there
To see Him, search your hearts with anxious care. ~ Attar Of Nishapur

Tired of me already?" he asked with a smile in his voice.
"No quite yet. You?"
His eyes darkened, and he kissed her again. "Never."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Never is a long time," she said.
His voice was low, fierce. And very sure. "That's what I'm counting on. ~ Jill Shalvis

Elphaba's face darkened again. Then she asked, hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer, "So, how do you get the evil life force?"

"From innocent people, Elphaba," Nick spoke so quietly he almost whispered. "I must draw the life force from innocent people. The more innocent they are, the more evil the murder is."

Elphaba jerked as though a shock had struck her in the heart. "Oh, that's terrible!"

"Yes, it is. Terrible. That word doesn't even do it justice, terrible. There is no Magick more terrible than Magick that cheats death. I have cheated death, and death extracts its price."

Elphaba silently looked at Nick, her expression of revulsion enough to communicate her feelings.

"You shouldn't act so surprised, malyutka," Nick said softly. "It is who I am. And it's worked for me for centuries."

Elphaba sat for a moment, trying to calm herself. "Yes, you're right. I knew that part of you was a monster. Sometimes it's easy to forget, since you seem to be such a decent guy."

"Lyches are monsters. ~ Abramelin Keldor

And George Farr had the town, the earth, the world to himself and his sorrow. Music came faint as a troubling rumor beneath the spring night, sweetened by distance: a longing knowing no ease. (Oh God, oh God!)
At last George Farr gave up trying to see her. He had 'phoned vainly and time after time, at last the telephone became the end in place of the means: he had forgotten why he wanted to reach her. Finally he told himself that he hated her, that he would go away; finally he was going to as much pains to avoid her as he had been to see her. So he slunk about the streets like a criminal, avoiding her, feeling his his very heart stop when he did occasionally see her unmistakable body from a distance. And at night he lay sleepless and writhing to think of her, then to rise and don a few garments and walk past her darkened house, gazing in slow misery at the room in which he knew she lay, soft and warm, in intimate slumber, then to return to home and bed to dream of her brokenly. ~ William Faulkner

The memory of an absent person shines in the deepest recesses of the heart, shining the more brightly the more wholly its object has vanished: a light on the horizon of the despairing, darkened spirit; a star gleaming in our inward night. ~ Victor Hugo

Suttree stood among the screaming leaves and called the lightning down. It cracked and boomed about and he pointed out the darkened heart within him and cried for light. If there be any art in the weathers of this earth. Or char these bones to coal. If you can, if you can. A blackened rag in the rain. ~ Cormac McCarthy

I walked up to the stairs and with my first step my eyes caught a pair of green emerald eyes, the face darkened by the corner it was hiding in. But the green eyes were clear, standing out like a beacon. Stopping dead, my heart skipped a few beats. I know those eyes, how can I forget them? Chax. ~ Karen Swart

Long ago, there was a dream within a dream that allowed joy to reign, but that youthful breath drifted away as swiftly as a summer rain. There was nothing left after the dawn, except for a world darkened by a King's broken heart. Now only Morpheus induced silhouettes dance in these lightless plains. They dance in sequence to the sound of time – unmoved by existence – trapped in a single thought I hope lies within you. ~ H.S. Crow

He stood in the doorway of her office. He was, as always, the consummate scoundrel. He leaned against the doorframe, smiling - almost smirking - at her, as if he knew how rapidly her heart had started beating.

If that was how they were going to do this…

She simply raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Oh," she said with a sniff. "It's you."

"You're not fooling anyone," he said.

She could feel the corner of her mouth twitch up. Last time she'd seen him, he'd kissed her so thoroughly she had not yet recovered.

"I'm not?"

"I heard it most distinctly," he told her. "You might have said 'It's you,' but there was a distinct exclamation mark at the end. In fact, I think there were two."

"Oh, dear." Free looked down, fluttering her eyelashes demurely. "Is my punctuation showing once more?"

His eyes darkened and he took a step into her office. "Don't hide it on my account," he growled. "You have the most damnably beautiful punctuation that I have ever seen. ~ Courtney Milan

My Serinity,
Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,
Seeing thee befuddled, bereaved,
Dimmed like the midnight, secluded, darkened,
Thee, my serenity,
A window to my eyes,
A window to laughter, and peace of mind,
Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,
Seeing thee wail, whine, cry,
Like a gloomy, mourning brume,
Thee, my serenity,
Soared through fervor and delight,
To the crown of heavens, the Almighty Myth,
One can not bear,
Seeing thee prostrate, razed, demure,
Upon the dimmed streets, crawling, for a sight of the lune,
Thee, my birdy in love,
What befall to thy song,
The very chant of my life,
Cut short, stopped, along with all I gasp,
Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,
Seeing thee, caged in thy own night,
Encumbered, through thy own heart,
Lean on my shoulders now,
My beautiful, wonderful Lily,
That thee shall not fear, the sorrow of,
Of being lonely, apart, not having a peer,
As I promise, to my most dear,
The girl to my heart, always near,
Come what may, don't age a year,
That I will be, forever here, ~ Hamidreza Bagheri

But though she's told a longer version of the story a thousand times before to a thousand different people, she gets the feeling that Oliver might understand better than anyone else. It's something about the way he's looking at her, his eyes punching a neat little hole in her heart. She's knows it's not real: It's the illusion of closeness, the false confidence of a hushed and darkened plane, but she doesn't mind. For the moment, at least, it feels real. ~ Jennifer E. Smith

The planet Venus, a circle of silver in a green sky, pierced the edge of the evening while the wintry woods darkened about me and in the stillness the regular sound of my footsteps striking the pavement was like a the rhythmic beating of a giant stone heart. ~ Gore Vidal

I rested my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. It wasn't just my curiosity, or my fascination with anatomy, or how I could unhesitatingly chop a rabbit's head off with an ax when a roomful of boys couldn't. Those things were all symptoms of the same sickness - a kind of madness inherited from my father. It was a dangerous pull in my gut drawing me toward the dark possibilities of science, toward the thin line between life and death, toward the animal impulses hidden behind a corset and a smile. ~ Megan Shepherd

The left hemisphere seems to feel quite defensive-in a strange way insecure-about the right hemisphere; and, if this is so, verbal criticism of intuitive thinking becomes suspect on the ground of motive. Unfortunately, there is every reason to think that the right hemisphere has comparable misgivings -expressed nonverbally, of course- about the left. ~ Carl Sagan

Often, as a young actress, you find yourself being the only girl in a room full of men ... and one of the reasons why I like 'Grey's Anatomy' is because they have such strong female characters and the women really drive this show. ~ Rachael Taylor

Listen," whispers Dario. "How still it is." They stand under a darkened archway, the only sound a whispered squeak where docked gondolas rub against each other. Negative ions from the lapping water release serotonin, and the brains of these two flood with the nourishment of each other's breath, each other's chi. ~ Kristen Caven

Sometimes we scratch, claw and climb so hard to conquer a mountain that, once achieved, we cling to its summit much too long and it ultimately instigates our fall. As we dangle by our fingertips we grasp and claw at what's no more; with a fear of falling into the dim unknown. But, ironically, it's in that very moment that we are empowered to choose. We can stay cliff hanging in our darkened fears clinging to a time that has past us by or we can faithfully and freely fall into the hands of a new destiny. Sometimes, persevering...is simply having the courage to let go. ~Jason Versey ~ Jason Versey

Another experiment, conducted by Pascual-Leone when he was a researcher at the National Institutes of Health, provides even more remarkable evidence of the way our patterns of thought affect the anatomy of our brains. Pascual-Leone recruited people who had no experience playing a piano, and he taught them how to play a simple melody consisting of a short series of notes. He then split the participants into two groups. He had the members of one group practice the melody on a keyboard for two hours a day over the next five days. he had the members of the other group sit in front of a keyboard for the same amount of time but only imagine playing the song--without ever touching the keys. Using a technique called transcranial magnetic stimulation, or TMS, Pascual-Leone mapped the brain activity of all the participants before, during, and after the test. he found that the people who had only imagined playing the notes exhibited precisely the same changes in their brains as those who had actually pressed the keys. Their brains had changed in response to actions that took place purely in their imaginations--in response, that is, to their thoughts. Descartes may have been wrong about dualism, but he appears to have been correct in believing that our thoughts can exert a physical influence on, or at least cause a physical reaction in, our brains. We become, neurologically, what we think. (p33) ~ Nicholas Carr

Murderer or bartender or writer, it didn't matter: his fate was the common fate of all, his finish my finish; and here tonight in this city of darkened windows were other millions like him and like me: as indistinguishable as dying blades of grass. Living was hard enough. Dying was a supreme task. ~ John Fante

It is better to be wise for one day than to be intelligent for a thousand.
It is better to know yourself than to understand your enemies.
It is better to find yourself than to find a thousand pots of gold.
It is better to rule your mind than to rule the world.
It is better to fight for justice than to give into tyranny.
It is better to live in a pure mind than to reside in a darkened soul.
It is better to be remembered as a coward than as a fool.
It is better to study yourself than to examine your enemies.
It is better to teach young children than to instruct old fools.
It is better to strengthen your weaknesses than to celebrate your strengths.
It is better to fight your fears than to harbour your anxieties.
It is better to win hearts than to ruin souls.
It is better to think your highest than to act your lowest.
It is better to learn from fools than to ignore the wise.
It is better to learn from your mistakes than to celebrate your success.
It is better to think for yourself than to allow intellectuals to think for you.
It is better to be wise and poor than to be rich and ignorant.
It is better to learn from children than to teach the wise.
It is better to learn truth from your enemies than lies from your friends.
It is better to be ostracized for who you are than to be embraced for who you are not.
It is better to be hated for your virtues than to be loved for your vices.< ~ Matshona Dhliwayo

In this world, this life, "flow" [the times when our work or play so absorbs and attunes our energies that we lose track of time] comes to an end. The canvas is dry, the fugue is complete, the band plays the tag one more time and then resolves on the final chord. And, too, the book is finished, the service is over, the lights go up in the darkened theater and we emerge blinking into the bright lights of the "real world." But what if the timeless, creative world we had glimpsed is really the real world -- and it is precisely its reality that gave it such power to captivate us for a while? What if our ultimate destiny is that moment of enjoyment and engagement we glimpse in the artist's studio? ~ Andy Crouch

How physical beauty turns out to be chemistry and geometry and anatomy. Art is really science. Discovering why people like something is so you can replicate it. Copy it. It's a paradox, "creating" a real smile. Rehearsing again and again a spontaneous moment of horror. All the sweat and boring effort that goes into creating what looks easy and instant. ~ Chuck Palahniuk

The object of my researches is the brain. The cranium is only a faithful cast of the external surface of the brain, and is consequently but a minor part of the principal object. ~ Franz Joseph Gall

I stood with my hands on the horses' necks, feeling the electricity of their thinking, the blood moving throughout their veins, and the history held neatly within the fabric of every organ of their equine anatomy, as if the body were a storage unit of memory. As I absorbed every nuance of the four-legged creatures, I touched my own stomach, lower back, liver, and spleen to see what the energies felt like. I compared one horse to another, then to myself, fascinated by the way each was so unique yet so the same. ~ Bethanne Elion

It had had a fragrant element, reminding him of a regular childhood experience, a memory that reverberated like the chimes of a prayer bell inside his head. For a few moments, he pictured the old Orthodox church that had dominated his remote Russian village. The bearded priest was swinging the elaborate incense-burner, suspended from gold-plated chains. It had been the same odour. Hadn't it? He blinked, shook his head. He couldn't make sense of that.
He decided, with an odd lack of enthusiasm, that he'd imagined it. The effects of the war played tricks of the mind, of the senses. Looking over his shoulder, he counted all seven of his men as they emerged from the remnants of the four-storey civic office building.
A few muddied documents were scattered on the ground, stamped with the official Nazi Party eagle, its head turned to the left, and an emblem he failed to recognize, but which looked to him like a decorative wheel, with a geometrical design of squares at its centre. Even a blackened flag had survived the bomb damage. Hanging beneath a crumbling windowsill, the swastika flapped against the bullet-ridden façade, the movement both panicky and defiant, Pavel thought.
His men were conscripts. A few still wore their padded khaki jackets and mustard-yellow blouses. Most, their green field tunics and forage caps. All the clothing was lice-ridden and smeared with soft ash. Months of exposure to frozen winds had darkened their skins and narrowed their eyes. They'd ~ Gary Haynes

When young lips have drunk deep of the bitter waters of hate, suspicion and despair, all the love in the world will not wholly take away that knowledge. Though it may turn darkened eyes for a while to the light, and teach faith where no faith was. ~ Rudyard Kipling

Although I was an imaginative child, prone to nightmares, I had persuaded my parents to take me to Madame Tussauds waxworks in London, when I was six, because I had wanted to visit the Chamber of Horrors, expecting the movie-monster Chambers of Horrors I'd read about in my comics. I had wanted to thrill to waxworks of Dracula and Frankenstein's Monster and the Wolf-man. Instead I was walked through a seemingly endless sequence of dioramas of unremarkable, glum-looking men and women who had murdered people - usually lodgers and members of their own families - and who were then murdered in turn: by handing, by the electric chair, in gas chambers. Most of them were depicted with their victims in awkward social situations - seated about a dinner table, perhaps, as their poisoned family members expired. The plaques that explained who they were also told me that the majority of them had murdered their families and sold the bodies to anatomy. It was then that the word anatomy garnered its own edge of horror for me. I did not know what anatomy was. I knew only that anatomy made people kill their children. ~ Neil Gaiman

For my brother and me, there would be no 'Field of Dreams'-like playing catch, no nature lessons with our old man. Instead, it would be a darkened theater, the projector light coming on, and a new adventure unfolding. ~ Bob Weinstein

It doesn't matter how long we may have been stuck in a sense of our limitations. If we go into a darkened room and turn on the light, it doesn't matter if the room has been dark for a day, a week, or ten thousand years - we turn on the light and it is illuminated. Once we control our capacity for love and happiness, the light has been turned on. ~ Sharon Salzberg

But I want her, I must have her, I shall die if I do not get her - false, proud, black-hearted daughter of a dog that she is! I cannot sleep and my food has no savor and my eyes are darkened because of her beauty. I must have the barbarian queen. ~ C.S. Lewis

He said, Just as there exists in writing a literal truth and a poetic truth, there also exists in a human being a literal anatomy and a poetic anatomy. One, you can see; one, you cannot. One is made of bones and teeth and flesh; the other is made of energy and memory and faith. But both are equally true. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert

She must rest for a moment. And, resting, looking from one to the other vaguely, the old question which traversed the sky of the soul perpetually, the vast, the general question which was apt to particularise itself at such moments as these, when she released faculties that had been to the strain, stood over her, paused over her, darkened over her. What is the meaning of life? That was all - a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. ~ Virginia Woolf