Buries Nivens Quotes

I close the world away. Lock it up. Turn the key so tight. Blackness buries me in its folds. ~ Tahereh Mafi

When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It's the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he's offered me any sort of affection. He's been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lovers? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go.
And why should I? ~ Suzanne Collins

In the parable of the talents, the three servants are called to render an account of how they have used the gifts entrusted to them. The first two used their talents boldly and resourcefully. The third, who prudently wraps his money and buries it, typifies the Christian who deposits his faith in an hermetic container and seals the lid shut. He or she limps through life on childhood memories of Sunday school and resolutely refuses the challenge of growth and spiritual maturity. Unwilling to take risks, this person loses the talent entrusted to him or her. "The master wanted his servants to take risks. He wanted them to gamble with his money."5 ~ Brennan Manning

The moment a man buries the God of his ancestors, the God preached to him but not experienced by him, is life-changing. Blessed are the fortunate few who can stride away from the gravesite of their ancestral divinity resurrected into their own complete humanity. ~ Victor E. Smith

He who buries his head deep into a nosebag full of food cannot hope to see the invisible world. ~ Al-Ghazali

He moves his body around mine and presses, wraps his arms and one leg around me, buries his face into the back of my neck.

I exhale and go another type of soft, a softness unrecorded before, I sink back into him, rest my body on his thighs, chest, more. He holds tighter, tighter, and then the loneliness gets small, smaller, smallest until it is a pinprick, an inverse star, a dust. ~ Sarah Rose Etter

Place where man laughs, sings, picks flowers, chases butterflies and pets birds, makes love with maidens, and plays with children. Here he spontaneously reveals his nature, the base as well as the noble. Here also he buries his sorrows and difficulties and cherishes his ideals and hopes. It is in the garden that men discover themselves. Indeed one discovers not only his real self but also his ideal self?he returns to his youth. Inevitably the garden is made the scene of man's merriment, escapades, romantic abandonment, spiritual awakening or the perfection of his finer self. ~ Confucius

Far-stretching, endless Time
Brings forth all hidden things,
And buries that which once did shine.
The firm resolve falters, the sacred oath is shattered;
And let none say, "It cannot happen here". ~ Sophocles

All I hear leave out more leave out all hear no more lie there in my arms the ancient without end me we're talking of me without end that buries all mankind to the last cunt they'd be good moments in the dark the mud hearing nothing saying nothing capable of nothing nothing ~ Samuel Beckett

What do we mean by the lived truth of creation? We have to mean the world as it appears to men in a condition of relative unrepression; that is, as it would appear to creatures who assessed their true puniness in the face of the overwhelmingness and majesty of the universe, of the unspeakable miracle of even the single created object; as it probably appeared to the earliest men on the planet and to those extrasensitive types who have filled the roles of shaman, prophet, saint, poet, and artist. What is unique about their perception of reality is that it is alive to the panic inherent in creation: Sylvia Plath somewhere named God "King Panic." And Panic is fittingly King of the Grotesque. What are we to make of a creation in which the routine activity is for organisms to be tearing others apart with teeth of all types-biting, grinding flesh, plant stalks, bones between molars, pushing the pulp greedily down the gullet with delight, incorporating its essence into one's own organization, and then excreting with foul stench and gasses the residue. Everyone reaching out to incorporate others who are edible to him. The mosquitoes bloating themselves on blood, the maggots, the killerbees attacking with a fury and demonism, sharks continuing to tear and swallow while their own innards are being torn out-not to mention the daily dismemberment and slaughter in "natural" accidents of all types: the earthquake buries alive 70 thousand bodies in Peru, automobiles make a pyramid heap of ov ~ Ernest Becker

I was in such an ugly, dark place the night we met. I looked into your eyes, and you were right there with me - my angel in the darkness. You saved me." He buries his nose in my hair and inhales audibly. "You saved me and I love you. ~ Lexi Ryan

It is a mistake to think of the expatriate as someone who abdicates, who withdraws and humbles himself, resigned to his miseries, his outcast state. On a closer look, he turns out to be ambitious, aggressive in his disappointments, his very acrimony qualified by his belligerence. The more we are dispossessed, the more intense our appetites and illusions become. I even discern some relation between misfortune and megalomania. The man who has lost everything preserves as a last resort the hope of glory, or of literary scandal. He consents to abandon everything, except his name. [ . . . ]

Let us say a man writes a novel which makes him, overnight, a celebrity. In it he recounts his sufferings. His compatriots in exile envy him: they too have suffered, perhaps more. And the man without a country becomes - or aspires to become - a novelist. The consequence: an accumulation of confusions, an inflation of horrors, of frissons that date. One cannot keep renewing Hell, whose very characteristic is monotony, or the face of exile either. Nothing in literature exasperates a reader so much as The Terrible; in life, it too is tainted with the obvious to rouse our interest. But our author persists; for the time being he buries his novel in a drawer and awaits his hour. The illusion of surprise, of a renown which eludes his grasp but on which he reckons, sustains him; he lives on unreality. Such, however, is the power of this illusion that if, for instance, he works in some factor ~ Emil M. Cioran

Some people forget, he thought. A bad thing happens to them and their mind sweeps in and buries the bad thing deep, and all that's left is a stretch of white in their heads, like fresh snow. Looking at it - at them - you wouldn't even know anything was trapped beneath.
Some people forget, but David remembered everything. ~ Victoria Schwab

Ed, "I hate deserts. There is nothing but sand *collapses* If there was some grass I could turn it into bread. I'm starving! Huh? Hey! Al' where'd you go? Al? Hey!"

Al, "Down here! *Al's hand emerges from the sand beneath Ed and grabs Ed's leg*"

Ed, "AHH!!"

Al, "I sunk again. . ."

(cut to later, after Ed dug Al out)

Al, "I get full."

Ed, "Full of what? *kicks Al and sand falls out of his chest plate and buries Ed*"

Al, "Hahahaha. . .hahaha. . .haha. . . ha. . . *still laughing, inches away from Ed*"

Ed, "*bursts out of sand and starts running after Al* Get back here!"

Al, "What are you going to do?"

Ed, "Nothing!"

Al, "Than why are you chasing me?"

Ed, "Stop and you'll find out!"

Al, "I promise I won't get buried again!"

Ed, "Not unless it's by me!"

Al," Ed!"

Ed, "Rrrrrrrrr! ~ Hiromu Arakawa

I will set you free, he says just before he buries the knife in my chest, and I wake up. ~ Victoria Schwab

all things soon pass away and become a mere tale, and complete oblivion soon buries them. And I say this of those who have shone in a wondrous way. ~ Marcus Aurelius

Our society buries most of those that contribute above their station. It disbelieves them, labelling them whatever nickname will soil their reputation the most at the time. That's the standard protocol for political and economic warfare. ~ Anita B. Sulser PhD

But assuredly Fortune rules in all things; she raised to eminence or buries in oblivion everything from caprice rather than from well-regulated principle.
[Lat., Sed profecto Fortuna in omni re dominatur; ea res cunctas ex lubidine magis, quam ex vero, celebrat, obscuratque.] ~ Sallust

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength. ~ Robert Browning

I've read that if an avalanche buries you and you're lying there underneath all that snow, you can't tell which way is up or down. You want to dig yourself out but pick the wrong way, and you dig yourself to your own demise. ~ Khaled Hosseini

In the history of the world many souls have been, are, and will be, and with a little reflection this is marvelous and not depressing. Many jerks are made gloomy about it, for they think quantity buries them alive. That's just crazy. Numbers are very dangerous, but the main thing about them is that they humble your pride. And that's good. ~ Saul Bellow

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect. ~ John Green

It wasn't Dean's fault," Allie insists. "Seriously, it's all on me. I freaked out for no reason." She finally looks over at me. "See? This is why I don't like horror movies! You watch one scary movie when you're a kid and suddenly everyone who comes to your door is a serial killer."

"Are you kidding me right now? You'll watch a horror movie with my sister but not me? We have to watch the cancer movie?"

"Dicky," Summer chides. "You're being grumpy."

I glare at my sister with enough force to make her wince. "Not one word out of you," I snap. "And don't think I didn't feel you kick me right before I passed out. Who does that, Summer? Who kicks a man when he's down?"

From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker sink to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, shaking with laughter.

The EMT blocks my line of sight by squatting in front of me. "I need to examine you for a concussion."

Oh for fuck's sake. ~ Elle Kennedy

Victor said, 'I'm going to take this axe and I'm going to hack off one of your hands. The blade is dull and I couldn't find a whetstone so it might take a couple of blows to do the job, so you'll need to be patient. The pain and the fear will be like nothing you've ever experienced, but the horror of watching the stump where your wrist used to be spray blood everywhere is going to be like nothing you can even imagine. At that point you won't be worried by what your employers might do to you. You'll bleed to death in about two minutes. Which is why I'm telling you now: don't forget the stove. When I sever your hand, you're going to be free of that post. It's only 20 feet to that stove, but it's going to feel like a mile. Focus on it now, because you're going to be in shock. When you cauterise the wound against the cast iron, you're probably going to pass out, but I'll wake you up again. If your heart stops, I'll use the epinephrine you brought to bring you back. If you don't talk to me then, if you don't give what I want to know about your employers, I'll take your other hand. After that, I'll start improvising. Are you ready?' Niven's gaze flicked between the axe and Victor's eyes. 'You… you can't be serious.' Victor raised the axe. ~ Tom Wood

I PAINT MY FACE.
By Omrane Khuder.

Mirror, distorted; I sit, paint my Face,
Toxic white Make-up buries my Scars,
My Eyes tell lies; Dumbfounded Confidence hides the Disgrace.

Place the tragic Vehicle called My Life in to Drive,
Sad pathetic Clown; Late for the suppression show,
Despair another time; Let the chuckles and defeat derive.

I paint my Heart; I hide my True.
I paint my Soul; I keep it from You.

I paint, I cannot accept; To ignore you the way you ignore Me?
I paint my scarred and pitiful Face; No Will left to restore Me.

I paint my Face; it's all I know to do.
My painted Face shatters the Mirror, yet still all I see is You. ~ Omrane Khuder

Assault buries the self. We lose sight of how and when we are allowed to occupy space. We are made to doubt our abilities, disparaged when we speak. ~ Chanel Miller

Betty White's Sue Ann Nivens was classic ... She had done so much with that man-crazy character! Betty made every moment count. She still does. I've declared her an American treasure, because she is just that. ~ Gavin MacLeod

Most of the stone a nation hammers goes toward its tomb only. It buries itself alive. ~ Henry David Thoreau

Oh Ana!" he cries out loudly as he finds his release, holding me in place as he pours himself into me. He collapses, panting hard beside me, and he pulls me on top of him and buries his face in my hair, hold me close. "Oh baby," he breathes. "Welcome to my world. ~ E.L. James

Big government doesn't help the middle class, it buries it. ~ Marco Rubio

Fear is the worst kind of grave, because it buries one alive. ~ Beth Fantaskey

Some of your childhood traumas may be remembered with incredible clarity, while others are so frightening or incomprehensible that your conscious mind buries the memory in your unconscious. ~ Renee Fredrickson

Don't accuse me of being morbid when I'm merely the product of a culture that buries the bones of the ones they love in pretty, manicured flower gardens so they can keep them nearby and go talk to them whenever they feel troubled or depressed. That's morbid. Not to mention bizarre. Dogs bury bones, too. ~ Karen Marie Moning

I think I could have some very real feelings for you," I blurt out. I want to bite the words back as soon as I say them. "Good," she says, and she smiles as she rolls into my chest and wraps her arm around me. She buries her face in my shirt. I think she might be embarrassed. "I pour my heart out and all you can say is good?" I jostle her in my arms. "Mmm hmm," she hums. I feel her lips against my shirt, her breath warming the fabric. She laughs. "You can't really call that pouring your heart out, Pete." She mocks my tone, making her voice deep. "I think I might have some very real feelings for you." She laughs, and damn it all, it's such a pretty sound that she can't annoy me with it. ~ Tammy Falkner