Catherine Marks Quotes

Any words of greeting Leo had intended to say vanished instantly. His gaze traveled slowly over her. She was like one of the exquisite feminine images painted on bandboxes or displayed in print shops. The pristine perfection of her made him long to unwrap her, like a bonbon done up in a neat paper twist.
Leo's silence went on so long that Catherine was forced to speak again. "I'm ready for the outing. Where are we going?"
"I can't remember," Leo said, still staring. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Leo stared back at her with a mixture of wary amusement and growing heat. He could no longer deny that he found nothing in the world more entertaining than talking to her. Or just being near her. Cantankerous, stubborn fascinating creature... completely unlike his past lovers. And at times like this, she had all the cuddlesome appeal of a feral hedgehog.
But she challenged him, met him as an equal, in a way that no other woman ever had. He wanted her beyond reason. ~ Lisa Kleypas

herself, she stood outside Mark's door, head bowed, contemplating ~ Cheryl Taylor

He had wanted so hard to Escape, to find the stars. And all he had found was a new prison. ~ Catherine Fisher

Preach the Gospel with your life - without compromise! ~ Catherine Doherty

I am the signet which marks the page where the revolution has been stopped; but when I die it will turn the page and resume its course. ~ Napoleon Bonaparte

The Anthropocene marks severe discontinuities; what comes after will not be like what came before. I think our job is to make the Anthropocene as short/thin as possible and to cultivate with each other in every way imaginable epochs to come that can replenish refuge. (100) ~ Donna J. Haraway

If we can only begin with one truly loving thought, that is the place to begin. That one loving feeling will begin to shift our vibration completely. ~ Catherine Carrigan

When I hug trees, the bark marks my cheek and reminds me I'm alive. Or that my nervous system is still intact. The trees breathe all the time and no one really notices. They take in all the air we choke on. They live and die in silence. So I hug them. Someone should. ~ Evan Roskos

Poverty is a scandal of our times because it CAN be changed. ~ Catherine Marshall

everything. I don't know if ~ Catherine Coulter

I knew that this sort of love, technically, was just a neurotransmitter cocktail designed to make you feel invincible and infinite – beyond language, beyond logic – but I also knew that love was as thrilling as it was temporary, a prelude to pain, though I only knew this through reading – which is to say I had not really learned it yet and may never. That little shimmer in the chest. How simple it seems. ~ Catherine Lacey

Annie giggled again. She couldn't seem to stop herself. And when she did, the most incredible thing happened. Alex's grin vanished, and after gazing down at her for what seemed to her several endless seconds, he got tears in his eyes. "Thank you," he said. Only that, just a simple "thank you." But to Annie, those were the two most wonderful words she'd ever seen spoken, and they meant more to her than a thousand others might have. With them, he told her a wealth of things, namely that he had meant everything he'd said to her in the attic, that he not only wouldn't punish her for making noise, but that he wanted her to. ~ Catherine Anderson

The silence of a convent at night is the silence of the grave. Too far removed from the busy world without for external sounds to penetrate the thick walls, whilst within no slamming door, nor wandering foot, nor sacrilegious voice breaks in upon the stillness, the slightest noise strikes upon the ear with a fearful distinctness. ("The Monk's Story") ~ Catherine Crowe

His heart actually stumbled when he remembered her pain. He immediately knelt by her head.
"Eve, how can I fix this? Tell me what to do. I'll do anything." He moved her hair out of her face.
Eve let his words lay in the room with them for a while before she uttered her blasphemous ones. "When I'm with you, it doesn't hurt as bad."
He picked her up again, surprised - now that he could think - at how much she weighed. This girl's pure muscle.
He sat on the couch with her on his lap. Starting over. "I'm so sorry, Eve."
Eve touched the new marks on his chest, lines that linked all his past violence with a path of red, new pain. "I know you are, Beck. I know you are. ~ Debra Anastasia

There was a sergeant at a desk. I knew he was a sergeant because I recognized the marks on his uniform, and I knew it was a desk because it's always a desk. There's always someone at a desk, except when it's a table that functions as a desk. You sit behind a desk, and everyone knows you're supposed to be there, and that you're doing something that involves your brain. It's an odd, special kind of importance. I think everyone should get a desk; you can sit behind it when you feel like you don't matter. ~ Steven Brust

Your body is a sanctuary, a place where love
and grief flow like crashing rapids against
your spine. Its time to take your hands off of
your thighs, and your gaze off of the marks
that adorn your hips like ornaments.

The universe gave up celestial pieces of
itself to sculpt you.
It is time to honor that. ~ Bianca Sparacino

IT WAS BEDTIME and Adam was at the back door, calling the cat. 'Chiiiiips! Chiiiii-ips! Come on, Chips!' Catherine smiled to herself. Chips always made Adam beg. She never begged. She called, he came, or she locked him out for the night. Simple. Chips knew that, and always shot in from the garden like a furry white arrow. But he had Adam wrapped around his little claw, and wouldn't come in until his own personal human had been thoroughly humiliated – whistling, wheedling, and shaking the box of treats like Barry Manilow on the maracas. ~ Belinda Bauer

There is dignity after the storm. ~ Catherine Jane Fisher

I fear it is sometimes forgotten that God has married together justification and sanctification. They are distinct and different things, beyond question, but one is never found without the other. All justified people are sanctified, and all sanctified people are justified ... Tell me not of your justification, unless you have also some marks of sanctification. Boast not of Christ's work for you, unless you can show us the Spirit's work in you. ~ J.C. Ryle

A comely female inhabiting the Mohammedan Paradise to make things cheery for the good Mussulman, whose belief in her existence marks a noble discontent with his earthly spouse, whom he denies a soul. ~ Ambrose Bierce

I'm a vegetarian and change my hair color as much as I can. ~ Hannah Marks

And what is a friend? More than a father, more than a brother: a traveling companion, with him, you can conquer the impossible, even if you must lose it later. Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing. It is a friend that you communicate the awakening of a desire, the birth of a vision or a terror, the anguish of seeing the sun disappear or of finding that order and justice are no more. That's what you can talk about with a friend. Is the soul immortal, and if so why are we afraid to die? If God exists, how can we lay claim to freedom, since He is its beginning and its end? What is death, when you come down to it? The closing of a parenthesis, and nothing more? And what about life? In the mouth of a philosopher, these questions may have a false ring, but asked during adolescence or friendship, they have the power to change being: a look burns and ordinary gestures tend to transcend themselves. What is a friend? Someone who for the first time makes you aware of your loneliness and his, and helps you to escape so you in turn can help him. Thanks to him who you can hold your tongue without shame and talk freely without risk. That's it. ~ Elie Wiesel

There are so many versions of the truth, I've found. One for each person. But the whole truth? No one ever tells the whole truth. Do they? ~ Catherine McKenzie

[H]is first purpose was to explain himself, and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well that Catherine did not think it could ever be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own; for, though Henry was now sincerely attached to her, though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine's dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild imagination will at least be all my own. ~ Jane Austen

What if I took the picture books that my grandmother made and snapped open the rings in every binder, let the plastic pages spill out onto the floor, and then attacked them with my scissors?

Those books, pasted together by my grandmother, year after year, replaced the cognitive exercise of memory for me. Sitting on a section of wall-to-wall carpeting, drinking the bubbling red birch beer from a tinted brown glass, I reestablished my relationships with the members of my family. This is where I put it all together and perpetuated the lies. Not malicious lies, but lies with so many years to develop that we forgot the truth because nobody rehearsed it. When Mark was sentence to sixty days in a twelve-step rehab program in 1991, he wrote an inventory of his experiences with drugs and alcohol that filled a whole notebook, and then he gave it to us to read, It was in those pages that I learned he had once tapped the powder out of horse tranquilizer capsules, melted it down, and shot it into his veins for a high that lasted fourteen days. My God, I thought, Oh my God. This is Mark's story? Okay, now put the cooked-down shot-up horse tranquilizer against the pictures in the album. What do you get? Collage. Dry made wet and introduced into the body. Cut cut cut. It's not so radical. ~ Jill Christman

The closer Finn`s island come to extinction, the more I wandered back in my mind to the lives that come before us, the huts and the houses, the remains of animals and clothing, the coins and the latrines and cooking pots, the messages from the past left in bones and kitchen dumps. And the people.
Sometimes I thought about the content of those lives, the intangible things that leave no fossils and no marks, no history. Would people from the future excavate traces of passion? Of hope, disappointment, despair? Or would the entire human race end up drowned and forgotten, buried under waves of melting ice, with no on left to dig us up or wonder at what was or what might have been? ~ Meg Rosoff

Heathcliff, if I were you, I'd go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog. The world is surely not worth living in now, is it? You had distinctly impressed on me the idea that Catherine was the whole joy of your life: I can't imagine how you think of surviving her loss. ~ Charlotte Bronte

I could go my whole life and say, 'I'm not going to do anything with a love triangle,' but whenever you have a romance, there has to be some obstacle, and even the dumbest romantic comedies have a love triangle or something. ~ Catherine Hardwicke

At this moment, in this place, the shifting action potential in my neurons cascade into certain arrangements, patterns, thoughts; they flow down my spine, branch into my arms, my fingers, until muscles twitch and thought is translated into motion; mechanical levers are pressed; electrons are rearranged; marks are made on paper.

At another time, in another place, light strikes the marks, reflects into a pair of high-precision optical instruments sculpted by nature after billions of years of random mutations; upside-down images are formed against two screens made up of millions of light-sensitive cells, which translate light into electrical pulses that go up the optic nerves, cross the chiasm, down the optic tracts, and into the visual cortex, where the pulses are reassembled into letters, punctuation marks, words, sentences, vehicles, tenors, thoughts.

The entire system seems fragile, preposterous, science fictional. ~ Ken Liu

The progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella was quick as its beginning had been warm ... and if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together. ~ Jane Austen

I always wanted to make an abstract photograph. I would photograph walls, sports interiors, marks on the walls people made. Even looking back it makes so much sense. It's like it was a fight against the photograph. ~ Idris Khan

Faith is fudamentally a kind of folly ... ~ Catherine Doherty