Do You Put Title Of Song In Quotes

Very well, but - who are you?' again asked Gil Gil, in whom curiosity was beginning to get the better of every other feeling.

'I told you that when I first spoke to you - I am your friend. And bear in mind that you are the only being on the face of the earth to whom I accord the title of friend. I am bound to you by remorse! I am the cause of all your misfortunes.'

'I do not know you,' replied the shoemaker.

'And yet I have entered your house many times! Through me you were left motherless at your birth; I was the cause of the apoplectic stroke that killed Juan Gil; it was I who turned you out of the palace of Rionuevo; I assassinated your old house-mate, and, finally, it was I who placed in your pocket the vial of sulfuric acid.'

Gil Gil trembled like a leaf; he felt his hair stand on end, and it seemed to him as if his contracted muscles must burst asunder.

'You are the devil!' he exclaimed, with indescribable terror.

'Child!' responded the black-robed figure in accents of amiable censure, 'what has put that idea into your head? I am something greater and better than the wretched being you have named.'

'Who are you, then?'

'Let us go into the inn and you shall learn.'

Gil hastily entered, drew the Unknown before the modest lantern that lighted the apartment, and looked at him with intense curiosity.

He was a person about thirty-three years old; tall, handsome, pale ~ Pedro Antonio De Alarcón

Selethen was names Hawk. Alyss had been given the title of Tsuru, or Crane. . .Evanlynn was Kitsune, the Nihon-Jan word for Fox . . .Halt strangly enough had been known only as Halto-san. . . But Will had been taken aback in his confrotation with Arisaka to discover that his name - Chocho - meant "butterfly". It seemed a highly unwarlike name to him- not at all glamorous.And he was puzzled to know why they had selected it. His friends,of course, were delighted in helping him guess the reason.
"I assume its because you're such a snazzy dresser," Evanlynn said. "You Rangers are like a riot of color after all."
Will glared at her and was mortified to hear Alyss snigger at the princess's sally. He'd thought Alyss, at least, might stick up for him.
"I think it might be more to do with the way he raced around the the training ground, darting here and there to correct the way a man might be holding his sheidl then dashing off to show someone how to put theri body weight into their javelin cast," said Horace, a little more sympathetically. Then he ruined the effect by adding thoughtlessly, "I must say, your cloak did flutter around like a butterfly's wings."
"It was neither of those things," Halt said finally, and they all turned to look at him. "I asked Shigeru," he explained. "He said that they had all noticed how Will's mind and imagination darts from one idea to another at such high speed," . .
Will looked mollified. "Isuppose it's not too bad it you put ~ John Flanagan

Miss Lucinda Throckmorton-Jones, former paid companion to several of the ton's most successful debutantes of prior seasons, came to Havenhurst to fill the position of Elizabeth's duenna. A woman of fifty with wiry gray hair she scraped back into a bun and the posture of a ramrod, she had a permanently pinched face, as if she smelled something disagreeable but was too well-bred to remark upon it. In addition to the duenna's daunting physical appearance, Elizabeth observed shortly after their first meeting that Miss Throckmorton-Jones possessed an astonishing ability to sit serenely for hours without twitching so much as a finger.
Elizabeth refused to be put off by her stony demeanor and set about finding a way to thaw her. Teasingly, she called her "Lucy," and when the casually affectionate nickname won a thunderous frown from the lady, Elizabeth tried to find a different means. She discovered it very soon: A few days after Lucinda came to live at Havenhurst the duenna discovered her curled up in a chair in Havenhurt's huge library, engrossed in a book. "You enjoy reading?" Lucinda had said gruffly-and with surprise-as she noted the gold embossed title on the volume.
"Yes," Elizabeth had assured her, smiling. "Do you?"
"Have you read Christopher Marlowe?"
"Yes, but I prefer Shakespeare."
Thereafter it became their policy each night after supper to debate the merits of the individual books they'd read. Before long Elizabeth realized that she'd won the d ~ Judith McNaught

It is possible for a man to know whether God has called him or not, and he may know it too beyond a doubt. He may know it as surely as if he read it with his own eyes; nay, he may know it more surely than that, for if I read a thing with my eyes, even my eyes may deceived me, the testimony of sense may be false, but the testimony of the Spirit must be true. We have the witness of the Spirit within, bearing witness with our spirits that we are born of God. There is such a thing on earth as an infallible assurance of our election. Let a man once get that, and it will anoint his head with fresh oil, it will clothe him with the white garment of praise, and put the son of the angel into his mouth. Happy, happy man! who is fully assured of his interest in the covenant of grace, in the blood of atonement, and in the glories of heaven! Such men there are here this very day. Let them 'rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say rejoice.'

What would some of you give if you could arrive at this assurance? Mark, if you anxiously desire to know, you may know. If your heart pants to read its title clear it shall do so ere long. No man ever desired Christ in his heart with a living and longing desire, who did not find Him sooner or later. If thou hast a desire, God has given it thee. If thou pantest, and criest, and groanest after Christ, even this is His gift; bless Him for it. Thank Him for little grace, and ask Him for great grace. He has given thee hope, ask for faith; and wh ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

I desire you would remember the ladies, and be more generous and favourable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the husbands. Remember all men would be tyrants if they could ... that your sex are naturally tyrannical is a truth so thoroughly established as to admit of no dispute, but such of you as wish to be happy willingly give up the harsh title of master for the more tender and endearing one of friend. ~ Abigail Adams

What do you want, Mal?" The room seemed very quiet.
"Don't ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because it can't be."
"I want to hear it anyway."
He blew out a long breath. "Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina."
"No."
"You need an army. You need a crown."
"I do."
He laughed then. "I know I'm supposed to say something noble
I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again." He gave a rueful shake of his head. "But I guess I'm the same selfish ass I've always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man's name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can't give you a title or an army or any of the things you need. ~ Leigh Bardugo

If reading makes you smart then how come when you read a book they have to put the title of the book on the top of every single page? Does anyone get halfway through a book, What the hell am I reading? ~ Brian Regan

Adeline is Battered & Threatened

Not knowing the title of this bureaucrat, I addressed him incorrectly as Meine Herrschaften. With this silly fabricated title, I simply tried to explain to him that the corporal was a brave Frontsoldat. My efforts were in vain since he was intent on finding out the corporal's name, and my stalling only made matters worse. "What's his name?" he shouted again and again, this time hitting my breasts and punching me in the stomach, which caused me to vomit all over the floor. It didn't matter to him that my husband was a German soldier fighting for das Vaterland. He continued to beat me and threatened to put me into the terrible prison camp at Schirmeck. Having passed by there recently, the crying and moaning sounds from inside the gates of this prison were still very vivid in my mind. He reached for his telephone and said, "With one call you'll be there if you don't answer me!" "Please, I won't be able to live with myself if I'm the cause of an innocent person's death," I sobbed. I remember him saying, "I remember you! You're the woman from Bischoffsheim who helped with the kindergarten class and did the art work there. You have two little girls, don't you?" How could this man know so much about me? He continued his threats by saying that he would beat my little girls at 3 o'clock every afternoon in the Village center, until I gave him the names he wanted. I formed a mental image of this cruel act, however in spite of this, I firm ~ Hank Bracker

Title: Blue Light Lounge Sutra For The Performance Poets At Harold Park Hotel

the need gotta be
so deep words can't
answer simple questions
all night long notes
stumble off the tongue
& color the air indigo
so deep fragments of gut
& flesh cling to the song
you gotta get into it
so deep salt crystalizes on eyelashes
the need gotta be
so deep you can vomit up ghosts
& not feel broken
till you are no more
than a half ounce of gold
in painful brightness
you gotta get into it
blow that saxophone
so deep all the sex & dope in this world
can't erase your need
to howl against the sky
the need gotta be
so deep you can't
just wiggle your hips
& rise up out of it
chaos in the cosmos
modern man in the pepperpot
you gotta get hooked
into every hungry groove
so deep the bomb locked
in rust opens like a fist
into it into it so deep
rhythm is pre-memory
the need gotta be basic
animal need to see
& know the terror
we are made of honey
cause if you wanna dance
this boogie be ready
to let the devil use your head
for a drum ~ Yusef Komunyakaa

As an African American, I don't take myself too seriously that I can't poke fun at stereotypes that used to offend me. Despite the title of my book, I think many will be surprised if they actually read it to see what it's really about, and come away having been entertained. If that happens for only a few people, I will be proud to have put myself out there.

My challenge to all the nay-sayers is: HOW DARE YOU READ THIS! ~ L.V. Lewis

Brooke?"
I puff out a sigh. "For chrissake, Reid, who do you think it is? And haven't you put me into your contacts yet?"
"Yeah ... It just says Satan, though, and I forgot I'd assigned that title to you. ~ Tammara Webber

The Word 'Repulse': I hate this word. I believe 'repel' is a perfectly good word, and 'repulsion' is the noun, as well as the title of an excellent Dinosaur Jr. song. A compulsion compels you; an impulse impels you. Nobody ever says 'compulse' or 'impulse' as a verb. So why would you ever say 'repulse'? This word haunts me in my sleep, like a silver dagger dancing before my eyes. Renee looked it up and I was wrong. But I still kind of think I'm right. ~ Rob Sheffield

I want to give just a slight indication of the influence the book has had. I knew that George Orwell, in his second novel, A Clergyman's Daughter , published in 1935, had borrowed from Joyce for his nighttime scene in Trafalgar Square, where Deafie and Charlie and Snouter and Mr. Tallboys and The Kike and Mrs. Bendigo and the rest of the bums and losers keep up a barrage of song snatches, fractured prayers, curses, and crackpot reminiscences. But only on my most recent reading of Ulysses did I discover, in the middle of the long and intricate mock-Shakespeare scene at the National Library, the line 'Go to! You spent most of it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter.' So now I think Orwell quarried his title from there, too. ~ Christopher Hitchens

-BDB on the board-
Knitter's Anonimous
May 8, 2006
Rhage (in his bedroom posting in V's room on the board)
Hi, my name is V.
("Hi, V")
I've been knitting for 125 years now.
(*gasping noises*)
It's begun to impact my personal relationships: my brothers think I'm a nancy. It's begun to affect my health: I'm getting a callus on my forefinger and I find bits of yarn in all my pockets and I'm starting to smell like wool. I can't concentrate at work: I keep picturing all these lessers in Irish sweaters and thick socks.
(*sounds of sympathy*)
I've come seeking a community of people who, like me, are trying not to knit.
Can you help me?
(*We're with you*)
Thank you (*takes out hand-knitted hankie in pink*)
(*sniffles*)
("We embrace you, V")

Vishous (in the pit): Oh hell no...you did not just put that up. And nice spelling in the title. Man...you just have to roll up on me, don't you. I got four words for you, my brother.

Rhage: Four words? Okay...lemme see... Rhage, you're so sexy.
hmmm....
Rhage, you're SO smart. No wait! Rhage, you're SO right! That's it, isn't it...g'head. You can tell me.

Vishous: First one starts with a "P"
Use your head for the other three.
Bastard.

Rhage: P? Hmm... Please pass the yarn

Vishous: Payback is a bitch!

Rhage: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh
I'm so scuuuuuurred.
Can you whip me up a blanket to h ~ J.R. Ward

It's hard when you put a year of good work into something and someone at the top says no, and they pull your show's title off a bulletin board and chuck it in the trash. ~ Tyler Labine

Title 'Yikin heykellerimi'

->'Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me'

O nation
I am Kemal Mustafa
If my thoughts and beliefs are not of this day and age
If my wisdom isn't still the most authentic mentor
Then let my tongue cleave to the roof of my palate
I apoligize

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If freedom isn't still the supreme value
If you'd rather have slaves stay chained

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you see no sense in living a civilized life
If you want to be sent back in time to the middle ages and wish to put a crown on the head of a man who spits into the face of art

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If the pain of war violence was not enough
If peace at home, peace in the world has no meaning
If to be awarded requires an arms race

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you miss the fez and the veil and prefer to light the night
If you're still hoping to find healing from a dervish, a sheik or an amulet

Forget everything I said
Destroy and shatter the statues you have built of me

If you say women should not be equal to men and should be covered in black sheets ~ Suleyman Apaydin

I wrote a song called "Stinky Sodomite." It isn't a pop song, a historical song, or a song condemning homosexuality. Rather, it is a children's song that teaches them how to count. In fact, the only time the words "Stinky Sodomite" appear in the song is in the title. Other tracks on the educational CD include "The Ratio of Fellatio," "Thomas Jefferson's Johnson," and "It's Never Too Early to Ask Your Father About His First Erection. ~ Jarod Kintz

The source of love, as I learned later, is a curiosity which, combined with the inclination which nature is obliged to give us in order to preserve itself. […] Hence women make no mistake in taking such pains over their person and their clothing, for it is only by these that they can arouse a curiosity to read them in those whom nature at their birth declared worthy of something better than blindness. […] As time goes on a man who has loved many women, all of them beautiful, reaches the point of feeling curious about ugly women if they are new to him. He sees a painted woman. The paint is obvious to him, but it does not put him off. His passion, which has become a vice, is ready with the fraudulent title page. 'It is quite possible,' he tells himself, 'that the book is not as bad as all that; indeed, it may have no need of this absurd artifice.' He decides to scan it, he tries to turn over the pages - but no! the living book objects; it insists on being read properly, and the 'egnomaniac' becomes a victim of coquetry, the monstrous persecutor of all men who ply the trade of love.

You, Sir, who are a man of intelligence and have read these least twenty lines, which Apollo drew from my pen, permit me to tell you that if they fail to disillusion you, you are lost - that is, you will be the victim of the fair sex to the last moment of your life. If that prospect pleases you, I congratulate you ~ Giacomo Casanova

You are new here, so I will explain. In this land, nobility comes not from one's fathers or a title or from the land one owns, but from one's actions." His voice was hard-edged, and his words seemed harsh to her. "The MacKinnon brothers are the highest nobility to those who live on the frontier - true warriors, men who know how to fight and survive, men who put the lives of others before their own. Your family's wealth, your title, your virtue - they mean nothing out here. They won't fill your belly, and they won't keep you alive. What matters most right now is your survival. (Joseph to Lady Sarah) ~ Pamela Clare

It's funny: not only with the title of the album but also the song [It's Decided]. I kind of felt nostalgic. The beginning lyric is, "There's almost a sentimental feeling to another time," and when I got together with Kevin, he just absolutely, in his own fashion, just pushed me to go deeper than I usually would want people to know. That was the most difficult part for me was to bring someone in. ~ Andy Kim

There is much that is immortal in this medieval lady. The dragons have gone, and so have the knights, but still she lingers in our midst. She reigned in many an early Victorian castle, and was Queen of much early Victorian song. It is sweet to protect her in the intervals of business, sweet to pay her honour when she has cooked our dinner well. But alas! the creature grows degenerate. In her heart also there are springing up strange desires. She too is enamoured of heavy winds, and vast panoramas, and green expanses of the sea. She has marked the kingdom of this world, how full it is of wealth, and beauty, and war--a radiant crust, built around the central fires, spinning towards the receding heavens. Men, declaring that she inspires them to it, move joyfully over the surface, having the most delightful meetings with other men, happy, not because they are masculine, but because they are alive. Before the show breaks up she would like to drop the august title of the Eternal Woman, and go there as her transitory self. ~ E.M. Forster

So, I see we meet again." He offered a smile. Although he could clearly see from her rounded abdomen that she was expecting a baby, he couldn't keep from noticing once again that she was a lovely woman. "I have to say, we didn't officially meet," he continued, trying to put her at ease. "Unless of course you go by the title Frau Maple Syrup." "I'm Frau Werner. Annalisa Werner." "And I'm Carl Richards." He put his arm to his waist and bowed as if he were the grand duke and she a duchess. "I'm Gretchen." Annalisa's daughter let go of her oma and turned to him. "Ah, I was expecting something like Raindrop." He turned to the little girl and bowed to her. "But I like Gretchen much better. It's a lovely name for a princess. ~ Jody Hedlund

Princess Diana talking to Prince William about the loss of her title Her Royal Highness: She turned to William in her distress. She (Princess Diana) told me how he had sat with her one night when she was upset over the loss of HRH, put his arms around her and said: Don't worry, Mummy. I will give it back to you one day when I am king. ~ Paul Burrell

There's a lot of craft in songwriting. The divine inspiration is when the idea comes. It may be a riff. It may be a word. It may be a phrase. It may be a title. Sometimes, in the best of both worlds, that divine inspiration extends through the whole song. I've literally sat down and written a song from beginning to end, almost complete lyrics and everything without ever stopping ... in two minutes. The chorus of 'She's Gone' was like that.. ~ John Oates

Kessler depicts his developing intimacy with a handful of dairy goats and offers an enviable glimpse of the pastoral good life. Yet he also cautions, "Wherever the notion of paradise exists, so does the idea that it was lost. Paradise is always in the past." The title Goat Song is a literal rendering of the Greek word traghoudhia, tragedy. Reading it, I was reminded of Leo Marx's analysis of Thoreau's Walden. In The Machine in the Garden, Marx names Thoreau a tragic, if complex pastoralist. After failing to make an agrarian living raising beans for commercial trade (although his intent was always more allegorical than pecuniary), Thoreau ends Walden by replacing the pastoral idea where it originated: in literature. Paradise, Marx concludes, is not ultimately to be found at Walden Pond; it is to be found in the pages of Walden. ~ Heather Paxson

If you are going to make your mark among masters, you have to work far harder and more intensively, or, to put it more exactly, the work is far more complex than that needed to gain the title of Master. ~ Mikhail Botvinnik

I source images and ideas from different parts of my experiences, and sometimes they are things that are made-up, or just appear out of nowhere, like out of a dream or an image that I've seen in a book, or even the title of a book that I'm staring at on a shelf. It's a good way to write songs, just stare at a bookshelf! ~ Julia Stone

Shocked at this rebuke, Sarah took a step backward. "But I ... I am the daughter of a marquess. I cannot marry either - "
"You are new here, so I will explain. In this land, nobility comes not from one's fathers or a title or from the land one owns, but from one's actions." His voice was hard-edged, and his words seemed harsh to her. "The MacKinnon brothers are the highest nobility to those who live on the frontier - true warriors, men who know how to fight and survive, men who put the lives of others before their own. Your family's wealth, your title, your virtue - they mean nothing out here. They won't fill your belly, and they won't keep you alive. What matters most right now is your survival. ~ Pamela Clare

We must expose to the light of public inquiry those forces which would destroy our country and our way of life. We should pay no attention to the recommendations of men who call the Constitution an eighteenth-century agrarian document-who apologize for capitalism and free enterprise. We should refuse to follow their siren song of increasingly concentrating the powers of government in the chief executive, of delegating American sovereign authority to non-American institutions of the United Nations and pretending that it will bring peace to the world by turning our armed forces over to a United Nations worldwide police force. (Title of Liberty, p. 16.) ~ Ezra Taft Benson

"I could use the fresh air. I think that put my brain to sleep."
She pointed at the text as if it was a piece of rotten meat.
"Physics?" I said. "You must need a more advanced text."
"No, it's just boring."
I picked the book up and double checked the title, to make sure I hadn't misidentified the subject.
"Boring?" I said. "How can physics be ... ?"
I looked up to see she'd already left the room. Simon pointed at the text, grinned and faked a yawn.
"Hold on," I said, striding after her. "Physics is not boring. Maybe you just need me to explain it better. Chloe? Chloe!" ~ Kelley Armstrong

A joke is a joke, and people put too much meaning behind it. They react to it in the wrong way. I mean, you can boo or laugh, and that's pretty much what you're supposed to do with jokes. You're not supposed to take it any further than that. ~ Dave Attell

I have a bunch of information in my head that I'm not afraid to put in song or onto a canvas. Into any conversation. ~ John Mellencamp

My mistake was in underestimating the emotional force of a song you have already hear a thousand times. ~ Augusten Burroughs

I've seen it over the years, the more intellectual they are, the more work they don't want to do. You have to do both, you have to be able to put in the graft. ~ Bertie Ahern

If you don't put 99 percent of yourself into the writing, there will be no publishing career. There's the writer and there's the author. The author - you don't ever think about the author. Just think about the writer. So my advice would be, find a way to not care - easier said than done. Accept that the world may never notice this thing you worked so hard at. And instead, do it for it, find a job, find a way of living that gives you an hour or two or three a day to do it, and then work your ass off sending out, trying to get out there, but do not put the pressure on the work to do something for you. Because then you're going to be writing dishonestly and for the market instead of for the characters and your story. ~ Andre Dubus III

Idealistic? Ruddy stupid, if you'll pardon the language, miss,: Mr Roberts said. "All this talk about power for the people and down with the ruling classes and everyone should govern themselves. It can never happen, I told him. The ruling classes are born to rule. They know how to do it. You take a person like you or me and you put us up there to run a country and we'd make a ruddy mess of it. ~ Rhys Bowen

Men justify the women taking care of the kids and the house and holding down a job because, after all, men are the primary breadwinners in the family. But that's because we fucking pay women less! Men claiming superiority over women because men make more money than they do is like claiming you're stronger than a lion that you tranquilized and put in a cage. Sure, you're in a better spot now - but how 'bout you unchain the beast and see what happens? ~ Trae Crowder

SOCRATES: Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince us that we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.
THRASYMACHUS: And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convinced by what I have just said; what more can I do for you? Would you have me put the proof bodily into your souls? ~ Plato

God didnt put you on earth just to read about what others do. He made you TO DO some things others will want to read about! ~ Rick Warren

Gather Me


Scatter me into the digression of this noise
For, I hear not when my eyes are at peace.
I smother the audacity in my voice
Hiding behind a half-charred fleece;
Let me dwell with the fleeting score,
For, I breathe not when my heart is agog!
I strangle the remains of what you tore
Building the ruins of a deserted synagogue;
Then, gather me
From the compositions of a faded song,
From the reverberations of an unaided gong;
From the mirth of our spring sky,
From the waters where thirsts lie;
From the sleekness of white-rose petals,
From the shrieks of remorse bells;
From the digression of laughter beats,
From the silence of bloodied streets;
From the eyes of their precarious silence,
From there; thence, from there; thence,
Then, gather me. ~ Ashfaq Saraf