Far Cry 3 Dr Earnhardt Quotes

You are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself. ~ Veronica Roth

What were you thinking of just now?" he asked instead of answering my question. He walked over to the window, stood beside me and joined me looking out. We gazed across the Elbe River, marveling at the amazing and incredible beauty spread out before us in the glorious sunny early morning. Then he continued, "When we came and opened the door, your face was so intent on some sort of dream. Not a happy one I think," it was a very gentle tone, the loving nuances. I saw the look of longing in his eyes and my heart skipped a crazy beat.
I clasped my hand more firmly and gazed toward the view of the far line that marked the edge of the Elbe river of Hamburg Harbor. I was thinking about Hamburg," I told him. "Thinking about the escape they seem to offer."
"Escape?" he asked. "I would have said a prison, rather."
"That, too. It's a false escape of course. I was thinking about their dangers, too.
"Go on," he said.
Then I put my fancy into words. "I suppose I used to love the feeling of shutting out the world, of drawing a line of that water in the harbor around me and letting all the achingly familiar scenes stay outside the line. I started to cry. "It's been years, Adrian. I kept everything in my heart because that's what all was left; everything, absolutely everything. It's completely messed up and you have no idea, at all. I was left alone to mourn. ~ Bea C. Pilotin

My own walls caved. Tears trickled from the corner of my eyes.
Then strong arms enveloped me.
"Don't cry." Ben's hot breath on my cheek. "We'll find her. And the twins. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," I hiccupped. "People always do that."
"I mean it." Firmly spoken. "I won't let us fail. Not at this."
The sobs broke free. I burrowed into Ben's chest, letting everything go. I cried and cried and cried, unthinking, releasing a week's worth of pent-up emotion in a few hot seconds.
Ben held me, silent, softly rubbing my back.
A thought floated from somewhere far away.
This isn't so bad.
I pushed away, gently breaking Ben's embrace. Looked into his eyes. His face was a whisper from mine.
I thought of Ben's confession during the hurricane. How he'd wanted to be more than just packmates. Emotions swirled in my chest, making me dizzy. Off balance.
"Ben . . . I . . ."
"Tory?"
My father's voice sent us flying apart as if electroshocked.
Kit was descending the steps, an odd look on his face.
"Yes?" Discreetly wiping away tears.
I saw a thousand questions fill Kitt's eyes, but, thankfully, he kept them shelved.
"I hate to do this, kiddo, but Whitney's party starts in an hour. She's trying to be patient, but, frankly, that isn't her strong suit."
"No. Right." I stood, smoothing clothes and hair. "Mustn't keep the Duchess waiting."
Kit frowned. "Say the word, and we cancel right ~ Kathy Reichs

Corinthians 1:3-4 where it states how we are to comfort others in the same manner in which we were comforted. Put another way: the dirt that was meant to bury us can be used as soil to grow another. ~ Dr. Ronnie W. Goines

A Far Cry From Africa

A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt
Of Africa. Kikuyu, quick as flies,
Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt.
Corpses are scattered through a paradise.
Only the worm, colonel of carrion, cries:
"Waste no compassion on these separate dead!"
Statistics justify and scholars seize
The salients of colonial policy.
What is that to the white child hacked in bed?
To savages, expendable as Jews?

Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break
In a white dust of ibises whose cries
Have wheeled since civilization's dawn
From the parched river or beast-teeming plain.
The violence of beast on beast is read
As natural law, but upright man
Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain.
Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars
Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum,
While he calls courage still that native dread
Of the white peace contracted by the dead.

Again brutish necessity wipes its hands
Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again
A waste of our compassion, as with Spain,
The gorilla wrestles with the superman.
I who am poisoned with the blood of both,
Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
I who have cursed
The drunken officer of British rule, how choose
Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?
Betray them both, or give back what they give?
How can I face such slaughter and be cool ~ Derek Walcott

The whole notion of exemplary violence seemed to fire Lenin's imagination. On August 11, 1918 he wrote a letter to Bolshevik leaders in Penza that speaks volumes: Comrades! The kulak uprising must be crushed without pity ... An example must be made. 1) Hang (and I mean hang so that the people can see) not less than 100 known bloodsuckers. 2) Publish their names. 3) Take all their grain away from them ... Do this so that for hundreds of miles around the people can see, tremble, know and cry: they are killing and will go on killing the bloodsucking kulaks ... P.S. Find tougher people. ~ Niall Ferguson

A suffering world cries for mercy, as far as the eye can see. Lawyers around every bend in the road, lawyers in every tree. ~ Tom Paxton

Table 3/14 Levels of cholesterol in various European countries in relation to the index of mortality caused by heart disease. It is evident that there is no relation between both curves (source: WHO). ~ Dr. Dimitris Tsoukalas

The worse thing I have done in my life is Diary writing ... a wastage of time, wastage of papers filled with some imaginary feelings and bunch of silly activities done each day ... I cant feel any glimpse of appreciable work done by me, as whatever right I did, my Diary says " you were suppose to do it, so it was not a big deal ... huhhh ... "
I passed my last few nights in reading most of its pages ... "I laughed on the lines telling about my saddest moments and nights when I cried ... .. but I felt woeful and downhearted on the lines telling about the moments when I shared my smile with someone, when I enjoyed the moments with my friends and near and dear ones, who r far and far now, and we can't get those moments back in this busy selfish life"
So now its better in busy life to live evry day and forget it in night ... enjoy life ... save papers ... no diary writing from today ... Sorry Diary, You will Miss Me ... ~ Saket Assertive

Alvin didn't cry, didn't curse, didn't holler ... He was too far gone to roar on that day or even to crack. Only I did ... Only I cracked, alone, later in the one place in our house where I knew I could go to be apart from the living and all that they cannot not do. ~ Philip Roth

Without equivocation or hesitation I fully and completely admit that I deny the resurrection of Christ. This is something that anyone who knows me could tell you, and I am not afraid to say it publicly, no matter what some people may think ...
I deny the resurrection of Christ every time I do not serve at the feet of the oppressed, each day that I turn my back on the poor; I deny the resurrection of Christ when I close my ears to the cries of the downtrodden and lend my support to an unjust and corrupt system.
However there are moments when I affirm that resurrection, few and far between as they are. I affirm it when I stand up for those who are forced to live on their knees, when I speak for those who have had their tongues torn out, when I cry for those who have no more tears left to shed. ~ Peter Rollins

And without you is how I disappear,
And live my life alone forever now.
And without you is how I disappear,
And live my life alone forever now.

Who walks among the famous living dead,
Drowns all the boys and girls inside your bed.
And if you could talk to me,
Tell me if it's so,
That all the good girls go to heaven.
Well, heaven knows

That without you is how I disappear,
And live my life alone forever now.
And without you is how I disappear,
And live my life alone forever now.

Can you hear me cry out to you?
Words I thought I'd choke on figure out.
I'm really not so with you anymore.
I'm just a ghost,
So I can't hurt you anymore,


And now, you wanna see how far down I can sink?
Let me go, fuck!
So, you can, well now so, you can
I'm so far away from you.
Well now so, you can.

And without you is how I disappear,
And without you is how I disappear,
Whoa whoa... (And without you is how I disappear)
Whoa whoa... (And without you... is how, is how, is how...)
Forever, forever now!
~ Gerard Way

Isn't it strange that
in order to be happy
we have to ignore
all the sadness in the world
at that moment? That we
have to forget the ballooned
bellies of children that are dark
and empty inside. That not too far
from our homes, women sleep on
cardboard and are grateful for the
bitter wind because at least it's not
rain. That there are teenagers
taught to avoid eye contact
so their fingers are quicker on the trigger
but whose nightmares eventually compel them
to pull the trigger on themselves. That there
are battered dogs with skin taut like a drum,
ribs jutting out, their eyes so beautiful
it makes all the men cry.
Isn't it strange that in order to be happy
we have to unremember a lot of
what we already know?
Yet,
I still don't believe that sadness is our
natural disposition. Because there is
so much to be done. So many to help.
Maybe we aren't meant to be happy
in spite of all the sadness.
Maybe,
it is a call for us to help others
overcome it. ~ Kamand Kojouri

I think that frequently, many times in the beginning of our path as artists, we do have to deal with our upsets and our negativeness - in regard to, mostly, ourselves. We may be taking it out on our loved ones or people close to us, but really we're just mad at ourselves for not giving ourselves the time to devote to our inner development and doing the soul work through our art work. So there's a certain amount of working through that. You may have to cry, you may have to dance, you may have to get the energy moving in whatever way you can, and if you need to scream as you work that's as much of a prayer as the more refined kinds of artist's prayers. Sometimes it's a more direct kind of thing. You can scream in rage, you can scream your need for God, whatever's there for you. You've got to start where you're at. If you think that you can just start making spiritual art without addressing all the build-up of shadow material that you may be carrying around with you, and it's leaking out at the borders, then I don't think that's any good. You've got to be true. So wherever you're at, that's where you start.
And as far as the artist creating spiritual or visionary art, I think that it's obvious and important that the artist experience the transpersonal states prior to them trying to bring it out in their work, otherwise they're just doing imitative or derivative kind of work. It has to be from some authentic inner experience, and as long as you've had some experience of you ~ Alex Grey

I never cry at things outside of my head because they all seem so far away. ~ Neil Hilborn

I'm making a list of when it's acceptable for a pirate to cry. […] So far I've got: one - when holding a seagull covered in oil. Two - when singing a shanty that reminds him of orphans. Three - when confronted with the unremitting loneliness of the human condition. Four - chops. I've just written the word 'chops'. Not really sure where I was going with that one. Any ideas? ~ Gideon Defoe

John says if I don't pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.
But I don't want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother, only more so!
Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.
I don't feel as if it was worth while to turn my hand over for anything, and I'm getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
Of course I don't when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone. ~ Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Far out on the desert to the north dustspouts rose wobbling and augered the earth and some said they'd heard of pilgrims borne aloft like dervishes in those mindless coils to be dropped broken and bleeding upon the desert again and there perhaps to watch the thing that had destroyed them lurch onward like some drunken djinn and resolve itself once more into the elements from which it sprang. Out of that whirlwind no voice spoke and the pilgrim lying in his broken bones may cry out and in his anguish he may rage, but rage at what? And if the dried and blackened shell of him is found among the sands by travelers to come yet who can discover the engine of his ruin? ~ Cormac McCarthy

Have you ever been in a demon rumble before, Jenna?" I asked.
Hoisting her own demonglass dagger, she shook her head. "Nope. I have a feeling it's going to be super violent."
"Maybe we can talk to them," I said, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. "Have a little sit-down chat."
"With tea."
"Ooh, yeah, with the nice china, and those little sandwiches that don't have crusts."
Cal came to stand with us. Aislinn and Finley were getting to their feet, but I could tell they were far away from optimum Brannick strength. "I don't want to kill these kids," Cal said.
"Neither do I. But I don't want them to kill me, either."
"Not sure what we want is going to matter that much," Jenna said. I stared out into the trees, hearing my fate move closer.
And here's the thing: I knew I was supposed to be courageous. I was supposed to use my magic for as long as I could, and be all Braveheart about it. But I didn't want to. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hug my mom and dad again. I wanted to see Archer. And I wanted to know that I'd done more here than just delay Aislinn's and Finley's deaths by a few minutes.
So there was no stoic badass facing down the demon hordes. There was just a teenage girl with tears streaming down her face, her two best friends on either side of her, as all kinds of hellish creatures rushed forward. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Once you have established Your inner contact With your inner Pilot, Your life's transformation-victory Will not remain a far cry. ~ Sri Chinmoy

Tabitha to Val
Baby, open your eyes & look around. We're all damned in one way or another. But damned is a far cry from dead. And you live like you're dead ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

There was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.!
The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own talc again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him. ~ W.B. Yeats

I don't think you need a record deal to write songs. You don't need any other reason than you want to do it. It's a far cry from why some people do music today. They make it to order, which is pretty horrible. ~ Andy Taylor

Will protect you from your suffering. You can't cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It's just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal. Therapists and friends can help you along the way, but the healing - the genuine healing, the actual real-deal, down-on-your-knees-in-the-mud change - is entirely and absolutely up to you. ~ Cheryl Strayed

Right," said Fat Charlie conversationally. "You realize, of course, that this means war." It was the traditional war cry of a rabbit when pushed too far. ~ Neil Gaiman

Sing praises to the LORD, O you y his saints, and z give thanks to his holy name. [2] 5 a For his anger is but for a moment, and b his favor is for a lifetime. [3] c Weeping may tarry for the night, but d joy comes with the morning. 6. As for me, I said in my e prosperity, "I shall never be f moved." 7 By your favor, O LORD, you made my g mountain stand strong; you h hid your face; I was i dismayed. 8. To you, O LORD, I cry, and j to the Lord I plead for mercy: 9 "What profit is there in my death, [4] if I go down to the pit? [5] Will k the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness? 10 l Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me! O LORD, be my helper! ~ Anonymous

Tis a far cry from home for a poor lonely thing,
O'er the deeps and wild waters of seas,
Where you can't hear your dear mother's voice softly sing
Like a breeze gently stirring the trees.
Come home, little one, wander back here someday,
I'll watch for you, each evening and morn,
Through all the long season 'til I'm old and grey
As the frost on the hedges at dawn.
There's a lantern that shines in my window at night,
I have long kept it burning for you,
It glows through the dark, like a clear guiding light,
And I know someday you'll see it, too.
So hasten back, little one, or I will soon be gone,
No more to see your dear face,
But I know that I'll feel your tears fall one by one,
On the flowers o'er my resting place. ~ Brian Jacques

With Marlboro Man's strong hands massaging my tired shoulders, I walked in front of him down the narrow porch toward the driveway, where my dusty car awaited me. But before I could take the step down he stopped me, grabbing a belt loop on the back of my Anne Kleins, and pulling me back toward him with rapid--almost shocking--force.
"Woooo!" I exclaimed, startled at the jolt. My cry was so shrill, the coyotes answered back. I felt awkward. Marlboro Man moved in for the kill, pulling my back tightly against his chest and wrapping his arms slowly around my waist. As I rested my arms on top of his hands and leaned my head back toward his shoulder, he buried his face in my neck. Suddenly, September seemed entirely too far away. I had to have this man to myself 24/7, as soon as humanly possible.
"I can't wait to marry you," he whispered, each word sending a thousand shivers to my toes. I knew exactly what he meant. He wasn't talking about the wedding cake.
I was speechless, as usual. He had that effect on me. Because whatever he said, when it came to his feelings about me or his reflections on our relationship, made whatever I'd respond with sound ridiculously…lame…bumbling…awkward. If ever I said anything to him in return, it was something along the lines of "Yeah…me, too" or "I feel the same way" or the equally dumb "Aww, that's nice." So I'd learned to just soak up the moment and not try to match him…but to show him I felt the same way. This time was no different; ~ Ree Drummond

The slaves destroyed tirelessly. Like the peasants in the Jacquerie or the Luddite wreckers, they were seeking their salvation in the most obvious way, the destruction of what they knew was the cause of their sufferings; and if they destroyed much it was because they had suffered much. [...] Now that they held power they did as they had been taught. In the frenzy of the first encounters they killed all. Yet they spared the priests whom they feared and the surgeons who had been kind to them. They, whose women had undergone countless violations, violated all the women who fell into their hands, often on the bodies of their still bleeding husbands, fathers and brothers. "Vengeance ! Vengeance" was their war-cry, and one of them carried a white child on a pike as a standard.
And yet they were surprisingly moderate, then and afterwards, far more humane than their masters had been or would ever be to them. [...] Compared with what their masters had done to them in cold blood, what they did was negligible, and they were spurred on by the ferocity with which the whites in Le Cap treated all slave prisoners who fell into their hands. ~ C.L.R. James

I find every sect, as far as reason will help them, make use of it gladly: and where it fails them, they cry out, It is a matter of faith, and above reason. ~ John Locke