Ghost Wall Quotes

I shivered. Of course, that was the whole point of the re-enactment, that we ourselves became the ghosts, learning to walk the land as they walked it two thousand years ago, to tend our fire as they tended theirs and hope that some of their thoughts, their way of understanding the world, would follow the dance of muscle and bone. To do it properly, I thought, we would almost have to absent ourselves from ourselves, leaving our actions, our re-enactions, to those no longer there. Who are the ghosts again, us or our dead? Maybe they imagined us first, maybe we were conjured out of the deep past by other minds. ~ Sarah Moss

He bade the slave ships speed from coast to coast, Fanned by the wings of the Holy Ghost. ~ Robert G. Ingersoll

We Americans are reluctant to learn a foreign language of our own species, let alone another species. But imagine the possibilities. Imagine the access we would have to different perspectives, the things we might see through other eyes, the wisdom that surrounds us. We don't have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us. Imagine how much less lonely the world would be. ~ Robin Wall Kimmerer

Tucked inside the moments of this great sadness - this feeling of being punctured, scrambling and stricken - were also moments of the brightest, most swollen and logic shattering happiness I've ever experienced. One moment would be a wall of happiness so tall it could not be scaled; the next felt like falling into a pit of sadness that had no bottom. I realized you could not have one without the other, that this great capacity to love and be happy can be experienced only with this great risk of having happiness taken from you - to tremble, always, on the edge of loss. ~ Emily Rapp

His lips thinned in frustration like I should already know the answer. He inched closer until his knee touched mine, his eyes, curious and intense, boring into me. "Because you move like fire rushing across a floor," he said his voice hushed, velvety smooth, "like flames licking up a wall." The rest of the world crumbled away as he lifted my chin. "Your energy is liquid and hot. Even from a distance you burn, you scorch anyone who gets too close. You are wine on my tongue and honey in my veins, and I cannot get enough of you." He leaned forward and whispered into my ear. His warm breath sent shivers cascading over my body. "You intoxicate me, Lorelei McAlister. You will be my downfall. ~ Darynda Jones

Katie appeared as a ghost and cradled him in her arms and carried him, a frail dying version of her old husband, to heaven. The radio which was powered off suddenly comes on and played their song Follow Me. Nobody could see her only Ronan and he smiled and says "I knew you would come back for me love ~ Annette J. Dunlea

We're exploring the possibility of building a wall to stem the exodus."
"Don't be ridiculous," Goddard said. "Only idiots build walls. ~ Neal Shusterman

My room is a twittering gray box with a wall / there and there and there again. ~ Sylvia Plath

Look! A riddle! Time for fun!
Should we use a rope or gun?
Knives are sharp and gleam so pretty
Poison's slow, which is a pity
Fire is festive, drowning's slow
Hanging's a ropy way to go
A broken head, a nasty fall
A car colliding with a wall
Bombs make a very jolly noise
Such ways to punish naughty boys!
What shall we use? We can't decide.
Just like you cannot run or hide.
Ha ha.
Truly,
Devious ~ Maureen Johnson

Iwent to school with African-American girls during my entire adolescence in Michigan and never noticed them as potential girlfriends, never even wanted to meet them. How did that happen? I'm nine thousand miles from home and a pernicious wall of segregation I never noticed in high school suddenly materialises. A young man should travel. ~ Kenneth Cain

The nightmare takes various forms, comes in sleep, or in wakefulness, and can be pictured most simply like this: There is a blindfolded man standing with his back to the brick wall. He has been tortured nearly to death. Opposite him are six men with their rifles raised ready to shoot, commanded by a seventh, who has his hand raised, When he drops his hand, the shots will ring out, and the prisoner will fall dead. But suddenly there is something unexpected - yet not altogether unexpected, for the seventh has been listening all this while in case it happens. There is an outburst of shouting and fighting in the street outside. The six men look in query at their officer, the seventh. The officer stands waiting to see how the fighting outside will resolve itself. There is a shout: 'We have won!' At which the officer crosses the space to the wall, unties the bound man, and stands in his place. The man, hitherto bound, now binds the other. There is a moment, and this is the moment of horror in the nightmare, when they smile at each other: It is a brief, bitter, accepting smile. They are brothers in that smile. The smile holds a terrible truth that I want to evade. Because it cancels all creative emotion. The offer, the seventh, now stands blindfolded and waiting with his back to the wall. The former prisoner walks to the firing squad who are still standing with their weapons ready. He lifts his hand, then drops it. The shots ring out, and the body by the wall falls twitching. The si ~ Doris Lessing

I'm a conservative. I believe in the idea of freedom and liberty, but more importantly, look at my voting background. I voted against bailing out Wall Street. I voted against, never voted for, a tax increase. ~ Kevin McCarthy

Our field is the sky,
tilled by the sweat of motors,
in the face of night,
at the risk of our dreams
... . ... ... ... ...
Who lived there? Whose hands were pure?
Who glowed in the night,
A ghost to other ghosts?
Who lives down below? Who cries ... .
Who has lost the key to their house?
Who can't find their bed, who is sleeping
on the steps of the stairs? When morning comes, who will
dare interpret the silvery trace: look above me ... When the
water pushes the watermill wheel once again,
who will dare remember the night? ~ Ingeborg Bachmann

Not the torturer will scare me, nor the body's final fall, nor the barrels of death's rifles, nor the shadows on the wall, nor the night when to the ground the last dim star of pain, is hurled but the blind indifference of a merciless, unfeeling world. ~ Roger Waters

The first thing she noticed when the light popped on was that the wallpaper had rows and rows of tiny lilacs on it, like scratch-and-sniff paper, and the room actually smelled a little like lilacs. There was a four-poster bed against the wall, the torn, gauzy remnants of what had once been a canopy now hanging off the posts like maypoles. ~ Sarah Addison Allen

With the gift of the Holy Ghost comes the ability to develop a powerfully sensitive capacity to make the right choices. Cultivate that gift. As the Lord has said, that is accomplished by consistent, righteous living. As you enhance your capacity to sense the direction of that infallible influence, you will avoid disappointment, discouragement, and even tragedy. ~ Richard G. Scott

I told her about school and how I sat on a wall there and felt stories and words move through me ... ~ Markus Zusak

I suppose you could switch grammars once you've seen 'use strict subs'. ~ Larry Wall

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds. ~ Wislawa Symborsky

Nearly every time I strayed from the herd, I've made a lot of money. Wandering away from the action is the way to find the new action. ~ Jim Rogers

Can't you just go peek over the wall? Make sure she doesn't have a Trump sign on her lawn? ~ Jodi Picoult

Our brains resist change, they rail against it, our amygdala will always want the safe bet. But are the obstacles truly insurmountable? Is it a brick wall? Or is it a sliding door, which, once you decide to approach it, begins to swish open? Because even though our brains prefer safety in the short run, in the long run they crave meaning, challenge, and novelty. ~ Barbara Bradley Hagerty

Welcome to America, a Wall Street Corporation
Where the stockholders are rich and own this nation
Where cubicle preparation masquerades as education
And people of color are guilty by association. ~ Justin Wetch

The Night's Watch permitted the forest to come no closer than half a mile of the north face of the Wall. The thickets of ironwood and sentinel and oak that had once grown there had been harvested centuries ago, to create a broad swath of open ground through which no enemy could hope to pass unseen. ~ George R R Martin

So who is the real Jerry Falwell? Is he a rabid, hate-spewing fundamentalist? Or is he a dutiful family man, a talented preacher, and a competent administrator? Was John McCain right when he called Dr. Falwell an "agent of intolerance" during the 2000 presidential campaign? Or was the Wall Street Journal right when, in 1978, it described him as a "man of charm, drive, talent, and ambition"? Well, in a way, both are right. In fact, that's the overwhelming impression I get from the time I've spent watching Dr. Falwell this semester and talking to him this afternoon: he's a complex character, but he's not hiding anything. He may be a blundering, arch-conservative provocateur, and he may spew anti-gay venom more often than most people brush their teeth, but I honestly think he believes every word he preaches, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he really does stay awake at night worrying about the homosexual agenda, the evils of abortion, and the imminent spread of liberalism. He really does think America needs to be saved. ~ Kevin Roose

Going somewhere?" Tamlin asked. His voice was not entirely of this world.
I suppressed a shudder. "Midnight snack," I said, and I was keenly aware of every movement, every breath I took as I neared him.
His bare chest was painted with whorls of dark blue woad, and from the smudges in the paint, I knew exactly where he'd been touched. I tried not to notice that they descended past his muscled midriff.
I was about to pass him when he grabbed me, so fast that I didn't see anything until he had me pinned against the wall. The cookie dropped from my hand as he grasped my wrists. "I smelled you," he breathed, his painted chest rising and falling so close to mine. "I searched for you, and you weren't there."
He reeked of magic. When I looked into his eyes, remnants of power flickered there. No kindness, none of the wry humor and gentle reprimands. The Tamlin I knew was gone.
"Let go," I said as evenly as I could, but his claws punched out, imbedding in the wood above my hands. Still riding the magic, he was half-wild.
"You drove me mad," he growled, and the sound trembled down my neck, along my breasts until they ached. "I searched for you, and you weren't there. When I didn't find you," he said, bringing his face closer to mine, until we shared breath, "it made me pick another."
I couldn't escape. I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to.
"She asked me not to be gentle with her, either," he snarled, his teeth bright in the moonlight. He brough ~ Sarah J. Maas

Truth, holiness, joy, knowledge, love, these are all beams of the sacred light, but we cannot give them forth unless in private we receive oil from God the Holy Ghost. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Before he even knew it, Stitch's lips were on his, tongue forcing its way in, as Stitch's hands gripped the sides of Zak's face, like a physical reminder of how he'd held Zak in place during the blow job. When Stitch's body pushed on Zak's, he actually regretted not sleeping naked. The kiss was just too good. It sent trails of heat wandering all over Zak's skin. They made his lips tingle, and his throat ache again. He hardly even noticed when he melted into the wall behind him, gasping for breath. Stitch's tongue was hot and teasing, never leaving Zak's mouth, not letting him speak.
Stitch pulled one of his hands away, but before Zak knew it, it was on his hip, fingers already sliding under the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. Zak grasped his wrist, keeping it in place. He opened his eyes, looking straight into Stitch's. The display had been pretty convincing. "You're a good kisser. Way to go, using an asset like that," he uttered breathlessly against the soft lips. His cock was already stiffening from the close contact.
"So, do I get to fuck you now?" Stitch groaned and gave Zak's lips a quick lap. He didn't push his hand farther down Zak's pants, but he curled his fingers and scratched the side of Zak's buttock. Fucking charmer.
"We get to fuck, but only as long as you guarantee me you won't be lashing out or intimidating me again. That kind of shit's not on," growled Zak, trying to ignore the warm shivers racing all over his body. He needed to set boundar ~ K.A. Merikan

I take off my shirt, I show you.
I shaved the hair out under my arms.
I roll up my pants, I scraped off the hair
on my legs with a knife, getting white.

My hair is the color of chopped maples.
My eyes dark as beans cooked in the south.
(Coal fields in the moon on torn-up hills)

Skin polished as a Ming bowl
showing its blood cracks, its age, I have hundreds
of names for the snow, for this, all of them quiet.

In the night I come to you and it seems a shame
to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.

You recognize strangers,
think you lived through destruction.
You can't explain this night, my face, your memory.

You want to know what I know?
Your own hands are lying. ~ Carolyn Forche

Survival is like a stone wall, and kindness is a door. ~ Karen White

He built a tower to try and be closer to her and walled himself inside."
She stared at him for a moment as if waiting for something. "And?"
He glanced at her, puzzled. "And, what?"
She widened her eyes. "How does the story end? Did the sorcerer win his Moon Maiden?"
"Of course not," he said irritably. "She lived on the moon and was quite unattainable. I suppose he must've starved or pined away or fallen off the wall at some point. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt

A thing which has not been understood inevitably reappears; like an unlaid ghost, it cannot rest until the mystery has been resolved and the spell broken. ~ Sigmund Freud

In the end, He's the only reason that I made it. Sometimes that's the only thing we have. Whether you call it God, or hope, or faith -whatever word you use- the fact is, I couldn't have survived if I hadn't believed in something. It was the one part of me that neither Warren nor Allen could touch, and no matter what happens, as long as I have that, I've won. ~ Elissa Wall

You dare glamour me? he growled, his violet eyes burning as they bore into my own. Lucien just pressed me harder into the wall. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Information wants to be useful. ~ Larry Wall

Footsteps from the stairwell startle him out of the past. He turns around as Emma's mother takes the last step into the dining area, Emma right behind her.
Mrs. McIntosh glides over and puts her arm around him. The smile on her face is genuine, but Emma's smile is more like a straight line. And she's blushing.
"Galen, it's very nice to meet you," she says, ushering him into the kitchen. "Emma tells me you're taking her to the beach behind your house today. To swim?"
"Yes, ma'am." Her transformation makes him wary.
She smiles. "Well, good luck with getting her in the water. Since I'm a little pressed for time, I can't follow you over there, so I just need to see your driver's license while Emma runs outside to get your plate number."
Emma rolls her eyes as she shuffles through a drawer and pulls out a pen and paper. She slams the door behind her when she leaves, which shakes the dishes on the wall.
Galen nods, pulls out his wallet, and hands over the fake license. Mrs. McIntosh studies it and rummages through her purse until she produces a pen-which she uses to write on her hand. "Just need your license number in case we ever have any problems. But we're not going to have any problems, are we, Galen? Because you'll always have my daughter-my only daughter-home on time, isn't that right?"
He nods, then swallows. She holds out his license. When he accepts it, she grabs his wrist, pulling him close. She glances at the garage door and back to him ~ Anna Banks

If the dog could hum, he'd be singing "La-la-la!" in tune with his footsteps. Cough sauntered over to him. William pressed against the wall. No bullets. So far, so good. Cough clenched, and vomited something chunky onto the grass. Terrific. The big dog sat on his haunches and looked at William with a perplexed expression on his face. "Well, eat it back up," William hissed. "Don't waste it." Cough gave a tiny whine. "I'm not eating your puke." Cough panted at him. "No. ~ Ilona Andrews

The Marquis de Palancy, his head turned sideways on his craning neck, his great round eye glued to the glass of his monocle, moved slowly around in the transparent gloom and appeared no more to see the public in the stalls than a fish that drifts by, unaware of the crowd of curious visitors, behind the glass wall of an aquarium. Occasionally he paused, venerable, wheezy and moss-covered, and the onlooker could not have told whether he was unwell, asleep, swimming, spawning or simply taking breath. ~ Marcel Proust

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense. ~ Robert Frost

It was warm and like the spring and I walked down the alleyway of trees, warmed from the sun on the wall, and found we still lived in the same house and that it all looked the same as when I had left it. ~ Ernest Hemingway,

The New York action painters want their pictures to jump off the walls and chase you down the street. ~ Mason Cooley

Mimba had been right about white people. The best thing was to treat them like ghosts and cannibals, not to be trusted. But sometimes, a white ghost would look at you straight on, with a full smile, eye to eye. The smile of the eye was the secret, Mimba had taught her. You had to be careful always, but every now and again you could act as though they had souls, too. Easter was one like that. ~ Anita Diamant

He is not a challenge, he is not a conquest. You were once that for him, back when he used to call you a little beast and defeated you handily, time and again. You got the feeling over time and then again that he didn't want to win, when he sparred with you. That was the motivation you needed. The opportunity presented itself; his weakness presented itself. You took it, you beat him, you got better, you stayed neck and neck. Just stay strong, was the first directive. Get stronger, was the next. Don't die, was the final, and that is where you remain. Daunting, to excel at a game that you must eventually lose. Unless you really are an angel. Unless he really is already a ghost. ~ Vee Hoffman

Milo carefully said nothing when Major de Coverley stepped into the mess hall with his fierce and austere dignity the day he returned and found his way blocked by a wall of officers waiting in line to sign loyalty oaths. At the far end of the food counter, a group of men who had arrived earlier were pledging allegiance to the flag, with trays of food balanced in one hand, in order to be allowed to take seats at the table. Already at the tables, a group that had arrived still earlier was singing 'The Star-Spangled Banner' in order that they might use the salt and pepper and ketchup there. ~ Joseph Heller

To be in exile is to have the things you love most in the world - the air you breathe, the earth you walk upon - taken from you. They exist on the other side of a wall - there and not - unaltered by time and circumstance, preserved in a perfect memory in a land of dreams. ~ Chanel Cleeton