Grisha Verse Quotes

You're wearing his symbol," he observed, his glance flicking to the little gold charm hanging at my neckline. "His symbol and his colour."
"They're just clothes."
Mal's lips twisted in a cynical smile, a smile so different from the one I knew and loved that I almost flinched. "You don't really believe that."
"What difference does it make what I wear?"
"The clothes, the jewels, even the way you look. He's all over you. ~ Leigh Bardugo

Did you tell him, Alina? Does the boy know how willing you were to give yourself to me? Did you tell him what I showed you in the dark?"
A wave of shame rushed through me and the glowing light faltered. The Darkling laughed. ~ Leigh Bardugo

If I lost focus for even a moment, she's smack me with her stick and say, "Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince? ~ Leigh Bardugo

Why do you waste all of your strenght fighting your true nauture? ~ Leigh Bardugo

I'm also Sturmhond, commander of the Volkvony, scourge of the True Sea.'
'Scourge?'
'Well, I'm vexing at the very least. ~ Leigh Bardugo

Oh to be my verse an answering gleam from higher radiance caught ~ Frances Ridley Havergal

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me;
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers,
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice
Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgement, in a fleshy tomb, am
Buried above ground. ~ William Cowper

I was born to travel and write verse. ~ Theophile Gautier

A great biography should, like the close of a great drama, leave behind it a feeling of serenity. We collect into a small bunch the flowers, the few flowers, which brought sweetness into a life, and present it as an offering to an accomplished destiny. It is the dying refrain of a completed song, the final verse of a finished poem. ~ Andre Maurois

...weaving his verbal wreaths, in prose and verse, of marvellous poison ivy. ~ Gore Vidal

He'll come around. He's just shy." "Maybe I should lie down on a table in the workroom and wait to see if he welds something to me." "I think that's the way most great love stories begin."
Bardugo, Leigh (2012-06-05). Shadow and Bone (The Grisha) (p. 190). Henry Holt and Co. (BYR). Kindle Edition. ~ Leigh Bardugo

"Who Remembers the Armenians?"

I remember them
and I ride the nightmare bus with them
each night
and my coffee, this morning
I'm drinking it with them

You, murderer -
Who remembers you? ~ Najwan Darwish

Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. ~ Anonymous

Freedom"

[Verse 1]
Hold on to me
Don't let me go
Who cares what they see?
Who cares what they know?
Your first name is Free
Last name is Dom
We choose to believe
In where we're from

[Chorus]
Man's red flower
It's in every living thing
Mind, use your power
Spirit, use your wings
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom

[Verse 2]
Hold on to me
Don't let me go
Killers need to eat
Don't let you lope
Your first name is King
Last name is Dom
We choose to believe
In everyone

[Chorus]
When a baby first breathes
When night sees sunrise
When the whale hunts in the sea
When man recognize us
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom
Freedom
Breathe in

[Verse 3]
We are from heat
The electric one
Does it shock you to see
He left us the sun?
Atoms in the air
Organisms in the sea
The son and, yes, man
Are made of the same things

[Outro]
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom ~ Pharrell Williams

I calculate the breadth of Steven's shoulders, now wider than mine;
watch him tear open the Blokus game he likes to play with me after school;
count the hours between now and Dad coming home to take over
and I am only a little afraid
of the night. ~ Stasia Ward Kehoe

I have never injured anybody with a mordant poem; my
verse contains charges against nobody. Ingenuous, I have
shunned wit steeped in venom
not a letter of mine is dipped
in poisonous jest. ~ Ovid

How stand I, then,
That have a father killed, a mother stained,
Excitements of my reason and my blood,
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth!
He exits. ~ William Shakespeare

All the modern verse plays, they're terrible; they're mostly about the poetry. It's more important that the play is first. ~ Denis Johnson

Okay, so he wasn't dreaming anymore, but did this fall into same song second verse? He would just have to play this out and see what happened. ~ Kindle Alexander

Dorian Fairchester Faddington IV was a promiscuous poetaster of whom even his best friends declared that he "went from bed to verse." Though he was sexually omnivorous and on occasion preferred camels, like nine out of ten doctors, ordinarily his taste ran to women. Hermione Fingerforth was a woman-or so she liked to assume-and whenever she ran into Dorian it was not long before their lips met in a succession of interesting poses.

"The skin is the largest organ of the body," she once nonchalantly remarked to him as they were sunbathing in the nude together on the terrace of her penthouse in Flatbush.

"Speak for yourself," he declared, leaping on top of her in a sudden paroxysm of passion.

"Out, out of my damned twat!" she yelled, pushing him away and shielding her much-vaunted virginity with a silver-foil sun reflector.

"I take it you want me to reflect on what I'm doing," he quipped.

"Jesus Christ," she said crossly, "men are only interested in women in spurts. ~ Erica Jong

neither for me honey nor the honey bee ~ Sappho

I always like to think that I make movies that are like Nirvana songs. They have a slow verse and then they pop into high gear and then they go back into slow and then they pop into high gear again. ~ James Gunn

I couldn't miss the irony, not as a forty-two-year-old native of the segregated South, still fighting to earn respect in the color-conscious world of American business. How often had my parents and grandparents, other family members and friends, and I myself been directed to the back door of a bus, a restaurant, or a theater because we were considered second class, even after paying a first-class price for service! But that night we were treated to courtesies that even President Nixon could not enjoy: entering through the lobby, approaching the front desk, quietly registering, and being assisted to our room by the highly trained wait staff. A familiar portion of a Bible verse came to mind. The last shall be first and the first last (Matt. 20:16). ~ John Barfield

The ... the one about Colin Eversea! I learned a new verse from a young lady at school. It's very funny and ... and ... bawdy. That last word was a reckless inspiration. She presented it almost defiantly. Lisbeth blinked as though she'd flicked water into her eyes. Lisbeth and Waterburn eyed her for a silent nonplussed instant. A finch peeped somewhere in the hedgerows. Apparently it wasn't a word anyone associated with her, or particularly wanted to associate with her, judging from the carefully bland expression on Waterburn's face. Next I'll try the word whore in a sentence, she thought wildly. ~ Julie Anne Long

Poetry is not an esoteric art cultivated by dreamy young men in open collars and with wispy beards. Its finest masters have always been men and women of outstanding energy and great, though by no means common, sense. Poetry is the most economical way of saying certain things that cannot be said in any other way. At its most intense it expresses better than other forms of literature whatever is left of us when we are not involved in instinct-following, surviving, competing, or problem-solving. Its major property is not, as some suppose, beauty. It is power. It is the most powerful form of communication. It does the most work per syllable, operating on a vast field - that of our emotions. It gains its efficiency from the use of certain levers - rhythm, music, rhyme, metaphor, and many more - for which other forms of communication are less well adapted. Some poetry, especially modern poetry, is difficult. But just as our ears have accustomed themselves to difficult music, so our understanding, if we are willing to make an effort, can accustom itself to the most condensed and superficially strange verse. At one time poetry was as democratic an art as the novel is nowadays. It can be so again, if we are willing to make it so. ~ Clifton Fadiman

Great thoughts in crude, unshapely verse set forth lose half their preciousness, and ever must, unless the diamond with its own rich dust be cut and polished, it seems little worth. ~ Thomas Bailey Aldrich

REQUIEM
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage. ~ Paul Engle

There are certain verses in the Quran which convey injunctions similar to the following: 'Kill them wherever you find them.' (2:191)
Referring to such verses, there are some who attempt to give the impression that Islam is a religion of war and violence. This is total untrue. Such verses relate in a restricted sense, to those who have unilaterally attacked the Muslims. The above verse does not convey the general command of Islam. (pp. 42-43) ~ Maulana Wahiduddin Khan

Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love never fails.
[1 Cor. 13:7 - 8] ~ Anonymous

Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren't chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway. ~ Leigh Bardugo

But there is one cool thing
about having a weirdo mother.
She works so hard at remembering
where she left herself
she doesn't have time
to work on me. ~ Linda Vigen Phillips

I could define poetry this way: it is that which is lost out of both prose and verse in translation. ~ Robert Frost

Be yourself.
You're
better than a bully
any day. ~ Kathryn Apel

Hamlet promised himself he'd throw down afterward, but I think perhaps when he said, "From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!" the limits of blank verse weakened his resolve somehow. If he'd been free to follow the dictates of his conscience rather than the pen of Shakespeare, perhaps he would have abandoned verse altogether, like me, and contented himself with this instead: "Bring it, muthafuckas. Bring it. ~ Kevin Hearne

Poets can't resist the dramatic pull of their lives and so inevitably write autobiographical verse. ~ John Barton

Oh to break loose like the chinook
salmon jumping and falling back,
nosing up to the impossible
stone and bone-crushing waterfall ...
Time to grub up and junk the year's
output, a dead wood of dry verse:
dim confession, coy revelation,
liftings, listless self-imitation,
whole days when I could hardly speak,
came pluming home unshaven, weak
and willing to read anyone
things done before and better done ... ~ Robert Lowell

I can work on a verse for a very long time before realising it's not any good and then, and only then, can I discard it. ~ Leonard Cohen

The dying swan, when years her temples pierce, In music-strains breathes out her life and verse, And, chanting her own dirge, tides on her wat'ry hearse. ~ Phineas Fletcher

Trolls have existed on this planet for as long as humans. This is what I was told and what I translated to Tub. The first mention of them in recorded history is from ninth-century Norway, when the nefarious creatures began showing up in song, verse, and bedtime stories to keep misbehaving children in line. According to Norse folklore, trolls are one of the Dark Beings, the purest embodiments of evil, and they scurried from between the toes of Ymir, the mythic six-headed Frost Giant whose murdered body became the universe in which we live; his bones became the mountains, his teeth boulders, and so forth. ~ Guillermo Del Toro

He stopped the flyers
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport. As weeds before
A vessel under sail, so men obeyed
And fell below his stem. His sword, Death's stamp,
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered
The mortal gate o' th' city, which he painted
With shunless destiny; aidless came off
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioles like a planet. Now all's his,
When by and by the dim of war gan pierce
His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit
Requickened what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he, where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting. ~ William Shakespeare

Sharper than any double-edged sword." A sword with two edges has no blunt side; it cuts both this way and that. The Word of God is edge all over. It is alive in every part, and in every part keen to cut the conscience and wound the heart. Depend on it: not a verse in the Bible is superfluous or a chapter that is useless. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Vitamin C is the world's best natural antibiotic, antiviral, antitoxin and antihistamine. This book's recurring emphasis on vitamin C might suggest that I am offering a song with only one verse. Not so. As English literature concentrates on Shakespeare, so orthomolecular (megavitamin) therapy concentrates on vitamin C. Let the greats be given their due. The importance of vitamin C cannot be overemphasised. ~ Andrew W. Saul

I am the fire," Crash whispered. "I am the darkness." It was a mantra, a prayer, the beginnings of a ritual, a ceremonial killing. He could see recognition on the bandit's face, the spasm of fear.
Crash never broke eye contact. "I am not Death," he finished the verse. "I am its vessel. ~ T.L. Shreffler

We strove for a name,
while the light of the lamps burnt thin
and the outer dawn came in,
a ghost, the last at the feast
or the first,
to sit within
with the two that remained
to quibble in flowers and verse
over a girl's name. ~ H.D.

Let not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone,
Which three till now, never kept seat in one. ~ William Shakespeare

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more. ~ Edgar Allan Poe

The happiest lot on earth is to be born a Scotchman. You must pay for it in many ways, as for all other advantages on earth. You have to learn the paraphrases and the shorter catechism; you generally take to drink; your youth is a time of louder war against society, of more outcry and tears and turmoil, than if you had been born, for instance, in England. But somehow life is warmer and closer; the hearth burns more redly; the lights of home shine softer on the rainy street; the very names, endeared in verse and music, cling nearer round our hearts. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

A midst deceit I found the truth;
there in the rough I found a diamond.
And from the moment we met,
I think of no one else
Today I choose to be, to live and breathe;
to dream, to weep, and to sing in free verse.
And you, the object of my delight:
a like-minded opposite I am myself with,
a mind-fuck times six, seven, eight thousand and three.
I know that you love me with every inch of your deep. ~ Donato DiCristino

THE DANCE OF ANGELS

Suzy Kassem

He spins and spins and spins
To remove all three layers of him
And with devout discipline
He spirals to ignite the light within.
He becomes a part
Of the solar system
And spirals to its cosmic hymn.
His soul transcends through
The mouth of God
To join the source
Of everything.

He turns and turns and turns
To open up windows to the universe
And with each circle of love he twirls
The love in his heart
Radiates and bursts.
His thirst for a meeting with the divine
Has been his only quest since birth,
And while rotating like the hand of time
He sings the 'AH' of an angel's verse.
As he turns and turns and turns
A million emotions and vibrations submerge
A luminous spectacle worth a million candles,
The Sufi dancer is poetry without
Words.


THE DANCE OF ANGELS by Suzy Kassem ~ Suzy Kassem

I assure you, my children, that when a Christian carries out with love the most insignificant everyday action, that action overflows with the transcendence of God. That is why I have told you so often, and hammered away at it, that the Christian vocation consists in making heroic verse out of the prose of each day. Heaven and earth seem to merge, my children, on the horizon. But where they really meet is in your hearts, when you sanctify your everyday lives ... ~ Josemaria Escriva

I never even considered writing a career option. I just liked the play of words. I was certainly interested in story, but the stories I was telling then were in narrative verse and prose poems, short and succinct, except for one novel-length poem written in narrative couplets. ~ Charles De Lint

Thought must be hidden in the verse like nutritional virtue in a fruit. ~ Paul Valery

The round, unformed script on the fly-leaf said, Francis Crawford of Lymond. She stared at it; then put it down and picked up another. The writing in this one was older; the neat level hand she had seen once before, in Stamboul. This time it said only, The Master of Culter.

That dated it after the death of his father, when until the birth of Richard's son Kevin, the heir's rank and title were Lymond's. And all the books were his, too. She scanned them: some works in English; others in Latin and Greek, French, Italian and Spanish.… Prose and verse. The classics, pressed together with folios on the sciences, theology, history; bawdy epistles and dramas; books on war and philosophy; the great legends. Sheets and volumes and manuscripts of unprinted music. Erasmus and St Augustine, Cicero, Terence and Ptolemy, Froissart and Barbour and Dunbar; Machiavelli and Rabelais, Bude and Bellenden, Aristotle and Copernicus, Duns Scotus and Seneca.

Gathered over the years; added to on infrequent visits; the evidence of one man's eclectic taste. And if one studied it, the private labyrinth, book upon book, from which the child Francis Crawford had emerged, contained, formidable, decorative as his deliberate writing, as the Master of Culter. ~ Dorothy Dunnett