Hacker Voice I M In Quotes

JOHN: you hacked my dad's wallet?? ~ Andrew Hussie

And how will this come to pass?' He paused and lowered his voice. ' In the same way all change comes to pass, I fear, And I am sorry it is so. It will come to pass by violence and upheaval, by flame and by fury, for no change comes calmly over the world. ~ Walter M. Miller Jr.

A new voice haild me of an old friend when, first returned from the Peninsula, I paced again in that long street of Damascus which is called Straight; and suddenly taking me wondering by the hand, 'Tell me (said he), since thou art here again in the peace and assurance of Ullah, and whilst we walk, as in the former years, toward the new blossoming orchards, full of the sweet spring as the garden of God, what moved thee, or how couldst thou take such journeys into the fanatic Arabia? ~ Charles M. Doughty

I can only imagine what goes on in that head of yours ... " he teased. "I assure you I haven't taken up black magic, ritualistic sacrifice, or - "
"Plushophilia?" I tagged on.
"Excuse me? ... " came his half-confused, half-intrigued reaction.
"An obsession with stuffed animals," I clarified. "I mean, you are a young one ... "
"Where did you come up with that?" He kept his hands firmly covering my eyes, but I could hear the amused smile in his voice. "Is that even a real word?"
"I'm a doctor, I know these things," I shrugged. ~ M.A. George

In Memory of M. B.

Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,
not sticks of burning incense.
You lived aloof, maintaining to the end
your magnificent disdain.
You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,
and suffocated inside stifling walls.
Alone you let the terrible stranger in,
and stayed with her alone.
Now you're gone, and nobody says a word
about your troubled and exalted life.
Only my voice, like a flute, will mourn
at your dumb funeral feast.
Oh, who would have dared believe that half-crazed I,
I, sick with grief for the buried past,
I, smoldering on a slow fire,
having lost everything and forgotten all,
would be fated to commemorate a man
so full of strength and will and bright inventions,
who only yesterday it seems, chatted with me,
hiding the tremor of his mortal pain. ~ Anna Akhmatova

You know,ever since I saw you in the bar that afternoon, I've been fantasizing about doing something."
"Doing what?" His voice was soft.
"This."I moved so that we were face to face. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and then I was leaning forward so that our mouths touched for the first time.
His eyes had darkened to the color of a summer night's sky, that almost-purple shade right before the stars came out. His lips curved up into a wicked smile that made things in my stomach tighten.
"What a coincidence. I've been thinking the exact same thing. ~ M.S. Parker

Hi, name's Ran." The werewolf smiled, hand extended.
Silence.
Ran mimicked the knight's deep voice, while pretending to shake an invisible hand. "Hi, I'm the Amyntor."
More silence.
"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you," the werewolf said in his own voice. "No, the pleasure's all mine," he said in Atlas's voice.
After yet more silence, Ran coughed into his fist before turning to look down the line at Aaron. "I see where you get your sense of humor from. ~ M.A. Wilder

Dear friends, I want you to hear this: what is said of Jesus is said of you. I know this can be hard to affirm. You are the beloved daughter or son of God. Can you believe it? Can you hear it not only in your head through your physical ears but in your gut, hear it so that your whole life can be turned around? Go to the scriptures and read: "I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have written your name in the palm of my hand from all eternity. I have molded you in the depths of the earth and knitted you in your mother's womb. I love you. I embrace you. You are mine and I am yours and you belong to me." You have to hear this, because if you can hear this divine voice speak to you from all eternity, then your life will become more and more the life of the beloved, because that is who you are. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

She got fired?" Confusion laced Gavin's voice. "When?"
"This morning," Dante muttered.
"Why?" Gavin asked. "What did she do?"
"Me," Dante said.
"Oh." A moment of silence passed before Gavin broke out into laughter. "Ah man, really? She lost her job for fucking around with you?"
"I don't see why that's so funny."
"Because," Gavin said, "you're the worst consolation prize ever."
Dante shot right back up, and Matty barely had enough time to move out of the way before the bottle of water hurled by him, hitting Gavin in the chest. ~ J.M. Darhower

Or else I may do something I'm pretty sure you'll hate me for in the mornin'." The low huskiness of his voice washed over her like a heated caress, sending shivers down her spine, and obliterating whatever defenses she'd manage to build against him. ~ J.M. Stewart

Braden! How the hell are ya?!" said the guy with the teeth, grabbing Braden's hand and pumping it up and down almost frantically. He looked like a demented Ken doll.

"You're looking quite dashing tonight, Braden," said the cold-looking woman in an even colder voice. "Isn't he, Felicity?" she asked the sullen young woman. I had never seen a more inappropriately named person in my life. She would have made Wednesday Addams look like Doris Day. ~ N.M. Silber

Up or down from the infinite C E N T E R
B R I M M I N G at the winking rim of time
the voice in my head said
LOVE IS THE DISTANCE
BETWEEN YOU AND WHAT YOU LOVE ~ Frank Bidart

I kept running around it in large or small circles, always looking for someone or something able to convince me of my Belovedness.
Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the "Beloved". Being the Beloved expresses the core truth of our existence. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

There, I saw Adam messing around with a container of tic tacs. I had found the source of the cinnamon taste of his kisses. He looked up.

"Want one?" he offered.

"Sure, thanks," I replied. He proceeded to knock exactly one tic tac into his palm and hand it to me. "Are you sure you can spare this?" I asked solemnly.

"How many did you want?"

"Well, more than one. Who gives somebody one tic tac? Would it kill to be a little more generous? some psychologist somewhere probably has some theory about one tic tac givers and fear of commitment."

"Fear of commitment, my ass. You should be committed, you loon. If you were intended to have more than one tic tac, they would have just made tic tacs bigger. This is regulation sized tic tac, and it should be more than enough to satisfy your breath freshening needs," he said, sounding affronted.

"A tic tac is not merely a breath freshener, it is a candy," I pointed out, voice rising in anger. Who was he calling a loon? "And they make them small on purpose, so you'll think you're getting more, and so you'll run out faster when someone asks for one, and you will give them a few!"

"Why would someone ask for A tic tac when they really wanted several tic tacs? What does that say about their psychology?! Why not be honest from the get-go about what you want?!" he shouted back at me.

" I didn't ask for one! You offered me one, God damn it!"

"And as fo ~ N.M. Silber

A word of advice. Don't take up that sentimental attitude over the poor. See that she doesn't, Margaret. The poor are poor, and one's sorry for them, but there it is. As civilisation moves forward, the shoe is bound to pinch in places, and it's absurd to pretend that any one is responsible personally. Neither you, nor I, nor my informant, nor the man who informed him, nor the directors of the Porphyrion, are to blame for this clerk's loss of salary. It's just the shoe pinching - no one can help it; and it might easily have been worse."

Helen quivered with indignation.

"By all means subscribe to charities - subscribe to them largely - but don't get carried away by absurd schemes of Social Reform. I see a good deal behind the scenes, and you can take it from me that there is no Social Question - except for a few journalists who try to get a living out of the phrase. There are just rich and poor, as there always have been and always will be. Point me out a time when men have been equal - "

"I didn't say - "

"Point me out a time when desire for equality has made them happier. No, no. You can't. There always have been rich and poor. I'm no fatalist. Heaven forbid! But our civilisation is moulded by great impersonal forces" (his voice grew complacent; it always did when he eliminated the personal), "and there always will be rich and poor. You can't deny it" (and now it was a respectful voice) - "and you can't deny that, in spite of all, t ~ E.M. Forster

My turn?" asks the blond from behind me. "Didn't you say she deserved a good spanking for her recent misdemeanours Mike?"
His voice has taken on a husky, carnal quality since our introduction at the bench, and I suspect there is another hard cock waiting for me. I struggle impatiently at the thought.
"Absolutely Niall," Mike replies, "but not here. I want her punished in public, to make sure she remembers the lesson. Sean, pull in at the next layby will you ... ~ Felicity Brandon

I knew you were all smitten and shit, but fuck, you really do love this guy." The smirk in Darren's voice was obvious. And annoying. "Aw, come on, admit it - you feel like Cinderella, don't you?"
"No, Darren, I don't. And do you know why?"
"No sugar, tell me why."
"Because I'm a man. I've got a big fat one and I like to fuck other guys." Darren was laughing over the phone now, and it made Reece grin. "And Ben isn't a prince, he's a cop. A big, sexy cop who fucks like a machine. He's a man. I'm a man. We're men." He nodded sharply. "Now fuck off. I'm arranging flowers. ~ L.A. Gilbert

What I want is to tie you up and blindfold you and make you learn my touch, so you can't come with anyone else touching you, can't sleep in the dark without remembering my hand on you." Javier's voice drops even further, hushed, secret, only between them. "What I want is to ruin you for anyone else, shape you into something only my hands can hold. ~ Dominique Frost

The word is dissociate. There is no 'a' before the 'ss'. People invariably say dis-a-ssociate, which, if you're suffering Disso-ciative Identity Disorder/Multiple Personality Disorder, can be irritating. People then want to know how many personalities I have and the answer is: I don't know. The first book about Multiple Personality Disorder to make an impact was Flora Rheta Schreiber's Sybil, published in 1973, which carries the subtitle: The True and Extraordinary Story of a Woman Possessed by Sixteen Separate Personalities. Corbett H. Thigpen and Hervey M. Cleckley published the controversial The Three Faces of Eve much earlier in 1957, and Pete Townshend from The Who wrote the song 'Four Faces'. People seem to feel safe with numbers.
The truth is more complicated. The kids emerged over time. Billy, the boisterous five-year-old, was at first the most dominant. But he slowly stood aside for JJ, the self-confident ten-year-old who appears when Alice is under stress and handles complicated situations like travelling on the Underground and meeting new people. The first entity to visit was the external voice of the Professor. But he had a choir of accomplices without names. So, how many actual alter personalities are there? I would say more than fifteen and less than thirty, a combination of protectors, persecutors and friends - my own family tree. ~ Alice Jamieson

Baby, I'm sorry," he said dropping his forehead to mine in a rare moment of vulnerability. His voice was rough and shaky. "Help me. Please. I don't know what I'm doing here."
"What are you trying to do?" I asked.
He raised up, just enough to look me in the eye. "I'm trying to love you. ~ T.M. Frazier

Silvanus, the camp prefect, took a step forward. I heard his voice every morning after parade, but had never listened to the tones of it as I did now. He was not afraid, that much was clear; he was angry.
"Pathetic. I should cashier you all now and destroy your Eagles." Silvanus spoke quietly; we had to strain to hear his voice. You could have heard the stars slide across the sky, we were so still and so silent. "If General Corbulo were here, he would destroy you. He dismissed half of the Fifth and the Tenth and sent them home. The rest are billeted in tents in the Armenian highlands with barley meal for fodder. He intends to make an army of them, to meet Vologases when he comes. I intend the same and therefore you will be treated the same as your betters in better legions. You will be proficient by the spring, or you will be dead." His gaze raked us, and we wondered which of us might die that night for the crime of being ineffectual. His voice rocked us. "To that end, you will spend the next three months in tents in the Mountains of the Hawk that lie between us and the sea. One hundred paces above the snow line, each century will determine an area suitable for three months' stay and build its own base camp. You will alternate along the mountains' length so that each century of the Fourth has a century of the Twelfth to either side, and vice versa. Each century will defend and maintain its own stocks against the men of the opposing legion; you are encouraged to avail you ~ M.C. Scott

I was the first and only person in my family to go to university, and I spent two decades redesigning myself: even my voice is the product of elocution lessons. ~ M. J. Hyland

Stil snorted. "I am not in love with Angelique. I'm in love with you," he said, scooting closer.

Gemma pushed her chair away.
"Well, that's not proper."

"Why not?" Stil asked, butting his chair up against Gemma's.

"Because of the age difference."

"Age difference?"

"Of course. Surely you can't be a day younger than fifty or sixty," Gemma said in surprise.

Stil's jaw dropped.

"You think I'm an OLD MAN?!" Stil thundered.

"Most magic users are not the age they physically appear to be," Gemma said."And it is well known that they age much more slowly."

"You think I'm an OLD MAN?!" he repeated, his voice even louder.

"I'm not even twenty-five yet, you mean-spirited mule, and my clothes are fashionable among mages!" Stil said.

"This whole time you've thought I am OLD?"

"I get the impression that offends you."

"IT DOES."

Gemma only lifted her eyebrows.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" Stil asked.

"For what?"

"For thinking I'm OLD!"

Gemma shrugged. "It seems you have only yourself to blame for that misunderstanding."

Stil glowered ~ K.M. Shea

When I saw him at the cemetry. I didn't even realize I was walking toward him until I was standing in front of him. It was like beging pulled by a string he was controlling. Luring me right to him. Then when we spoke, I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice... he loves me. And not in the 'I love you, I love you,too' kind of way. It's in the 'You're are my person, my lobster, my everything,' and that alone tells me that what we had was true. ~ M. Robinson

He pushes in then, slowly, deeply, stroking a chord inside of me. My breath hitches. Oh God.
"I love that sound," he whispers, his voice gritty. "It's the best music in the world."
I wrap my arms around him. "Maybe that should be your ringtone, then."
He laughs, his face nuzzled into my neck. "That wouldn't work."
"Why?"
"Because others would hear it. That sound belongs only to my ears. ~ J.M. Darhower

As a producer, I like to bring in unexpected voices, unexpected musicians, like Watt and Joey Spampinato of NRBQ. ~ M. Ward

The other day I found this statement in a book. 'Her voice would have made the multiplication table charming!' I thought of it when I heard yours. I didn't believe it before, but I do now. ~ L.M. Montgomery

A figure held his daughter in the rocker. In the dim light he couldn't make out the features, but the sight of anyone he didn't know sitting in Wendy's rocker with their daughter was enough to scare the shit out of him. Judging by the shuddering movements of his daughter's body it had frightened her too, had caused her to mewl. He wanted to charge forward and reclaim his daughter, but he didn't know what would happen if he acted so quickly. What would he do if it hurt her? What would he do if it killed her? "What-what do you want? I'll do anything just don't take my daughter. She's…all I have left."

The figure stopped rocking and slowly eased its way to its feet. There's not much light in the room but as it moved closer to the bed and it settled the baby in her crib, he saw just enough of her face in the moonlight.

"Wendy?" His voice is as full of horror as it is with awe. He can't help but be horrified at the sight of her now, the way that death has changed her, making her a terrible figure indeed. Her eyes are strange; some depth, some dark and terrible nothing has swallowed up all of her light, and in this first moment he swears he can feel the awful cold of that operating room coming off of her flesh. She is so small and so hard to look at, as if his mind can't quite focus on her form. Through the bars of the crib he can see her anger and hear the terrible, alien sound of her hiss. "What do you want?"
She doesn't answer him, staring cold and bla ~ Amanda M. Lyons

When I was done raking and bagging, I banged on the door and demanded entry /...let me in by the hair on your chinny, chin-chin/ (a fairytale moment there) Dick opened it and in his posthest voice, said that before he could possibly consider letting me re-cross the threshold he needed to ask me whether I was a good f*cking fairy or a bad f*cking fairy? Grinning, I told him that I was very wicked fairy and if he had a wand about his person that I could have lend of, I would prove it. He said that was the right answer and promptly yanked me inside where he located and presented me with his wand, breathily ordering the sorcerer's apprentice to perform magic with it. Judging by the look on his face afterwards, I knew I'd impressed him with my oral sorcery and I was more than happy with the short-lifting sorcery Shane performed on me as the same time. ~ Gillibran Brown

The others saw him as he stumbled down the stairs, bleeding from nose and ears and eyes an mouth. The sheathed form of the Sword lay across his palms. He met their eyes, and choked out:

"Remember. Remember, all of you."

Mathilda's voice was infinitely gentle. "Remember what?"

"That I was a man, before I was King. Remember for me, when I forget.

His hand closed on the black double-lobed hilt, and the moonfire in the opal glowed. He drew the Sword, thrust it high.

And screamed as pain beyond all bearing ripped through him like white fire, turning his body to a thing of ash smoke.

He screamed, and knew. ~ S.M. Stirling

Mme Verdurin asked him: "Did you have some of my orangeade?" Whereupon M. de Charlus, with a gracious smile, in a crystalline tone which he rarely adopted, and with endless simperings and wrigglings of the hips, replied: "No, I preferred its neighbour, which is strawberry-juice, I think. It's delicious."[ ... ]But on hearing M. de Charlus say, in that shrill voice and with that smile and those gestures, "No, I preferred its neighbour, the strawberry-juice," one could say: "Ah, he likes the stronger sex,"[ ... ] ~ Marcel Proust

What are you so afraid of?"
"Nothing!" He yelled so fiercely that a pair of oxen grazing in a nearby field snorted and moved farther away from us. It was the first time I ever saw fire in Milo's eyes. "I'm no coward. That's not why I wouldn't go with your brothers. I have to go with you."
"Who said so? You're free now, Milo. Don't you know what that means? You can come and go anywhere you like. You ought to appreciate it."
"I appreciate you, Lady Helen!" Once Milo raised his voice, he couldn't stop. He shouted so loudly that the two oxen trotted to the far side of the pasture as fast as they could move their massive bodies. "You're the one who gave me my freedom. If I love to be fifty, I'll never be able to repay you! ~ Esther M. Friesner

The hit-woman opened the door. No dead body on the floor. Thank God.
I heard an unearthly roar and then Jordan charged Liz from where she'd been hiding beside the door. She tackled her to the floor and stabbed her through the wrist with a small switchblade. The hit-woman shrieked and let go of the gun, allowing Jordan precious seconds to bat it across the room. She landed a couple hard punches to the assassin's nose, bloodying it, before the other woman got the upper hand.
She grabbed a handful of Jordan's ponytail and slammed her head into the edge of the coffee table. Jordan cried out, but didn't let go of the knife. She withdrew it and held it against the assassin's throat, shouting, "Move again and I'll kill you, puta!"
Liz panted madly, but stayed put. Jordan glanced up at me. "You okay?"
"Alive," I said through a grimace. "Not okay."
"Good enough." She returned her gaze to the woman pinned beneath her and glared.
"The police are on their way. And not the nice, human police. Angels. Get any ideas about trying to kill me again and you won't even get to deal with them."
"I've been in jail before," Liz said, attempting to recapture her former arrogance. "I'll get over it."
Jordan leaned down a few inches, lowering her voice. "Really? How'd you like to return without your tongue?"
Liz's eyes went wide, as did mine. "You wouldn't dare."
"You shot my best friend. Multiple times. Lex talionis."
"You can't kill me. You're n ~ Kyoko M.

They have chosen to worship power and strength, Cerisia," Allystaire said, softening his voice somewhat. "I will pay them in the wages they deserve. ~ Daniel M. Ford

Do you really think I've been murdered?" Michael's voice was soft, but I still heard it from across the bedroom. He stood in the doorway with a rather solemn expression. Words failed me. Would he really want to hear the answer? If it were me, would I want to know if someone killed me? Maybe.
I took a deep breath. "I'll be honest with you. It doesn't look good. The fact that no one knows you're dead yet makes me worry that your death might have been intentional."
I stepped closer to him, staring all the way up into his face. "But if you want the truth, I don't think the reason you died was your fault. You're a pain in the ass, but you're a good guy. I'm sorry this happened to you."
He gazed at me for a handful of seconds before nodding and his hair slid forward into his eyes. For some reason, it was the first time Michael seemed human. He was always so amiable and confident that seeing him be vulnerable felt odd.
"Thank you."
"Come on. Let's go find some answers. ~ Kyoko M.

I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don't lock myself up in my dressing-room with men's voices. ~ Gaston Leroux

I knew you read the Symposium in the vac," he said in a low voice.
Maurice felt uneasy.
"Then you understand - without me saying more - "
"How do you mean?"
Durham could not wait. People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, "I love you. ~ E. M. Forster

I threw the carving of my goddess as high and far as I could, into the sky above the waves, and watched its arcing path through the air. As it fell, I saw a golden shape come diving toward the plummeting image, a huge eagle that seized the monster's tooth in his talons. The feathers on his breast skimmed the sea before he soared back into the sky and flew away.
"Did you see that, La--Glaucus?" Milo's voice sounded in my ear. He'd woken from his nap and come up behind me unexpectedly. I almost jumped overboard with surprise. "It's a good sign, isn't it? Or is it predicting that something's waiting to snatch us away? If that's so, I swear I won't let it touch you. But is it a good sign after all? Ah, what does it mean?"
"You worry too much, Milo," I said as if I had no such worries of my own. "If every hero stopped to think about all the what-ifs in his path, none of us would ever take one step beyond our own doorways."
"But you saw what it did," Milo protested. "The eagle is Lord Zeus's bird. We can't just ignore it. Ah, what does it mean?"
"What it means," I said, smiling, "is that you and I have just seen either the world's most unmistakable omen or the world's most nearsighted eagle." May the gods stand by us, I thought as I laughed and Milo stared at me in dismay. May they favor and guide us, but may they never hold us hostage through our fears.
"Don't look at me like that," I told him, wiping sea spray from my eyes. "I haven't said anything wrong. ~ Esther M. Friesner

I'm up for it. What do you want us to be? Nurse and patient? Rizzo and Kenickie? I still have that skirt."
Lloyd pulled Wesley tight against him and whispered in his ear. "How about fiancés?"
Wesley's stomach dropped and didn't stop. A nervous flutter leaked into his voice. "Fiancés? ~ Anyta Sunday

Why isn't the door locked? You should be more careful!"
He winced at the sight of Kellan hugging his knees to his chest and staring at him with wide eyes. His voice must have come out louder than he'd intended.
"Is it because of the dragons? I didn't think a lock could keep out any witches."
Vic rubbed his forehead. Why did I ever tell him that? Then again, it wasn't as if he could avoid them if he stayed in town. Vic's chest tightened. He has to stay.
"I already explained that you have nothing to fear from our dragons and witches. We're all good folk here."
"I know, I'm sorry. But Finn used to tell me horrible stories about them. After mom and dad died, he said if I didn't do everything he told me to do, he'd cut off my ears and sell me to the witches."
Vic crossed his arms as he ground his teeth. He took a couple deep breaths before responding. No need to scare him any more than I already have ~ M.M. Wilde

Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection. Success, popularity, and power can indeed present a great temptation, but their seductive quality often comes from the way they are part of the much larger temptation to self-rejection. When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions. The real trap, however, is self-rejection. As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, "Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody." ... [My dark side says,] I am no good ... I deserve to be pushed aside, forgotten, rejected, and abandoned. Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the "Beloved." Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

When we soak our soul in the grace of the Gospel, we'll find our desire to spend time with Him in prayer changing. We'll begin to carry on a nonstop conversation with Him in our heart because we know that He loves to hear our voice. Then, when we are faced with a difficult decision, we will be comfortable running to Him. "Lord, I need wisdom." "Lord, I know You're here. Help me to see You. Give me grace!" That'll be our heart's frequent cry. Because the Holy Spirit loves to make Jesus grand in our eyes, He'll nurture, train, and remind us of His gracious condescension. ~ Elyse M. Fitzpatrick

I can't speak. I have no voice. I just stare at his dark blue yes. It feels as though I let the lifeboat sail away. I'm drowning in a sea of pain. He reached out, but I can't take his hand. ~ H.M. Ward

The sparkling smile became enormous. 'Do you think she has a dagger there? Do you? Ask her, M. Francis? For,' said the most noble and most powerful Princess Mary Stewart, Queen of Scotland, delving furiously under all the stiff red velvet, showing shift, hose and garters, shoes, knees and a long ribboned end of something recently torn loose, and emerging therefrom with a fist closed tight on an object short and hard and glittering, 'for I have!' And breathlessly, flinging back her head, with the little knife offered like a quill, 'Try to stab me!' she encouraged her visitor. There was a queer silence, during which the eyes of Oonagh O'Dwyer and her love of one night met and locked like magnet and iron. The child, waiting a moment, offered again, the ringing, joyful defiance still in her voice. 'Try to stab me! … Go on, and I'll kill you all dead!'

Her throat dry, Oonagh spoke. 'Save your steel for those you trust. They are the ones who will carry your bier; the men who cannot hate, nor can they know love. Send away the cold servants.' The red mouth had opened a little; the knife hung forgotten in her hand.

'I would,' said Mary, surprised. 'But I do not know any.' And, anxiously demonstrating her point, she caught Lymond by the hand. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

It never was about the musician or the instrument - it was about the laser notes in a hall of mirrors, the music itself. It was going to change the world for the better and it has. Maybe not as fast or as much as we wanted, but it has and it still will. Whether your name is Mozart, or Django Reinhardt, or Robert Johnson, or Jimi Hendrix, or whoever is next; who you are doesn't matter so long as you can open that conduit and let the music come through. It is the burning edge, whatever it sounds like and whoever is playing it. It is the noisy, messy, silly, invincible voice of life that comes through the LP on the turn-table, the transistor radio, or the Bose in your new Lexus that makes you want to get up out of whatever you are stuck in and dance. It is Dionysus and the Maenads all over again. No one can control it and I pity whoever tries. I am old now and only a house cat sunning herself in the window - but I was a tigress once, and I remember. I still remember. ~ G.J. Paterson

Solitude is listening to the voice who calls you the beloved. It is being alone with the one who says, `You are my beloved, I want to be with you. Don't go running around, don't start to prove to everybody that you're beloved. You are already beloved'. That is what God says to us. Solitude is the place where we go in order to hear the truth about ourselves. It asks us to let go of the other ways of proving which are a lot more satisfying. The voice that calls us the beloved is not the voice that satisfies the senses. That's what the whole mystical life is about; it is beyond feelings and beyond thoughts. ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen