Into The Grey Taken Away Quotes

On the ghosts in Moorehawke & Into The Grey/Taken Away:
The ghosts ... are symbolic of those unresolved moments in history that linger, and affect the next generation. Sometimes this happens without that generation ever really knowing the truth of what has come before. This is so true of war, I think, where we are often only left the stories that the previous generation wanted us to hear ... How much harder would the truth be to deny were it lingering about as an actual manifestation of the past? ~ Celine Kiernan

Time changed in an instant. One minute, you're drinking a beer with your friends, talking about the increasingly scary storm outside; the next, you're flying through the air with your body slamming into the nearest wall when lightning strikes. Or rather, when lightning strikes inside the room and hits you and six of your friends dead center.
Eliana Sawyer's life changed the moment she felt the energy of the gods ricochet through her body. The world as she knew it became grey, and the things that went bump in the night became all too real. The paranormal world wasn't that of fiction anymore; now, she lived it. The way she saw the world, the way she saw life and fate changed. She couldn't plan a future the same way she had. She couldn't fall in love the way she'd thought to in the past.
After the lightning strike, six of her friends had found out the hard way what happened when they fell in love with someone paranormal - they became paranormal themselves.
Now, years later, here Eliana was - alone, all too human, and on the outside looking in.
Of course, she wasn't that alone anymore. She never would be again. While her friends had fallen for angels, demons, dragons, and wolves, she'd fallen for a mere human. A human that had taken her heart and shattered it into a thousand pieces, all the while leaving her with nothing but an echo of what he had once been, what they had once been together.
That wasn't the only thing he'd left her with.
He'd also le ~ Carrie Ann Ryan

Yes, I can see why so many are taken with you. You're so, so, so.." Vincent's words trailed off. He gazed off into the trees. "What's the word I'm looking for?"
"Adorably handsome?" Breccan offered with a smug smile.
"Incredibly stuck on yourself."Vincent quickly gave his retort. "Seriously, you're not that cute. And I mean that in every offending way possible. ~ Madison Thorne Grey

Something had shifted between us, faintly, but the change was almost palpable. Our friendship had sat lightly between us, an ephemeral thing, without weight or gravity. Once, in the Boboli Gardens, under the shadow of a cypress tree on an achingly beautiful October afternoon, he had kissed me, a solemnly sweet and respectful kiss. But weeks had passed and we had not spoken of it. I had attributed it to the sunlight, shimmering gold like Danaë's shower, and had pressed it into the scrapbook of memory, to be taken out and admired now and then, but not to be dwelled upon too seriously. Perhaps I had been mistaken. ~ Deanna Raybourn

You know, Breccan, we were all born into this realm for a purpose. We were born to live in that forest," Gunnar said, pointing ahead. He swallowed deeply as he continued to take in the sight of Surchin. Breccan came up behind Gunnar. "And you know, we are all gonna die there. How convenient. Yep, we are all gonna find finality before we've taken a woman. So not the way I wanted things to go. ~ Madison Thorne Grey

It was the simplest of acts, the smallest of gestures, yet no one had taken the time to do something kind for her in a very long time. No one had made her feel special. Unbeknownst to her, a single, unfamiliar tear fell down her cheek as her worn and wounded body fell into a deep, safe slumber. ~ Madison Thorne Grey

As he breathed the black and grey air into his body he no longer thought of anything as lovely, the way the retiring trees of his boyhood had been; for everything was made up of dirt-clods; and you do construct a mountain from molehills or other over-codified facts. If only the cities had been dynamited before it was too late for him! -- That Pol Pot sure had the right idea, blowing down those ticky-tacky rice paper offices and illuminating the middlemen with bullets of vanguardist light so everyone could get back to the country, don't you think? -- As things stood, even had Bug been able to cover the earth again with forests, after having lived so long in the excremental piles of cement and rusted steel he never could have seen trees as more than tedious identical dirty giant toothpicks unfit to be taken into the mouth' his summer camp, as a dishwasher jail where you breathed in the steam of bad food; and the islands to which he had rowed, as sad unwholesome protuberances, polyps and land-cancers still in the stink of the outhouse -- and all the girls had long since grown up completely to make travesties of their lives, even though some inherited great riches as we used to reckon riches in those days. -- But surely this change in him was necessary, for without wretchedness and degradation of self one will never accomplish anything. ~ William T. Vollmann

You look lovely tonight, my lady," Kellan said for her ears alone as he took her into his arms-not too close, of course.
His flattery pleased her but did not discompose her as Grey's did. Rose smiled sincerely in response. "Thank you, sir. Might I say that you are in very fine looks as well."
"You always know exactly the right thing to say to woo me, Lady Rose." He grinned as they moved through a turn. "Have a care, else you're likely to break my heart."
"If it is so easily broken, perhaps you should hold it a little more dear," she advised archly.
He winced, but it was apparent that he had taken the remark with the humor she intended. "She mocks me."
"You are mistaken, sir. I am merely thinking of your best interests."
They shared a smile and were silent for a turn.
"I am surprised that Ryeton allowed you to come tonight."
Rose raised a brow. "The duke does not dictate where I can and cannot go." Grey might be her benefactor, but he was not her guardian.
"That is good to hear," Kellan replied, ignoring the edge to her tone. "So he cannot prevent you from taking a drive in Hyde Park with me tomorrow afternoon."
She chuckled. "No, I suppose not. But first, you might want to ask me if I care to take a drive with you."
"Do you?"
She did. Did that make her awful? Just a few minutes ago she'd been missing Grey and thinking about how much she cared for him, and now here she was flirting with Kellan and fluttering over the ~ Kathryn Smith

I opened the fire door
to four lips
none of which were mine
kissing
tightened my belt around my hips
where your hands were missing
and stepped out into the cold
collar high
under the slate grey sky
the air was smoking and the streets were dry
and I wasn't joking when I said
Good Bye
magazine quality men talking on the corner
French, no less much less of them then us
so why do I feel like something's been rearranged?
you know, taken out of context I must seem so strange
killed a cockroach so big
it left a puddle of pus on the wall
when you and I are lying in bed
you don't seem so tall
I'm singing now because my tear ducts are too tired
and my brain is disconnected but my heart is wired
I make such a good statistic
someone should study me now
somebody's got to be interested in how I feel
just 'cause I'm here
and I'm real
oh, how I miss
substituting the conclusion to confrontation with a kiss
and oh, how I miss
walking up to the edge and jumping in
like I could feel the future on your skin
I opened the fire door
to four lips
none of which were mine
kissing
I opened the fire door ~ Ani DiFranco

E L James, Party Games

you're looking kind of smug
inserting that god damn anal plug
giving me your kinky love

after writing Fifty Shades
you're acting like some kind of renegade
giving me your kinky love

sit me on a dildo and spin me right around
chain me up and hang me upside down
giving me your kinky love

god damn you E L James
making me into some kind of party game
giving me your kinky love

put me in a dream
and wheel in the Fucking Machine
god damn you E L James

spank a hand on my bum
see how much I can cum
god damn you E L James

stand me up and sit me down
lay me out and roll me about
god damn you E L James

BDSM
electro impulses up my brainstem
god damn you E L James

cast me in a submissive role-play
with my genitals on display
god damn you E L James

suspend me high in the air
slap me around like I don't care
god damn you E L James

take that whip off the shelf
make me forget myself
god damn you E L James

Why are you wearing oven mittens?
branding iron your name written
inner goddess don't keep in hidden
god damn you E L James

holy crap
my mind has snapped
to forget one thing that I have heard
I'm never going to use the safe-word
god damn you E L ~ R.M. Romarney

The mind that thought of light, heavy, grey, yellow, still, swift, also conceived of magic that would make heavy things light and be able to fly, turn grey lead into yellow gold, and the still rock into a swift water. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

when i left them, i painted myself burgundy and grey
i stopped saying the words "please" and "i'm sorry"
i walked into grocery stores and bought too many
clementines, ordered too much Chinese, spent my
last four dollars on over the counter sleeping pills
that made my stomach bleed but my soul forget
every time i wanted to tell you "i'm sorry", i wrote
you a poem instead, i said things like "i hope your
mother calls you beautiful" to strangers and when
boys with dry hands and broken eyes asked me on
dates i didn't hesitate no, didn't even stop them
when their hands grazed my breasts and when
they moaned my name against my thighs i cried
i opened the mail and didn't tell anyone for a week
that i got accepted into law school, i stopped watering
the plants and filled the bathtub with roses and milk,
when i got invited to parties, i wore blue jeans with
white shirts, sat alone in some kitchen drinking hard
liquor until some boys mouth made me feel like home
i stopped answering the phone for a month, i didn't
like how my name tasted in his mouth but he was
older and didn't say things like "it doesn't matter"
and i think i went insane, my heart boiled blisters, i
couldn't understand why my bones felt like cages,
i walked around art museums until closing, watched
them lock up the gates and then open them up
again the very same morning, i thought ~ Irynka

And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

You are not a god, though you are hostile
as a god, inhospitable and anonymous
as a metropolis, your grey and single-
minded industry transforming the shore
into yourself. Narcissism is not
self-love, but a mechanism of survival,
your cogs churning amorphous as maggots,
pallid as almonds, paper-whites, the high
notes of foam. ~ Warren Heiti

Still, for what Androma did to him, he should hate her, should want her dead.
But seeing her before him, melting into rage and riot, her glowing grey eyes reflecting the electricity that swam around her swords...
Godstars, she was magnificent, a creature that deserved to release her wrath on the world. It would be worth every drop of blood about to be shed to bring her to Cyprian's feet. ~ Sasha Alsberg

Taken thus by surprise, it was several moments before she was able to decide whether to make herself known to him, or to await a formal introduction. The strict propriety in which she had been reared urged her to adopt the latter course; then she remembered that she was not a young girl any longer, but a guardian-aunt ... To flinch before what would certainly be an extremely disagreeable interview would be the act, she told herself, of a pudding-heart. Bracing herself resolutely, she got up from the writing-table, and turned, saying, in a cool, pleasant tone: 'Mr Calverleigh?'
He had picked up a newspaper from the table in the centre of the room, and was glancing through it, but he lowered it, and looked enquiringly across at her. His eyes, which were deep-set and of a light grey made the more striking by the swarthiness of his complexion, held an expression of faint surprise; he said: 'Yes? ~ Georgette Heyer

Raistlin opened his eyes, looking at her without recognition. And in them, she saw deep, undying sorrow
the look of one who has been permitted to enter a realm of deadly, perilous beauty, and who now finds himself, once more, cast down into the grey, rain-swept world. ~ Tracy Hickman

He is spent. His mind is mercury again, its brief surge of humanity melting into an oily residue on its surface, and he no longer understands the feelings he felt in that strange moment on the overpass.
But he did feel them. They did happen. They rest on the murky seabed of his mind, buried under sand and silt and miles of grey waves. Patient seeds waiting for light. ~ Isaac Marion

The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won't be on the dance floor," he murmurs lasciviously into my ear. My giggles subside as anticipation fans the flames of my need. Oh, yes! My inner goddess performs a perfect triple Salchow in her ice skates.
"I look forward to it." I lean over and plant a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth. Glancing around, I realize that our fellow guests at the table are astonished. ~ E.L. James

After what happened when my last - and if I'm being completely honest, my only - real relationship imploded, my focus needs to be on my career. Sex and marriage and a family and all that can fall into place after I'm a top fund manager. Sometime in the mid-nineties, perhaps.
But the eighties? The eighties are all about getting ahead in the rat race.
And I am determined to be at the front of the pack.
Of rats. ~ Karen Grey

Gibreel, the tuneless soloist, had been cavorting in moonlight as he sang his impromptu gazal, swimming in air, butterfly-stroke, breast-stroke, bunching himself into a ball, spreadeagling himself against the almost-infinity of the almost-dawn, adopting heraldic postures, rampant, couchant, pitting levity against gravity. Now he rolled happily towards the sardonic voice. 'Ohe, Salad baba, it's you, too good. What-ho, old Chumch.' At which the other, a fastidious shadow falling headfirst in a grey suit with all the jacket buttons done up, arms by his sides, taking for granted the improbability of the bowler hat on his head, pulled a nickname-hater's face. 'Hey, Spoono,' Gibreel yelled, eliciting a second inverted wince, 'Proper London, bhai! Here we come! Those bastards down there won't know what hit them. Meteor or lightning or vengeance of God. Out of thin air, baby. ~ Salman Rushdie

Swelter's eyes meet those of his enemy, and never has there held between four globes of gristle so sinister a hell of hatred. Had the flesh, the fibres, and the bones of the chef and those of Mr Flay been conjured away and away down that dark corridor leaving only their four eyes suspended in mid-air outside the Earl's door, then, surely, they must have reddened to the hue of Mars, reddened and smouldered, and at last broken into flame, so intense was their hatred - broken into flame and circled about one another in ever-narrowing gyres and in swifter and yet swifter flight until, merged into one sizzling globe of ire they must surely have fled, the four in one, leaving a trail of blood behind them in the cold grey air of the corridor, until, screaming as they fly beneath innumerable arches and down the endless passageways of Gormenghast, they found their eyeless bodies once again, and reentrenched themselves in startled sockets. ~ Mervyn Peake

One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with black curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat, and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into an impudent, ironical - it might almost be called a malicious - smile; but his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of the ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomy was its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribably emaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort of passionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his impudent, sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur - or rather astrachan - overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian November night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a large cape to it - the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months in Switzerland or North Italy - was by no means adapted to the long cold journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

A spring sun was shining on the rue St. Honore, as I ran down the church steps. On one corner stood a barrow full of yellow jonquils, pale violets from the Riviera, dark Russian violets, and white Roman hyacinths in a golden cloud of mimosa. The street was full of Sunday pleasure-seekers. I swung my cane and laughed with the rest. Someone overtook and passed me. He never turned, but there was the same deadly malignity in his white profile that there had been in his eyes. I watched him as long as I could see him. His lithe back expressed the same menace; every step that carried him away from me seemed to bear him on some errand connected with my destruction.

I was creeping along, my feet almost refusing to move. There began to dawn in me a sense of responsibility for something long forgotten. It began to seem as if I deserved that which he threatened: it reached a long way back - a long, long way back. It had lain dormant all these. years: it was there though, and presently it would rise and confront me. But I would try to escape; and I stumbled as best I could into the rue de Rivioli, across the Place de la Concorde and on to the Quai. I looked with sick eyes upon the sun, shining through the white foam of the fountain, pouring over the backs of the dusky bronze river-gods, on the far-away Arc, a structure of amethyst mist, on the countless vistas of grey stems and bare branches faintly green. Then I saw him again coming down one of the chestnut alleys of the Cours ~ Robert W. Chambers

I so envied the world around me. Don't get me wrong, I loved my own life too, but that didn't stop me from wishing I could close my eyes and slip into someone else's life. You know, explore the world with different eyes, a different heart. ~ Marilyn Grey

Ree-" Grey barked into the icy silence. "Lax!"
The word spat so unexpectedly into her ear had precisely the effect Grey must have intended. It shocked Nan for a split second into a state of not-thinking, just being-
Suddenly, all in an instant she and Neville were one. ~ Mercedes Lackey

The Vicar stood aghast, with his smoking gun in his hand. It was no bird at all, but a youth with an extremely beautiful face, clad in a robe of saffron and with iridescent wings, across whose pinions great waves of colour, flushes of purple and crimson, golden green and intense blue, pursued one another as he writhed in his agony. Never had the Vicar seen such gorgeous floods of colour, not stained glass windows, not the wings of butterflies, not even the glories of crystals seen between prisms, no colours on earth could compare with them. Twice the Angel raised himself, only to fall over sideways again. Then the beating of the wings diminished, the terrified face grew pale, the floods of colour abated, and suddenly with a sob he lay prone, and the changing hues of the broken wings faded swiftly into one uniform dull grey hue. Oh! ~ H.G.Wells

We come into this world alone, and we leave the same way, the time we spend in between ... time spent alive, sharing, learning ... together ... is all that makes life worth living. ~ Jean Grey Uncanny X-Men Volume 1 Issue 303

Arsenal have class. I remember when I was at Spurs, the Arsenal players would arrive for matches in their navy blazers with the gold gun emblem sewn into their pockets and grey slacks. We couldn't match their ground with that beautiful main entrance, marble halls and spiral staircase. Even in 1961 when we won the Double, we were never as big a club as Arsenal. ~ Jimmy Greaves

Maybe it was simply his cool accent and his youth. The entire student body tried to mimic him. Girls crowded around him, and the boys watched him, fascinated, as if a rock star had descended into our midst. He was the talk of the school, an overnight sensation, instantly beloved because he was a novelty - and a very attractive novelty if you liked slightly unruly hair and grey eyes and British accents. ~ Amy Harmon

Most people actively try to bury their differences and become like everyone else for fear of ridicule. They want to belong. They want to 'fit in'. They don't like to be singled out, have their differences scrutinised, put on microscope slides or in Petri dishes and poked by society. I on the other hand, rejoice in it. I don't want to belong if it means having to wrestle your individuality into a small space, paint it grey and make it... normal. ~ Amanda James

We're going to rectify the situation right now."
"What do you mean? What situation?"
"Your situation. Ana, I'm going to make love to you, now."
"Oh." The floor has fallen away. I'm a situation. I'm holding my breath.
"That's if you want to, I mean, I don't want to push my luck."
"I thought you didn't make love. I thought you fucked hard." I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.
"I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we'll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you re­ally need to have some idea what you're getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn't mean I've come over all hearts and flowers, it's a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too." His gray gaze is intense ~ E.L. James

It as mathematical, marriage, not, as one might expect, additional; it was exponential. This one man, nervous in a suite a size too small for his long, lean self, this woman, in a green lace dress cut to the upper thigh, with a white rose behind her ear. Christ, so young. The woman before them was a unitarian minister, and on her buzzed scalp, the grey hairs shone in a swab of sun through the lace in the window. Outside, Poughkeepsie was waking. Behind them, a man in a custodian's uniform cried softly beside a man in pajamas with a Dachshund, their witnesses, a shine in everyone's eye. One could taste the love on the air, or maybe that was sex, or maybe that was all the same then.
'I do,' she said.
'I do,' he said.
They did. They would.
Our children will be so fucking beautiful, he thought, looking at her.
Home, she thought, looking at him.
'You may kiss,' said the officiant.
They did, would.
Now they thanked everyone and laughed, and papers were signed and congratulations offered, and all stood for a moment, unwilling to leave this gentile living room where there was such softness.
The newlyweds thanked everyone again, shyly, and went out the door into the cool morning. They laughed, rosy. In they'd come integers, out they came, squared.

Her life, in the window, the parakeet, scrap of blue midday in the London dusk, ages away from what had been most deeply lived. Day on a rocky beach, creatures in the tide pool. ~ Lauren Groff

Grey Nights
A while we wandered (thus it is I dream!) Through a long, sandy track of No Man's Land, Where only poppies grew among the sand, The which we, plucking, cast with scant esteem, And ever sadlier, into the sad stream, Which followed us, as we went, hand in hand, Under the estranged stars, a road unplanned, Seeing all things in the shadow of a dream.
And ever sadlier, as the stars expired, We found the poppies rarer, till thine eyes Grown all my light, to light me were too tired, And at their darkening, that no surmise Might haunt me of the lost days we desired, After them all I flung those memories! ~ Ernest Dowson

Ah," Caspar exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. "The grey is a good choice. Makes you look much less demon-of-the-night."
"Please, Caspar," he implored. "A date with a live woman. Soon. ~ Elizabeth Hunter

Mr. Grey." I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide. "Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele." He gives me a small smile. Obviously, he's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I blush. ~ E.L. James

They had expected to see the grey, heathery slope of the moor going up and up to join the dull autumn sky. Instead, a blaze of sunshine met them. It poured through the doorway as the light of a June day pours into a garage when you open the door. It made the drops of water on the grass glitter like beads and showed up the dirtiness of Jill's tear-stained face. And the sunlight was coming from what certainly did look like a different world- what they could see it. They saw smooth turf, smoother and brighter than Jill had ever seen before, and blue sky and, darting to and fro, things so bright that they might have been jewels or huge butterflies. ~ C.S. Lewis

It's empty. Duane swore harsh enough to make a sailor blush, calling into question not only the suspect's parentage, but that somehow duck's were involved. ~ Andrew Grey

Beneath the dream of fame, another dream, a dream of no longer dissolving and staying dissolved in the grey, faceless and insipid mass of commodities, a dream of turning into a notable, noticed and coveted commodity, a talked about commodity, a commodity standing out from the mass of commodities, a commodity impossible to overlook, to deride, to be dismissed. In a society of consumers, turning into a desirable commodity is the stuff of which dreams, and fairy tales, are made. ~ Zygmunt Bauman

We're traveling into the territory of I don't care. Let's not take that trip, hmm?"
Arrogant. Mean. Still gorgeous. ~ Madison Thorne Grey

You are very quiet," Archer remarked as they walked together to the refreshment table. They'd just finished a game of whist and when Rose begged off from a second round, Grey's brother did the same.
"My apologies," she replied. "I do not mean to be rude."
"My brother doesn't deserve to take up so much room in that lovely head of yours."
She might have been insulted by his disparaging Grey, or his familiarity with her, had she not been so surprised by the remark itself.
"You are impertinent, sir."
He grinned-a grin so much more roguish than Grey's. "One of my more charming traits. I did not mean offense, dear lady. Only that thinking about him will do you no good. The man is bent on punishing himself for the rest of his life."
Rose accepted the plate he offered her. "Thank you. Why would he wish to punish himself?"
"Because he's an ar…idiot. Sandwich?" He held up a cucumber sandwich caught in silver tongs.
"Please. I'm not certain I wish to discuss your brother with you, Lord Archer."
"Not even if I can help you win him?"
Rose's heart froze-no, it simply stopped. Her entire body went numb. She would have dropped her plate had Archer not swept it from her hand into his own.
"What makes you think I wish to win him?"
He flashed her a coy glance. "Please, lady Rose. I've not made a career out of studying your sex to fall for your false innocence now."
Oh dear God. Had Grey told him?
"I've seen the way you look a ~ Kathryn Smith

Name: One Shade of Grey

Description: You'll recognise this phenomenon through an inability to tell where the pavement ends and the sky begins. Nothing has ever been achieved on a One Shade of Grey day, so if you notice one upon opening your curtains the best advice is to climb back into bed, drink gin through a straw and remember the 'Lost Sun' days of years past.
Most likely: Any of the 18 months of winter. ~ Rob Temple

There was nobody. Her words faded. So a rocket fades. Its sparks, having grazed their way into the night, surrender to it, dark descends, pours over the outlines of houses and towers; bleak hillsides soften and fall in. But though they are gone, the night is full of them; robbed of colour, blank of windows, they exist more ponderously, give out what the frank daylight fails to transmit - the trouble and suspense of things conglomerated there in the darkness; huddled together in the darkness; reft of the relief which dawn brings when, washing the walls white and grey, spotting each windowpane, lifting the mist from the fields, showing the red brown cows peacefully grazing, all is once more decked out to the eye; exists again. I am alone; I am alone! ~ Virginia Woolf

Tristan and Yvaine were happy together. Not forever-after, for Time, the thief, eventually takes all things into his dusty storehouse, but they were happy, as these things go, for a long while. And then Death came in the night and whispered her secret into the ear of the eighty second Lord of Stormhold, and he nodded his grey head and said nothing more ~ Neil Gaiman

Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. There ~ George R R Martin

Storm Warnings

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead, what zone
Of grey unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair
And walk from window to closed window, watching
Boughs strain against the sky

And think again, as often when the air
Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,
How with a single purpose time has traveled
By secret currents of the undiscerned
Into this polar realm. Weather abroad
And weather in the heart alike come on
Regardless of prediction.

Between foreseeing and averting change
Lies all the mastery of elements
Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter.
Time in the hand is not control of time,
Nor shattered fragments of an instrument
A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,
We can only close the shutters.

I draw the curtains as the sky goes black
And set a match to candles sheathed in glass
Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine
Of weather through the unsealed aperture.
This is our sole defense against the season;
These are the things we have learned to do
Who live in troubled regions. ~ Adrienne Rich

When is there a boy, even in these materialistic times, to whom the call of the wild and the open road does not appeal? Maybe it is the primitive instinct, anyway it is there. With that key a great door may be unlocked, if it is only to admit fresh air and sunshine into lives that were otherwise grey.
The heroes of the wild, the frontiersmen and explorers, the rovers of the seas, the airmen of the clouds, are pied pipers to the boys. Where they lead the boys will follow and these will dance to their tune when it sings the song of manliness and pluck, of adventure and high endeavors of efficiency and skill, of cheerful sacrifice of self for others. There's meat in this for the boy. There's soul in it. ~ Baden-Powell Robert Baden-Powell

He told me to stay away from you."
Strong hands roamed her back in the most comforting fashion. "You should have listened."
Rose raised her face to look at him. "But then I would not have known what it was to be truly happy."
Grey's eyes widened, and for a moment he looked young and vulnerable. "Don't say that. I've made you miserable."
She smiled sadly. "True, but those nights with you at Saint's Row? That was happiness for me. The most I've ever known."
His mouth opened and she pressed her fingers again his lips to close them. "You don't have to say anything. I already know it's not what I want to hear."
Grey frowned, and reached up to move her hand from his face. He held her fingers within his. He gave off more heat than the fire she'd fried herself in front of earlier. Heat that went straight to her bones, right to the very center of her being, radiating out into her limbs. There was nothing seductive about their embrace and yet she ached inside, that wet and willing part of herself desperate to take him inside once more. She wanted to claim him, mark him.
Ruin him for anyone else.
"I was happy too," he said softly. So softly she wouldn't have known it was him who spoke were she not watching his beautiful lips as they formed the words. "God help me, you make me forget every vow and promise I've ever made."
Heart pounding, Rose didn't resist as he dropped her hand to thread his fingers in her hair, pressing against her scalp. "Y ~ Kathryn Smith

Let him who thinks war is a glorious, golden thing, who loves to roll forth stirring words of exhortation, invoking honour and praise and valour and love of country … Let him but look at a little pile of sodden grey rags that cover half a skull and a shin-bone and what might have been its ribs, or at this skeleton lying on its side, resting half crouching as it fell, perfect that it is headless, and with the tattered clothing still draped round it; and let him realize how grand and glorious a thing it is to have distilled all youth and joy and life into a fetid heap of hideous putrescence! Who is there who has known and seen who can say that victory is worth the death of even one of these? ~ Wade Davis