Sting Com Quotes

Men go crazy in congregation. They only get better one by one. ~ Sting

I was brought up as a Catholic and went to church every week and took the sacraments. It never really touched the core of my being. ~ Sting

If "Manners maketh man," as someone said
Then he's the hero of the day
It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile
Be yourself, no matter what they say."
(Englishman in New York) ~ Sting

Before this we were one community, none knew whether we were good or bad. False coin and fine (both) were current in the world, since all was night, and we were as night-travellers, Until the sun of the prophets rose and said, "Begone, O alloy! Come, O thou that art pure!" The eye can distinguish colours, the eye knows ruby and (common) stone. The eye knows the jewel and the rubbish; hence bits of rubbish sting the eye. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi

You could be stung, but you could also sting back. He believed that sincerely. ~ Stephen King

I got to sing with the Boss, Sting, Pink and John Legend and all of those people. It felt like the pinnacle, and then I got the call. I cried, actually and I called my dad, it was really cool. ~ Nick Jonas

Dan looked small in the corner, hunched over and broken. What was bizarre, what had angered her so, was that she had tried to do a story on Dan Mercer and his "good works" about a year before her sting showed his true predilections. Before that, Dan had seemed to be that rarest of beasts - the honest-to-God do-gooder, a man who truly wanted to make a difference and, most shockingly, a man who didn't couple that desire with self-aggrandizement. She ~ Harlan Coben

At the sting in her eyes, she remembered for him that there must be no tears in his. ~ Eudora Welty

Crazy girls did this, girls who walked like zombies through YA novels.
But.
Trixie felt the sting of the skin as it split, the sweet welling rise of blood.
It hurt, though not as much as everything else idd. ~ Jodi Picoult

On and on the rain will fall,
Like tears from a star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say,
How fragile we are how fragile we are ~ Sting Police

Let go! Gollum,' he said. 'This is Sting. You have seen it before once upon a time. Let go, or you'll feel it this time! I'll cut your throat ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

I would say things like 'I am the greatest! I'm pretty! If you talk jive, you'll drop in five! I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee! I'm pretty!' When white people heard me talking like this, some said, 'That black man talks too much. He's bragging.' ~ Muhammad Ali

Then the raft rocked, and she turned to see Ender calmly crushing the life out of the wasp with one finger. "These are a nasty breed," Ender said. "They sting you without waiting to be insulted first. ~ Orson Scott Card

- and I say you still haven't answered my question, Father Bleu."
"Haven't I, dear lady? I thought I stated that death is merely the beginning of - "
"No, no, no!" Her voice was as high as a harpy's. "Don't go all gooey and metaphysical. I mean to ask, what is death the act, the situation, the moment?"
She watched him foxily. The priest in turn struggled to remain polite. "Madame, I'm not positive I follow."
"Let me say it another way. Most people are afraid of dying, yes?"
"I disagree. Not those who find mystical union with the body of Christ in - "
"Oh, come off it!" Madame Kagle shrilled. "People are frightened of it, Father Bleu. Frightened and screaming their fear silently every hour of every day they live. Now I put it to you. Of what are they afraid? Are they afraid of the end of consciousness? The ultimate blackout, so to speak? Or are they afraid of another aspect of death? The one which they can't begin to foresee or understand?"
"What aspect is that, Madame Kagle?"
"The pain." She glared. "The pain, Father. Possibly sudden. Possibly horrible. Waiting, always waiting somewhere ahead, at an unguessable junction of time and place. Like that bootboy tonight. How it must have hurt. One blinding instant when his head hit, eh? I suggest, Father Bleu, that is what we're afraid of, that is the wholly unknowable part of dying - the screaming, hurting how, of which the when is only a lesser part. The how is the part we never know. Unle ~ John Jakes

But another part of me wanted him to sense that there was no point trying to catch up now - we'd traveled and been through too much without each other for there to be any common ground between us. Perhaps I wanted him to feel the sting of loss, and grieve. But in the end, and by way of compromise, perhaps, I decided that the easiest way was to show I'd forgotten none of it. I made a motion to take him to the empty lot that remained as scorched and fallow as when I'd shown it to him two decades before. I had barely finished my offer - 'Been there, done that,' he replied. It was his way of telling me he hadn't forgotten either. 'Maybe you'd prefer to make a quick stop at the bank.' He burst out laughing. 'I'll bet you they never closed my account.' 'If we have time, and if you care to, I'll take you to the belfry. I know you've never been up there.'

'To-die-for?'

I smiled back. He remembered our name for it. ~ Andre Aciman

A strange thing happened to me as I walked away from Jane's house
I was finally thinking clearly. I could see what Charlotte meant. Jane knew how to fix people. Now that I'd talked through some of my issues, I'd blown out the dust and garbage out of my brain and I could think for once. I could smell the rain, heavy with iron. The cold woke me, but it didn't sting. My breath puffed out in front of me in a great white plume, and I laughed. It was like I was breathing ghosts. I wasn't in the land of long highways and big box stores and humid, endless summers. I was in London, a city of stone and rain and magic. I understood, for instance, why they liked red so much. The red buses, telephone booths, and postboxes were a violent shock against the grays of the sky and stone. Red was blood and beating hearts.
And I was strong. ~ Maureen Johnson

I remember my mother finding mud somehow and putting it on the sting. ~ John C. Hawkes

No one wants to lose, period. It should hurt, it should sting, and you don't want to feel that feeling again. ~ Hope Solo

There is no monopoly on common sense on either side of the political fence. ~ Sting

How the sting of poverty, or small means, is gone when one keeps house for one's own comfort and not for the comfort of one's neighbors. ~ Dinah Maria Mulock

I can't stand quitters. My mother is a very strong, determined woman. I was peeling onions when I was seven, but I walked off when my eyes began to sting. She said to me, 'You start something and you finish it', and that stuck with me. I'm persistent. ~ Estelle

There is nothing between us but raw emotion, and it's painful yet has the sweet sting of addiction. ~ Penelope Fletcher

The sting shot pain all the way to my elbow, causing me to marvel at how much punishment a minuscule creature can inflict. I'm prideful enough to say I didn't complain. After you get stung, you can't get unstung no matter how much you whine about it. I just dived back into the riptide of saving bees. ~ Sue Monk Kidd

I learned to change my accent; in England, your accent identifies you very strongly with a class, and I did not want to be held back. ~ Sting

I see music as one language. If one musical form eats its own tail, it dies. So it needs to be a mongrel, it needs to be hybridised. ~ Sting

I owe much to my friends; but, all things considered, it strikes me that I owe even more to my enemies. The real person springs life under a sting even better than under a caress. ~ Andre Gide

Some had hurled spears first. Those spears thumped into our shields, making them unwieldy, but it hardly mattered. The leading Danes tripped on the hidden timbers and the men behind pushed the falling men forward. I kicked one in the face, feeling my iron-reinforced boot crush bone. Danes were sprawling at our feet while others tried to get past their fallen comrades to reach our line, and we were killing. Two men succeeded in reaching us, despite the smoking barricade, and one of those two feel to Wasp-Sting coming up from beneath his shield-rim. He had been swinging an ax that the man behind me caught on his shield and the Dane was still holding the war ax's shaft as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I saw his eyes widen, saw the snarl of his mouth turn to agony as I twisted the blade, ripping it upward, and as Cerdic, beside me, chopped his own ax down. The man with the crushed face was holding my ankle and I stabbed at him as the blood spray from Cerdic's ax blinded me. The whimpering man at my feet tried to crawl away, but Finan stabbed his sword into his thigh, then stabbed again. A Dane had hooked up his ax over the top rim of my shield and hauled it down to expose my body to a spear-thrust, but the ax rolled off the circular shield and the spear was deflected upward and I slammed Wasp-Sting forward again, felt her bite, twisted her, and Finan was keening his mad Irish song as he added his own blade to the slaughter. "Keep the shields to ~ Bernard Cornwell

Now no sign, no scorch or char, marks the place where George built the fire. Remarkable, earth's strength to restore itself and erase human effort. But memory, stronger still, can send flames as high as the roof, and shift the wind and choke George and sting his eyes with smoke ... ~ Larry Watson

The evil heart which still remaineth in the Christian, doth always, when it is not attacking or obstructing, still reign and dwell within him. My heart is just as bad when no evil emanates from it, as when it is all over vileness in its external developments. A volcano is ever a volcano; even when it sleeps, trust it not. A lion is a lion, even though he play like a kid; and a serpent, is a serpent, even though you may stroke it while for a season it slumbers; there is still a venom in its sting when its azure scales invite the eye. My heart, even though for an hour, it may not have had an evil thought, is still evil. If it were possible that I could live for days without a single temptation from my own heart to sin, it would be still just as evil as it was before; and it is always either displaying its vileness, or else preparing for another display. It is either loading its cannon to shoot against us, or else it is positively at warfare with us. You may rest assured that the heart is never other than it originally was; the evil nature is still evil; and when there is no blaze, it is heaping up the wood, wherewith it is to blaze another day. It is gathering up from my joys, from my devotions, from my holiness, and from all I do, some materials to attack me at some future period. The evil nature is only evil, and that continually, without the slightest mitigation or element of good. The new nature must always wrestle and fight with it; and when the two natures are not wrestli ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Up ahead about two blocks, a massive figure stepped out into her path.
She halted. Took a deep breath. Felt a prickling in her eyes.
On the breeze drifting down to her, John's unmistakable bonding scent was a dark spice that wiped out the stink of the city and the wretched sting of her unhappiness.
She started walking toward him. Fast. Faster ...
Now she was running.
He met her halfway, falling into a jog as soon as he saw her pick up the pace, and they slammed into each other.
Hard to know whose mouth found whose, or whose arms were cinched tighter, or who was the desperate one.
But then, in this they were equals. ~ J.R. Ward

The assurance that we have no means of answering [final] questions is no valid excuse for callousness towards them. The more deeply should we feel, down to the roots of our being, their pressure and their sting. Whose hunger has ever been [sated] with the knowledge that he could not eat? ~ Jose Ortega Y Gasset

She put her face against Glinda's and kissed her. 'Hold out, if you can,' she murmured, and kissed her again. 'Hold out, my sweet.'
[ ... ] It was astounding how quickly she became camouflaged in the ragamuffin variety of street life on the Emerald City. Or maybe it was foolish tears blurring Glinda's vision. Elphaba hadn't cried, of course. Her head had turned quickly as she stepped down, not to hide her tears but to soften the fact of their absence. But the sting, to Glinda, was real. ~ Gregory Maguire

There is no getting away from a wave that has got your name on it. The tide will come in whether you want it to or not. And there really is not a damn thing you can do to stop it, reverse it, or even delay it. Forget it. You have to plant your feet solidly in the sand and get yourself anchored. And then you have to be ready to take some direct hits from the water. You loosen your body and move with each wave. You get salt in your nose and mouth, and the ocean racks sand and stones over your feet and legs. Your eyes sting, and you feel so tired. But there is really nothing else to do. The tide will come and go. The sun will be warm again, and the salt on your skin will remind you of what you have done. And you will rest your tired body on the shore, falling into that delicious sleep that comes from knowing you are right. ~ Martha Manning

But there's a price."
"Oh?" She knew what it would be, felt her whole body come alive in anticipation.
"Yes," he said. "Exactly that."
She forgot everything when he drew her into his arms, everything but the wonder and the magic of his touch, the intoxication of his kisses, the sting of his fangs that should have been painful but filled her with sensual pleasure.
She wrapped her arms around his neck when he carried her to her bed, her hands clumsy in their haste as she undressed him. He was so beautiful, his body perfectly formed, his belly ridged with muscle, his limbs long and lean. He watched over her, his eyes hot, as she removed her own clothing, then covered his body with hers.
They fit together well, she thought, her body somehow molding to his. She ran her hands over him, loving the play of emotions on his face as her hands caressed him.
He gave her free rein until, with a growl of impatience, he tucked her beneath him.
She felt the sweet sting of his fangs at her throat as he possessed her with a fierceness he had never shown before.
"Mine." His voice whispered in her ear, echoed off the walls. "Mine! ~ Amanda Ashley

I used to want to understand how the world worked. Little things, like heavy stuff goes at the bottom of the laundry bag, or big things, like the best way to get a boy to chase you is to ignore him, or medium things, like if you cut an onion under running water your eyes won't sting, and if you wash your fingers afterwards with lemon-juice they won't stink.
I used to want to know all the secrets, and every time I learned one, I felt like I'd taken
a step. On a journey. To a place. A destination: to be the kind of person who knew all this stuff, the way everyone around me seemed to know all this stuff. I thought that once I knew enough secrets, I'd be like them. ~ Cory Doctorow

Ya smell like honey," he said.
"I'm allergic to bees," she whispered.
"I'll do my best not to sting ya, love. ~ Michelle M. Pillow

There are many shades in the danger of adventures and gales, and it is only now and then that there appears on the face of facts a sinister violence of intention- that indefinable something which forces it upon the mind and the heart of a man, that this complication of accidents or these elemental furies are coming at him with a purpose of malice, with a strength beyond control, with an unbridled cruelty that means to tear out of him his hope and his fear, the pain of his fatigue and his longing for rest: which means to smash, to destroy, to annihilate all he has seen, known, loved, enjoyed, or hated; all that is priceless and necessary- the sunshine, the memories, the future,- which means to sweep the whole precious world utterly away from his sight by the simple and appalling act of taking his life. ~ Joseph Conrad

How about some perfume?" Carol asked, moving toward her with the bottle. She touched Therese's forehead with her fingers, at the hairline where she had kissed her that day.

"You remind me of the woman I once saw," Therese said, "somewhere off Lexington. Not you but the light. She was combing her hair up." Therese stopped, but Carol waited for her to go on. Carol always waited, and she could never say exactly what she wanted to say. "Early one morning when I was on the way to work, and I remember it was starting to rain, she floundered on. "I saw her in a window." She really could not go on, about standing there for perhaps three or four minutes, wishing with an intensity that drained her strength that she knew the woman, that she might be welcome if she went to the house and knocked on the door, wishing she could do that instead of going on to her job at the Pelican Press.

"My little orphan," Carol said.

Therese smiled. There was nothing dismal, no sting in the word when Carol said it. ~ Patricia Highsmith