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The Crimson King
“The headsman's axe knows not where it is to fall. It is simply a weapon directed by the hand of another."
- Ahzek Ahriman”
The Black Library
The Horus Heresy
Inn Lak'ech
“She was a thinner, prettier version of her mother with huge sea-green eyes and straight, long hair the color of golden copper. She hadn’t made peace with her small breasts, huge flat feet or the freckles that spilled across her pert nose but Glorie said she was nice-looking enough to have modeled for any one of the mermaid prints that hung on the walls.”
Mermaid
Elm Sunday
Inn Lak Ech
Steps to Christ
“Education, culture, the exercise of the will, human effort, all have their proper sphere, but here they are powerless. They may produce an outward correctness of behavior, but they cannot change the heart;”
Change Heart
Human Effort
“Insipid writer, you pretend to draw for your readers
The portraits of your 3 impostors;
How is it that, witlessly, you have become the fourth?
Why, poor enemy of the supreme essence,
Do you confuse Mohammed and the Creator,
And the deeds of man with God, his author?...
Criticize the servant, but respect the master.
God should not suffer for the stupidity of the priest:
Let us recognize this God, although he is poorly served.
My lodging is filled with lizards and rats;
But the architect exists, and anyone who denies it
Is touched with madness under the guise of wisdom.
Consult Zoroaster, and Minos, and Solon,
And the martyr Socrates, and the great Cicero:
They all adored a master, a judge, a father.
This sublime system is necessary to man.
It is the sacred tie that binds society,
The first foundation of holy equity,
The bridle to the wicked, the hope of the just.
If the heavens, stripped of his noble imprint,
Could ever cease to attest to his being,
If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.
Let the wise man announce him and kings fear him.
Kings, if you oppress me, if your eminencies disdain
The tears of the innocent that you cause to flow,
My avenger is in the heavens: learn to tremble.
Such, at least, is the fruit of a useful creed.”
God
Atheism
Christianity
Voltaire Letter
Three Impostors
“Chapter Six: Mistress of Red
From underneath from hellish bowels,
She lives the torment she shrieks and howls.
A damned flame of volcanic intent,
Seeks a city where her hatred may vent.
Underneath the bow of vaulted earth,
This spirit breaks from infernoed perch.
Circles the span of inward woe,
From beneath the caverns does she go.
She seeks the city she may destroy,
To lie in ruins for her ploy.
From lofty plume of sordid ash,
She delights to see her cuts and gash.
Vulcania Draconis, spirit of bitter ’ire,
Rings the earth with her dredful fires.
Horrendous demon from Vulcan’s forge,
Lays waste to the earth, her inhabitants engorged.
Mighty Pompeii knew her ways,
Scoffed at her threats and would not pay.
In vindiction’s rage hissed she their doom,
Cast them alive within their tombs.
And Krakatoa and Mycenae,
They would not yield, she laid them waste.
An extortioness, royal supreme,
To conquer or destroy, her consummate dream.
How this evil one sets her pace,
Rings sweet earth in her death’s nec-lace.
Far from below she blasts her smoke,
To cover their eyes until they choke.
At her command cities fall and swell,
Earthquake, tidal wave, gives masses to hell.
This spirit from the blackest pit,
Broods deep on those she kiss.
She comes to seek those to enslave,
To fuel her bowels, her booty in trade.
The pride and ruination of nations and men,
Seeks souls and bodies to ambition her ends.
Now this licking creature of red-hot glow,
Sends her heat to make fumerals.
Damns the many and damns the one,
As empires burn when her rage is done.
A vengeful spirit, Draconis is,
Smiles so pleasant as victims drop in.
Opens her shotted eyes in mirth,
To hear the screams of their heated death lurch.
This diabolic holds much potent sway,
Seeks for victims as ground gives way.
She holds the riddle to the land,
And holds it she must for her time is at hand.
Had learned she now that Kari had come,
That timeless conflict again begun.
“Never did I see one I could not coerce,
But now a convolcation of power, a tour de force.”
Suppressed regret ruminated throughout,
Yet shreds of fear left no doubt.
“I will finish what was started here in mmy land,
Beyond records treatise once we did stand.
Past all memories, hmm, even so,
Before myth began and Rome’s trumpets blowed.
I will shatter her like earthenware because I mmust,
She tasks mme this creature, mmy hate it is just.
Wounded mme she did, her preysence calls,
If nothing else, ha I will hurt her if I faullt.”
On Vulcania Draconis, Kari's Diabolical Enemy
Cold Steel Eternity Vol. ii”
Poetry
Meditation
Heroine
Drama
Martial Arts
Action Adventure
Valkyries
“Chapter One: The Dawn and the Dread
Heartbeat, heartbeat comes from Valhallan way,
To meet down in judgment, to ply its trade.
Two →swords← to join in worthy cross,
Actions to be rendered, one to be lost.
She did come now from ’yond northern slope,
A day of reckoning did she again once hope.
A devout meeting was her qwesterly bane,
To stay her hand was to go insane.
St. Kari of the Blade to meet her past,
A wicked enemy, peerless of match.
Rode Kari she her charger on down,
Past the Dead Land where Gaul sat crowned.
A killing job, yea, she desired to lastly kill,
To set things right so her heart might lie still.
Upon the mist and roaring plain,
She entered in, a soul uncontained.
A fierce wind in deed, and forever freed,
Enemies she annihilhates (’tis hur’ creed).
Her own advanced guard of a sort,
Multitudes to follow in her report.
Know this Valkyrie from on cold,
An ancient maiden soft and bold.
A warrior spirit from Ages past,
A fragmented mind like broken glass.
Solid in stature this eternal framed being,
Yet crippled within from internaled bleedings.
A sword saint so refined in the poetic art,
A noble character yet with a banshee’s heart.
Rhythmed horse now to the beats,
Kari emboldened amid the sleet.
Beyond the mountain she does come,
Unto southern fields wherein rules hot sun.
Far from that murderous Deadlands ground,
The land up swells; the dead still abound.
Traverses she those bygones of leprous civilizations
Those cities crumbled by the exhalted of oblivions.
Stark traces etched now bare in the land,
That are no more again, save dust in the hand.
A cool stream now in desert sans
(Does more good when one is damned).
Stopped she her mount to admire the flow,
A lovely stream with skeletons packed below.
Blue air whisps; dragon flied motion.
Flintsteel striking!!! Sparked of commotion.
Cold water chortles rushtish with tint,
Told of past carnage, it whetted her glint.
Fallen warriors, they are no more,
Swirls and eddies mark their discord.
Gurgled shouts slung and gathered,
Faces glazed while steel lathered.
Refreshing though it was to her mouth,
She smelled an air; she flared about.
Came up that ridge of loud, sanded hill,
Below a man and his half-score of kills.
Kari’s eyes waxed in smug contempt,
Possibilities ran deep with no repent . . .
On Kari, Valkyrie, Cold Steel Eternity Vol. II”
Spirituality
Fantasy
Heroine
Drama
Ghosts
Epic Poetry
Valkyries
Voices from Chernobyl: The Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster
“Entonces, ¿para qué recuerda la gente? ¿Para reestablecer la verdad? ¿La justicia? ¿Para liberarse y olvidar? ¿Por qué comprenden que han participado en un acontecimiento grandioso? ¿O porque buscan en el pasado alguna protección? Y todo eso, a sabiendas de que los recuerdos son algo frágil, efímero; no se trata de conocimientos precisos, sino de conjeturas sobre uno mismo. No son aún conocimientos, son solo sentimientos. Lo que siento.”
Sentimientos
Recuerdos
Writings on Philosophy and Language
“The purity of a language dispossesses it of its wealth; a correctness that is all too rigid takes away its strengh and manhood. In a city as big as Paris, forty learned men are procured each year, at no expense, who infalliably know what is pure and polite in their mother tongue and what is neccessary for the monopoly of this junkshop.”
Language
Political Correctness
Parole
Interior Freedom
“No esperamos que Dios nos haga vivir en plenitud y creamos identidad artificial: el orgullo. O, entre personas de buena voluntad, nos gustaría amar, ser generosos y entregarnos, pero nos vemos atenazados por miedo, duda o intranquilidad. La falta de esperanza, confianza en lo que Dios puede obrar en nosotros y en lo que podemos hacer con su ayuda, trae como consecuencia un estrechamiento de corazón y mengua de la caridad.”
Amor
Dios
Esperanza
Miedo
Corazon
Virtudes
Caridad
Católico
Writings on Philosophy and Language
“We are not lacking in ovservation by which the relation of language to its variable usage can be determined rather precisely. Insight into this relation and the art of applying it belongs to the spirit of the law and the secrete of governing. It is just this relation which makes classical writers. The trouble caused by confounding languages and the blind fatih in certain signs and formulas are at times coup d'état which have them in the kingdong of truth than the most powerful, freshly exhumed word-radical or the unending geealogy of a concept; coup d'état which would never enter the head of a scholarly blatherer and an eloquent journeyman, not even in his most propitious dreams.”
Language
Law
Goverment
Coup D État
Dissolution
“I'm an inexhaustible font of tricks, haven't you noticed?" Pharaun beamed at the assembled paupers and said, "How would you all like to assist two masters of the Academy engaged in a mission of vital importance? I assure you, Archmage Baenre himself will wax giddy with gratitude when I inform him of your aid."
His audience stared back at him, fear in their eyes. One of the female commoners produced a bone-handled, granite-headed mallet and threw it. Ryld caught it and hurled it back. The makeshift weapon thudded into the center of the laborer's forehead, and she collapsed.
"Would anyone else care to express a reservation of any sort?" Pharaun asked. He waited a beat. "Splendid, then just stand still. I assure you, this won't hurt."
The Master of Sorcere pulled a wisp of fleece from a pocket and recited an incantation. With a soft hissing, a wave of magical force shimmered through the room. When it touched the paupers, they changed, each into a facsimile of Ryld or Pharaun himself. Only a single child remained unaffected.
"Excellent," said Pharaun. "Now all you have to do is go outside, at which point, I recommend you scatter. With luck, many, if not all of you, will survive.”
Magic
Betrayal
Fantasy
Treachery
Drow
Pharaun
Darkelf
Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants
“As I grew to understand the gifts of the earth, I couldn't understand how "love of country" could omit recognition of the actual country itself. The only promise it requires is to a flag. What of the promises to each other and to the land?”
Patriotism
Environmentalism
Pledge Of Allegiance
Songs of Heartstrings
“Being able to receive gifts is a gift. When we receive gifts from others, we give them a gift of giving.”
Gift
Giving
Giver
Receive
Pay It Forward
“Life is a gift that definitely keeps on giving. My duty is to pay whatever benefits I receive, forward.”
Life
Carlos Wallace
Give Back
Give Back Quotes
Give Back To Humanity
The Art of the July Monarchy: France, 1830 to 1848
“The July Monarchy was the start of France’s Steam Age, a period when steam technology, much of it imported from England, began to transform perceptions of space and time (the steamboat and the railroad), material culture (the powerloom for weaving cloth), and the circulation of words and images (the mechanized printing press). The number of steam engines in France rose from six hundred in 1830 to five thousand in 1847, and contemporaries were powerfully aware of the changes they portended. Indeed, the July Monarchy has never received sufficient acknowledgment for setting the stage for the major economic boom of the 1850s and 1860s, for which the Emperor Napoleon III was happy to take credit. Nevertheless, in two fundamental ways, France before 1848 was more like it had been at the end of the eighteenth century than like it would be by the beginning of the twentieth.”
July Monarchy
Steam Age
Interior Freedom
“Te doy gracias, Dios mío, por todo mi pasado; creo firmemente que, de cuanto he vivido, Tú podrás sacar un bien; no quiero tener ningún pesar y desde hoy me decido a recomenzar desde cero con exactamente la misma confianza que si toda mi historia pasada no estuviera hecha sino de fidelidad y santidad.”
Dios
Realidad
Confianza
Abandono
Aceptación
Católico
Recomenzar
The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming
“Durante mucho tiempo consideré la imagen negativa que tenía de mí como una virtud. Me habían prevenido tantas veces contra el orgullo y la vanidad que llegué a pensar que era bueno despreciarme a mí mismo. Ahora me doy cuenta de que el verdadero pecado consiste en negar el amor primero de Dios por mí, en ignorar mi bondad original. Porque, si no me apoyo en ese amor primero y en esa bondad original, pierdo el contacto con mi auténtico yo y me destruyo.”
Amor
Dios
Orgullo
Vanidad
Psicologia
Autoestima
Virtud
Pecado
Bondad
Católico
Kulturgeschichte Der Neuzeit
“Wir brauchen dich, Genie, aber du bist uns lastig. Wir möchten deine Bildsäulen um keinen Preis entbehren, Phidias, aber eigentlich ist es eine Frechheit von dir, ein so großer Künstler zu sein, und von dir, Themistokles, ein so großer Feldherr zu sein, und von dir, Aristides, so gerecht zu sein, und von dir, Sokrates, so weise zu sein, denn das alles sind wir nicht, und wir, das Volk, die Masse, der Durchschnitt, die Gewöhnlichen sind doch eigentlich diejenigen, auf die es ankommt. Jede eurer Taten ist für uns eine Beleidigung, denn jede beweist uns aufs neue, daß in euch mehr Schönheit, Edelmut und Verstand ist als in uns allen zusammengenommen. Wir wissen recht wohl, daß wir ohne euch nicht auskommen könnten, aber das hindert uns nicht, daß wir in euch nichts anderes erblicken als ein notwendiges Übel, das wir nur genau so lange ertragen werden, als wir es ertragen müssen." So dachten die Griechen, und so haben, wenn auch weniger klar und plastisch, alle Zeiten und alle Völker gedacht, insonderheit aber alle Demokratien.”
Genius
Genie
Гений
The Wallflower Wager
“She pushed the door open further, revealing herself to be clad in nothing but a Grecian-inspired arrangement of draped bed linens. The graceful angles of her bared shoulders and arms stood bright against the darkness. Her knot of steam-dampened hair could be so easily undone. A flick of his wrist would send it spilling free, flowing like molten gold between his fingers.
And those bed linens... a single tug, and they'd be a puddle on the floor.”
Penelope Campion
Half Naked
The Wallflower Wager
“He growled, moaned, winced, and cursed. Yet despite all these sounds of seeming displeasure, he made no effort to discourage her. He made his body hers to explore, just as she'd been longing to do ever since he'd come upon her that first night, draped in a towel and dripping wet.
With one finger, she drew a teasing line down the center of his chest, all the way down to his navel.
He bucked his hips. His erection grazed her sex, and she gasped at the sudden contact. Their bodies were separated by the fine lawn of his shirt and the wool of his trousers, but she could feel him- his length, his heat, his hardness.
His desire.
She'd felt triumphant in tackling him to the bed, but that was nothing compared to the surge of power rushing through her now. The thick, hot column of arousal wedged between her thighs- it was for her. All for her. Excitement rocketed through her body and came to settle in her sex, melting onto a soft, throbbing ache.
Desperate to soothe that ache, she rocked against him. The friction sent a pulse of bliss through her body. Judging by his tortured groan, he felt it, too.
His head fell back against the mattress. "God. Yes. Again.”
Penelope And Gabriel
Friction Between Partners
The Wallflower Wager
“He was on his second plate of steaming-hot kidney pie by the time his chewing slowed. And that's when he heard it. The faintest sounds escaping her room, sweeping across the antechamber, and sliding under the door to him.
The sounds of bathing.
A splash.
A trickle.
A faint series of drips.
It all added up to torture. Pure, liquid torture.
He pushed his plate away, propped his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands with a groan. Even plugging his ears didn't help.
When he closed his eyes, he could picture her. Naked in a shallow tub. Her feet dangling over the lip at one end, and her head reclined against the other. And all that water embracing her with heat, lapping at her nakedness, pouring over her most secret curves and furrows.
He was immediately, startlingly hard.”
Erotic
Bathing
Penelope Campion
Asmr
The Wallflower Wager
“They don't have the time to take on animals with dietary restrictions and missing legs."
"Do you think I don't know that? That's precisely why they're all here with me. No one else would take them. Angus, for example." She moved toward the Highland steer. "Some foolish merchant traveled to Scotland on holiday and decided to bring his wife a pet calf from the Highlands. Never stopped to think about the fact that he would grow."
"Surely people aren't that stupid."
"Oh, it happens all the time. But usually they make that mistake with pups or ponies. Not cattle." She shook her head. "They dehorned him in the worst, most painful way. When he came to me, the poor dear's wounds were infected. Infested, too. He could have perished from the fly-strike alone. That man was stupid, indeed. The only thing he got right was his choice of calf. Angus is exceedingly adorable."
Adorable?
Gabe eyed the beast. The animal stood as tall as Gabe's shoulder, and it smelled... the way cattle smell. Shaggy red fur covered its eyes like a blindfold, and its black, spongy nose glistened.”
Steer
Cattle
Penelope Campion
Angus
Animal Adoption
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Running the gauntlet of the trials and tribulations of life, we accumulate an array of useful habits and self-defeating behavior. A personal routine that customary characteristics garner positive traits must be cultivated with care. We must ruthlessly discard the bad habits of yesterday along with any notion that one will appease a restless soul’s willful temperament with acceptance of any degree of personal slovenliness. Injecting new challenges into our lives can assist us recognize when we have allowed apathy and stale habits to dampen our spirit and dull our minds. Rejection of all forms of personal inadequacy and casting aside familiar tapestries opens our eyes to rediscover the unsullied sensation of living vigorously.”
Purposeful Living
Personal Development
Self Development
Habits
Self Evaluating
Self Critical
Self Defeating Attitude
Purself Realization
Self Actualization Critique
Selt
Dead Toad Scrolls
“Self-evaluation proved to be distasteful business. The refraction of light created from an undulating wave of critical self-observation passing through a tarnished lens produces its own morose, self-negating fixations that can result in a dangerous downward spiral. Unless timely arrested, murderous bouts of self-hatred can destroy a person. A person must use self-detestation exclusively as a means to pry oneself away from the haunting specter created courtesy of the clamor, filth, and grunginess of their prior anarchism. Kick starting a stranded person’s emotional motors through reflective contemplation and thoughtful rumination acts to prod loose remote memories seared in the unspoken silence of a person’s unconscious memory bank. Self-discovery is also an uplifting affair. Contemplation helps one confront their streaked presence and realign their inner voice with the sanguine spirits of their ancestors that preceded one in the walk through time.”
Self Discovery
Inner Voice
Self Hatred
Self Criticism
Self Evaluation
Self Evolution
Self Critic
Self Observation
Self Critical
Mind Chatter
Dead Toad Scrolls
“The past is an annoying critic whose loud tirade of accusatory declamations detracts me from experiencing happiness. Loitering within the craggy shadows of my lithograph identification apparatus is the splayed viscera from the blood-soaked entrails of an egotistical self’s riddled history. The unbidden past tugs at my sleeves similar to a persistent tramp demanding an attentive accounting. A disgraced personal self refuses to release its despotic hold upon my guilt-ridden psyche without exacting a sacrificial tithing. Strewn wreckage from my history of scandalous debacles cast a pall of shame over the present. The shambles of my disreputable past stifles my present desire to celebrate in the rudimentary grandeur of living robustly. With the past snarling its reproach, my mind is preoccupied with ugly thoughts, and every day reduced to a tiresome and worrisome filled existence that halts my progress towards achieving an envisaged life.”
Guilt
Worrying
Worry
Negative Thinking
Negative Thoughts
Guilty Conscience
Personal Goals
Ugly Thoughts
Mind Chatter
Guilty Conscience Quotes
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