Feel it, deal with it, then throw it away
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Never give up, Never surrender!If you think you can't, then you must, if you must, then you can. Tony Robbins
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She is the crescendo, the final, astonishing work of God. Woman. In one last flourish creation comes to a finish with Eve. She is the Master's finishing touch.
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... If you can't see the good man he is, you need to unscrew them eyeballs of yours and try on a different pair.
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She was an extension of his dreams. A sprinkling of magic dust, of unfeasible wishes, on his stable existence. The one thing-the one bright, marvelous thing-he wanted more than the world, but didn't deserve. However much he was tortured for her sake, however much blood he had spilled to protect her, the bruises to his body and the thrashings to his sanity, it would never be enough to make a wretch like him worthy of such a miracle.
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Kas was right: a woman could destroy a man. This one could do so, simply by knowing his name. She could do so, simply with her eyes.
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That first scream, my lord, was indeed your daughter, my wife, and if you kill me, your grandchild will be quite without a father. Won't you come in?
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It was a question of insurmountable proportions. A single word that held every fear he had ever had-and every wish he had ever made on those cursed stars. She needn't say more. In a single syllable, she had said more than he wanted to hear in an entire lifetime.
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The world takes us to a silver screen on which flickering images of passion and romance play, and as we watch, the world says, This is love. God takes us to the foot of a tree on which a naked and bloodied man hangs and says, This is love.
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He smelled the salt on his own lips and the orange blossoms in her hair. Real ones, he could see now, tucked into the curls with cheap, native combs. The sight of them gave him hope.
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I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Phil 3: 14
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You could have arrived atop a wildcat and no one would have said a word. They will adore you.
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Looking back at him was a man who was battered and broken. And alive, for the first time in his life.
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She was a little thing, too, inciting that basic compulsion in him as a man to protect her in so hectic a place as post-war Israel. Even so, his actions were borne out of an entirely different instinct, altogether: to fool her and anyone within a dart's range.. To protect himself.
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Caine usually woke from the recurring dream mid-air, having yet to be dashed upon the rocks, whimpering and panting like a child crying for his mother. Now he lifted his eyes to a dark, empty room in Jizan and the unusual, lingering scent of roses, and wept in his hands for his Father.
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He heard the voice that had called to him in dreams, had saved him from the sands and from following his brother into the river.
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Caine was a murderer. A liar. A cad. A skulker in shadows and a heartless wretch. What sort of woman or God would love someone like him?
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Oh, Lord, why was she doomed to adore a man steeped in blindness and utter stupidity?
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A hand stole around her mouth, silencing her, then his lips parting her tumbled hair: The walls have ears. She blinked, and for the first time, looked around. A thin beam of light beneath what may have been a door. That was all. When he released her, she endeavored to match his own, barely audible tone. Do the walls understand English?
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Kent had begun sleeping with his good eye open, for he knew the mark of sedition when he saw it. Even partway blinded, who could see it better?
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They were literally inches from being buried alive in this place, millions of miles from home or any sort of civilization, where they would never be found or mourned.. And Caine continued to smile. Sweet heavens, he was completely out of his mind!
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CRUEL HARVEST by Fran Elizabeth Grubb is a compelling, riveting, unforgetable memoir that will keep you turning the pages. Published by Thomas Nelson and due for release August 2012. Kidnapped from an orphanage Frances is dragged across the country working in the fields. Youtubefrangrubb to see video book trailer.
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[novan]: bassists are very good with their fingers[novan]: and some of us sing backup vocals, so that means we're good with our mouths too..(~ IM chat with Novan Chang, 18, bassist)
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When they write my obituary. Tomorrow. Or the next day. It will say, Leo Gursky is survived by an apartment full of shit
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A lover exists only in fragments, a dozen or so if the romance is new, a thousand if we're married to him, and out of those fragments our heart constructs an entire person. What we each create, since whatever is missing is filled by our imagination, is the person we wish him to be. The less we know him, of course, the more we love him. And that's why we always remember that first rapturous night when he was a stranger, and why this rapture returns only when he's dead.
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