#am

Why would a vampire create a younger vampire if there was a possibility the young one might end up destroying the old one?' Stephin stared. 'If you can explain to me how this is different from parenting in general I might know how to answer that. ↗

— Adam Rex

#vampires #age

I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange. Of the dream that was my life, this is my nightmare. ↗

— Camille Claudel

#dreams #life #sadness #dreams

Zeb was kindergarten teacher--a good one. I always thought it was because he was the same emotional age as his students. ↗

— Molly Harper

#jane-jameson #kindergarten #maturity #molly-harper #nice-girls-don-t-have-fangs

Do grown men always have to play games? Does everything have to be an excuse for another kind of game? Do any men grow up or do they only come of age? ↗

— Stephen King

#men #age

Zachary smiles, and I wonder if he's felling different. Because standing out here waist deep in Gossimer Lake, next to my best friend, I'm feeling different-light and good and maybe even holy. ↗

— Kimberly Willis Holt

#deathr #friendship #spirituality #vietnam-wa #age

I guess the two things I was most interested in were telescopes and steam engines. My father was an engineer on a threshing rig steam engine and I loved the machinery. ↗

— Clyde Tombaugh

#engineer #engines #father #guess #i

Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known. ↗

— Scott Fitzgerald

#fitzgerald #jazz-age-stories #age

Tarly, when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels. ↗

— George R.R. Martin

#samwell-tarly #weasel #age

Amy Pond: 'I thought... well, I started to think you were just a madman with a box.' The Doctor: 'Amy Pond, there's something you better understand about me, 'cause it's important and one day your life may depend on it. [He Smiles] I am definitely a madman with a box. ↗

— Steven Moffat

#doctor-who #the-doctor #the-doctor-and-amy #life

1 You said ‘The world is going back to Paganism’. Oh bright Vision! I saw our dynasty in the bar of the House Spill from their tumblers a libation to the Erinyes, And Leavis with Lord Russell wreathed in flowers, heralded with flutes, Leading white bulls to the cathedral of the solemn Muses To pay where due the glory of their latest theorem. Hestia’s fire in every flat, rekindled, burned before The Lardergods. Unmarried daughters with obedient hands Tended it. By the hearth the white-armd venerable mother Domum servabat, lanam faciebat. At the hour Of sacrifice their brothers came, silent, corrected, grave Before their elders; on their downy cheeks easily the blush Arose (it is the mark of freemen’s children) as they trooped, Gleaming with oil, demurely home from the palaestra or the dance. Walk carefully, do not wake the envy of the happy gods, Shun Hubris. The middle of the road, the middle sort of men, Are best. Aidos surpasses gold. Reverence for the aged Is wholesome as seasonable rain, and for a man to die Defending the city in battle is a harmonious thing. Thus with magistral hand the Puritan Sophrosune Cooled and schooled and tempered our uneasy motions; Heathendom came again, the circumspection and the holy fears … You said it. Did you mean it? Oh inordinate liar, stop. 2 Or did you mean another kind of heathenry? Think, then, that under heaven-roof the little disc of the earth, Fortified Midgard, lies encircled by the ravening Worm. Over its icy bastions faces of giant and troll Look in, ready to invade it. The Wolf, admittedly, is bound; But the bond wil1 break, the Beast run free. The weary gods, Scarred with old wounds the one-eyed Odin, Tyr who has lost a hand, Will limp to their stations for the Last defence. Make it your hope To be counted worthy on that day to stand beside them; For the end of man is to partake of their defeat and die His second, final death in good company. The stupid, strong Unteachable monsters are certain to be victorious at last, And every man of decent blood is on the losing side. Take as your model the tall women with yellow hair in plaits Who walked back into burning houses to die with men, Or him who as the death spear entered into his vitals Made critical comments on its workmanship and aim. Are these the Pagans you spoke of? Know your betters and crouch, dogs; You that have Vichy water in your veins and worship the event Your goddess History (whom your fathers called the strumpet Fortune). ↗

— C.S. Lewis

#age