#hr

To me there is no more tragic sight than the average missionary. …We have given so much, yet not the one thing that counts; we aspire so high, and fall so low; we suffer so much, but so seldom with Christ; we have done so much and so little will remain; we have known Christ in part, and have so effectively barricaded our hearts against His mighty love, which surely He must yearn to give His disciples above all people. ↗

— Amy Carmichael

#disciple #love #missionary #tragic #love

Besides,love is only a feeling. ↗

— Christina Westover

#literary-quote #love #mainstream-fiction #poisoning-sylvie #psychology

If you are too busy to pray, you are busier than God wants you to be. ↗

— Wanda E. Brunstetter

#inspirational-quotes #business

I've got nine kids, nine dogs, three grandkids - and one in the oven. And three parrots! ↗

— Michael Landon

#got #grandkids #i #kids #nine

Unless today is well lived, tomorrow is not important. ↗

— Alan Sakowitz

#character #community #family #financial-thriller #inspirational

Well they're pissed off and they're hungry. I was kind of busy trying not to get my brains eaten. They seemed pretty adamant about the brain-eating thing. Then they're going to IKEA, I guess ↗

— Christopher Moore

#chrisptopher-moore #humor #business

In composing, as a general rule, run your pen through every other word you have written; you have no idea what vigor it will give your style. ↗

— Sydney Smith

#every #general #general rule #give #idea

It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how. ↗

— Bryana Johnson

#free-verse #hamlet #poetry-life #shakespeare #the-quintessence-of-dust

I just want, she said when he’d finally broken down her defenses. And so had he. He’d wanted her to desire him, but truthfully, whether she knew it or not, any man’s tender arms would do. The woman was wounded and aching for love, and it didn’t matter who Adrian was, or that he was the one who held her. But it had mattered to him. His eyelids slid closed as he envisioned all the pleasure he could have shown her, if she hadn’t had the decency to decline. No toys or tricks needed for this one; just deep, primal fucking. Stripping away her inhibitions alone would have been erotic enough to test his endurance. ↗

— Shelby Reed

#shelby-reed #the-fifth-favor #love

The lucid, rational part of Billie wanted to laugh. Here she was, out in the woods of middle-class suburbia, with a man’s fingers inside her panties, inside her, a climax of unimaginable force trembling at the edge of her grasp. And the man who now plied her and played her…a prostitute. A gigolo. A beloved brother and son and uncle, and a suspect, with too many secrets and too much sexual prowess. A man she was falling in love with. The impossibility of it, the crazy, twisted potential swept over her, then ebbed, lost in the surge of unbelievable pleasure that built and built within her like strings drawn too tightly across a fine-tuned instrument. She would die from this, die and scatter into a million fragments and drift like dust on the wind. ↗

— Shelby Reed

#chris #shelby-reed #the-fifth-favor #love