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And what about us? Do you want a vampire boyfriend?" He laughed bitterly. "Because I forsee many romantic picnics in our future. You, drinking a virgin piña colada. Me, drinking the blood of a virgin. ↗
I was trying to go... somewhere. But I kept getting pulled back here. I couldn't stop walking, couldn't stop thinking. About the first time I ever saw you, and how after I couldn't forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn't stop myself. I forced Hodge to let me be the one who came to find you and bring you back to the Institute. And even back then, in that stupid coffee shop, when I saw you with Simon, even then that felt wrong to me-- I should have been the one sitting with you. The one who made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me. And the more I knew you, the more I felt it-- it had never been like that for me before. I'd always wanted a girl and then gotten to know her and not wanted her anymore, but with you the feeling just got stronger and stronger until that night when you showed up at Renwick's and I knew. And then to find out the reason I felt like that-- like you were some part of me I'd lost and never ever knew I was missing until I saw you again-- that the reason was that you were my sister, it felt like some cosmic joke. Like God was spitting on me. I don't even know for what-- for thinking that I actually get to have you, that I would deserve something like that, to be happy. I couldn't imagine what it was I'd done that I was being punished for-- ↗
There's one way. Only one. Mine." Balthazar stepped closer, using every inch he had on Lucas, who was tall but not that tall. "Charity is a person. The same as you, the same as me." "You and me aren't the same." Balthazar cocked his head. "Then let's say the same as Bianca. Will that make you listen?" "Bianca's no killer! She didn't have a choice about what she is." "Guys, don't do this," I pleaded, but they paid no attention. "A choice? You think we all get a choice?" Although Balthazar spoke softly, there was a roughness to his voice I'd never heard before. It sent chills down my spine. "Try being hunted down in the night. Try running as far and as fast as you can and finding out their faster. Try coming to in a stable, with your parents' dead bodies on the ground in front of you, your hands roped above your head and a dozen hungry vampires arguing with each other about who gets you next. See how much choice you have then." Lucas just stared at him. Obviously he'd never imagined anything like that; neither had I. Even more quietly, Balthazar continued, "Try watching your baby sister die, and then tell me that you wouldn't spend the rest of eternity trying to make up for it. When you've done all that, Lucas, then you can talk to me about choices. Until that time, tell me what I need to know and then shut your mouth. ↗
#bianca #claudia-gray #evernight-series #lucas-ross #stargazer
One reason why the Enemy found this so easy was that, without knowing it, I was already desperately anxious to get rid of my religion; and that for a reason worth recording. By a sheer mistake - and I still believe it to have been an honest mistake - in spiritual technique I had rendered my private practice of that religion a quiet intolerable burden. It came about in this way. Like everyone else I had been told as a child that one must not only say one's prayers but think about what one was saying. Accordingly, when I came to a serious belief, I tried to put this into practice. At first it seemed plain sailing. But soon the false conscience (St. Paul's 'Law', Herbert's 'prattler') came into play. One had no sooner reached 'Amen' than it whispered, 'Yes. But are you sure you were really thinking about what you said?'; then, more subtly, 'Were you, for example, thinking about it as well as you did last night?' The answer, for reasons I did not then understand, was nearly always No. 'Very well,' said the voice, 'hadn't you, then, better try it over again?' And one obeyed; but of course with no assurance that the second attempt would be any better...I set myself a standard. No clause of my prayer was to be allowed to pass muster unless it was accompanied by what I called a 'realization,' by which I meant a certain vivedness of the imagination and the affections. My nightly task was to produce by sheer will power a phenomenon which will power could never produce, which was so ill-defined that I could never say with absolute confidence whether it had occurred, and which, even when it did occur, was of very mediocre spiritual value. ↗
لا تكون رحلة النضوج هذه سهلة أبدا , بل إنها تشبه أحيانا احتراقا داخليا, ألم عظيم و مشقة ليست أثل من ألم و مشقة و معاناة الولادة,و ليست أقل قداسة في الوقت نفسه, فتغيير الذات مخاض عسير و صامت , الصراخ معه لا يجدي كما قد ينفع مع آلام المخاض الاعتيادي , بل هو يحتاج إلى صبر دؤوب و اصطبار حقيقي و متابعة لهذا الصير و ذلك الاصطبار ... و ينتج من ذلك كله معاناة حقيقية هي في جوهرها احتراق حقيقي , وصولا إلى النضوج ..إلى التغيير ↗
Tal was looking at Hank when he said, "Just a moment. I want to hear it one more time." As they watched, Bernice found her way to Hank and Mary. She began to week openly, and spoke some quiet but impassioned words to them. Hank and Mary listened, as did the others nearby, and as they listened, they began to smile. They put their arms around her, they told her about Jesus, and then they began to weep as well. Finally, as the saints were gathered and Bernice was surrounded with loving arms, Hank said the words, "Let's pray... ↗
يمكن للصلاة عندما تكون حقا صلاة , أن تكون خبزنا , لأنها ستعلمنا كيف نكون ناضجين بما فيه الكفاية لنصنع خبزنا بأنفسنا , الصلاة هي خبزنا الحقيقي لأنها ستجعلنا راشدين بما فيه الكفاية لنزرع قمحنا و نسقيه و نرعاه و من ثم نحصده لنطحنه و نأكل خبزنا من صنع أيدينا. ↗
This I would like to be- braver and bolder, Just a bit wiser because I am older, Just a bit kinder to those I may meet, Just a bit manlier taking defeat; This for the New Year my wish and my plea- Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit finer, More of a smiler and less of a whiner, Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand Helping another who's struggling to stand, This is my prayer for the New Year to be, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit fairer, Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer, Not quite so ready to censure and blame, Quicker to help every man in the game, Not quite so eager men's failings to see, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit truer, Less of the wisher and more of the doer, Broader and bigger, more willing to give, Living and helping my neighbor to live! This for the New Year my prayer and my plea- Lord, make a regular man out of me. ↗
Prayer, to the patriarchs and prophets, was more than the recital of well-known and well-worn phrases. It was the outpouring of the heart. Beset by perils, persecutions, pain and privations, they naturally turned to God in their need, believing that He was able to redeem them out of their troubles. ↗
