It suits my own attitude toward the world and its people to believe that the Raven is this completely self-centered, uninvolved bringer of change, through inadvertence and accident, and so on... It's a version of the Raven myth for today, not for the time when it was created.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.
I'm truly flattered and honored that I get to be Raven for life.
My soul is wrapped in harsh repose, Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes, But soft... behold! A sunlight beam Butting a swath of glimmering gleam. My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, Inspired by your beauty... Effulgent.
Raven: "Don't you notice that?" Alexander: "Notice what?" Raven: "The girls?" Alexander: "What girls?" Raven: "Hello! You were worried about bringing me to a bar when all along I should have been concerned about bringing you." Alexander: "I don't know what you are talking about." Raven: "The girls are drooling all over you!" Alexander: "Well, there is only one girl I want to be with and she's right here.
You've used up all your school sick days," he said, persuing my file. "You've requested to leave school one hundred and thirty days out of the one hudred and forty days of school so far." So thirty-one might be the magic number?" Principal Reed and Raven
(Raven) "Makes me think of werewolves. Do you think a man can change into an animal?" (Alexander) "If he's with the right girl.
There will be no more protests. No more dissension. No more violence. There will be only one voice. The voice of Ravinia. The voice of Halla. Your voice." "There goes freedom of speech," I said.
Two bones fell down my chimney and into the bedroom this morning. Hysterical thing to happen to a thriller writer. Murderous ravens perhaps?
Seriously. Dados bounce." Bobby in Raven Rise
Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven That from the East glad message brings. Night is a stealthy, evil Raven, Wrapped to the eyes in his black wings.
I always love watching those natural actors like Bill Cosby, Raven-Symone and Shia LaBeouf - just effortless actors.
Cat, hmmm? From where I sit you look more like a Kitten." My head jerked around and I shot him an annoyed look. Oh, I was going to enjoy this, all right. "It's Cat," I repeated firmly. "Cat Raven." "Whatever you say, Kitten Tweedy.
Why is a raven like a writing desk? - Mad Hatter I haven't the slightest idea. - Alice
Your right. We do spend a lot of time worrying about our looks, instead of focusing on what's inside. - Raven The artist has the power to capture that. To express what he thinks about the subject. I thought that was much more romantic then seeing myself in a cold, stark glass reflection. - Alexander
Granuaile looked terminally depressed when she emerged from the bathroom with raven hair and, as a result rather Goth by accident. She didn't want to get her picture taken. "Aughh!" she said miserably, looking in the vanity mirror in the truck of the cab and fingering a wavy curl near her temple. "This sucks more than anything has ever sucked before. You know what we look like? A couple of emo douche bags." "Well, look at the bright side, Granuaile. Emo Douche Bags would be a great band name." [That's brilliant! It's already the unofficial name of more bands than I can count.]
He that has no present Christ has a future, dark, chaotic, heaving with its destructive ocean; and over it there goes forever--black-pinioned winging its solitary and hopeless flight, the raven of his anxious thoughts, and finds no place to rest, and comes back again to the desolate ark with its foreboding croak of evil in the present and evil in the future.
O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!
There are four simple ways for the observant to tell Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar apart: first, Mr. Vandemar is two and a half heads taller than Mr. Croup; second, Mr. Croup has eyes of a faded china blue, while Mr. Vandemar's eyes are brown; third, while Mr. Vandemar fashioned the rings he wears on his right hand out of the skulls of four ravens, Mr. Croup has no obvious jewelery; fourth, Mr. Croup likes words, while Mr. Vandemar is always hungry. Also, they look nothing at all alike.
Every time I have to try on a wig for work, I get excited about the colour; I've often thought about going for a platinum bob or also raven black, as it looks so great against pale skin. But I always end up being loyal to my red colour.
I knew from previous books not to count on anything in terms of sales. My first novel - -The Raven's Bride, about Sam Houston's disastrous first marriage - -sold well and got attention, but my second book - -Promised Lands, about the Texas Revolution - -didn't.
Abra DeMadrigal didn't look young enough to be my sister anymore. Her sorrow weighed her down and aged her. She was still beautiful, but she looked very far away. No wonder our people had raven eyes, so distant, so sad. No matter how wise she was, my mother looked like a woman who hadn't truely believed how much evil there was in our world. Not until this moment.
But as we are looking toward our future, I'm not sure it matters what we want to be but rather who we want to be. Someone honest or deceitful?Someone kind or cruel?Someone loyal or unfaithful? In any profession we can elect to be any of those things. I think this assignment is not only about what we choose to do but about who we choose to be. I choose to always be loyal to myself. -Raven Madison
If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal - cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge - so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses - loved, lingered over through a whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven cloud foreshadowing Death himself.
Was man made stupid to see his own stupidity? Is God by definition indifferent, beyond us all? Is the eternal truth man's fighting soul Wherein the Beast ravens in its own avidity?
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