Quotes about historical

Testimony should be a philosophical problem and not limited to legal or historical contexts where it refers to the account of a witness who reports what he has seen.

When Death has a story to tell you listen.

Humans were made for love and beauty their vulnerability was what made them feel on the deepest level and what could also crush their will to live.

Keep a spur handy.

Clear vision holds the key.

Let the game be ventured!

History is all around us and you, my lucky few, are living in some of it..

It takes Passion to bring a Vision to Life.

He lowered his voice. "You are a true shield-maiden; you do not turn from a scar on a man's face."I looked at him and did not lower my eyes. "My father was an ealdorman, and his brother ealdorman after him. He taught me that a scar is the badge of honour of the warrior, and this I believe."He regarded me for a long moment. "I think I am glad we did not face your father and his brother in battle," he said, "for they were of better stuff than what we have found here."In saying this, he gave my dea

He’d do what was best for her. He’d take her to safety and send her back home to a bright future…with amore honorable man than him. The stick broke in his hand, and he muttered an oath.All he wanted was for Amelia to be safe and happy, dammit. That and to beat every honorable man in England into the dust.

He’d do what was best for her. He’d take her to safety and send her back home to a bright future…with a more honorable man than him. The stick broke in his hand, and he muttered an oath. All he wanted was for Amelia to be safe and happy, dammit. That and to beat every honorable man in England into the dust.

You’re as lovely as a flower in the stark of winter… Your hair is the color of wheat under the midday sun, and your eyes—”“Yes, yes. My eyes are like the sea or the sky or some such nonsense,” she quipped with a laugh, the lilting sound like the finest music, better than anything he could ever play.

When he bowed his head to hide his grin, she stiffened. “This is most certainly not amusing.”He looked up, the humor still glittering in his eyes, and spoke one word. “James.”“Pardon me?”“James Lamont. It’s my name. You’ll need it if you’re to curse me properly.

The only woman who would wear a gown like this one, love, is one who knows the power she wields and isn’t afraid to use it.

Charity followed the pirate. To salvation or to hell, she would soon find out.

He’d do what was best for her. He’d take her to safety and send her back home to a bright future…with amore honorable man than him. The stick broke in his hand, and he muttered an oath. All he wanted was for Amelia to be safe and happy, dammit. That and to beat every honorable man in England into the dust.

It is surprising how many great men started out as horse thieves.

Abignades or abegnadesA term used in te department of the Landes for the intestines of a goose cooked in its blood. Abegnades are found almost solely in the chalosse region, where they are eaten on bread fried in goose fat, with slices of lemon.

You do what you are

Before the battle they had been discussing whether there might be life after death, and Windham and Rochester had made a pact that if there was, the first to die would come back and tell the other. But, said Rochester, he [Windham] never did.

Heart...Soul...Words

Am I Dead?"Had she fallen to her doom and this was all an elaborate fantasy? Was this the place between life and death? Her eyes welled up with tears and she ran towards the man that wasn't there, wanting to cling to him, to find something to save her from this torture.

People do not ever change. The person you see later is merely the one that was hidden from you in the beginning. Shane KP O'Neill - The Gates Of Babylon.

Profanity is the expression of a lesser mind.

He breathed in hard. The stench of blood filled his lungs. Only now, for the first time, could he truly appreciate it.

Bodies lay strewn all around. Turkish and Wallachian warriors caught in the intimate indiscriminate embrace of death.

Exercise care with what it is you do when you hold my heart in your hands. For it is my love that makes you special. When it is gone, you shall soon know it and you shall be special no more.Shane KP O'Neill - The Gates Of Babylon

The beauty of a woman is that no two are the same. They are all different. It follows then that to be successful as a lover, you cannot make love to any two in the same way.

He knew what he had found here, a precious treasure that had remained hidden away for so long. To the right man, she could give more happiness and fulfilment than any amount of gold, or gems. Just by holding her in his arms, he knew this. He had the key to her heart in his hands. All he had to do was unlock her, and he would enjoy the most wondrous chest of delights. He knew it and he knew, too, that nothing would ever compensate him should he lose her.

The contrast between the realization of his neglect and the fondness I had for my father was painful".

When the watermelons were as large as a child's head, the women boiled them, but they collapsed into a tasteless green mush that no one could eat, not the children, not the cow.

Her Majesty to the theatre. The performance took place on a stage erected in the courtyard, and Her Majesty closed in one part of her veranda for the use of the guests and Court ladies. During the performance I began to feel very drowsy, and eventually fell fast asleep leaning against one of the pillars. I awoke rather suddenly to find that something had been dropped into my mouth, but on investigation I found it was nothing worse than a piece of candy, which I immediately proceeded to eat. On a

Saturated Arrogance...she rebuked those about herin darkness did she dwella pathetic historyall mortal man would tell..

My Characters Tell ME Where THEY Want to Go.

It had never occurred to me that simply being with a fellow prisoner would make me feel like I was still in prison.

Horeb bent over me and ran his hand down my neck, not stopping when his fingers reached my chest. I jerked backward. "What are you doing?"His eyes were black and intense. "A little taste before the wedding, Jayden?

Mechanically I carried on across the Irish Sea, noticing with a jaundiced eye that it had suddenly lost the sinister threat of no-man's-land and was transformed into a placid highway where ferry-steamers would soon chug peacefully over the unmarked graves of gallant seamen.

Once upon a time, there was a civilization in the eastern side of the world. It was one of the most advanced civilizations on the planet that existed during that time.This civilization was the glorious Indus valley civilization. No, I am not talking about India. I am talking about the land of greatness that got lost in time. Today, in the same geographical location of that great civilization, we have a piece of earth, which is known as “India”. But do not mistake it to be the same glorious land

I am in complete alignment with my thinking with this statement by F. F. Bruce: 'Whether our approach is theological or historical, it does matter whether the New Testament documents are reliable or not'." ~R. Alan Woods [2013]

You dare quarrel with me Doerwyne?She wrinkled her nose. "It's not quarreling to express an opinion'""Women don't have opinions.""Then I must be a man, because I have plenty.

Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult.

Dying a thousand deaths in my head to protect you is better than losing you one time in the flesh."~ Gustaf Ræliksen

As long as it makes you happy. For the rest of my life, I will do whatever it takes to ensure it. As my wife, you will not want for anything. What you desire, I will provide.

If my brother, Dægan, was still alive to herald this moment, I know he would have something poetically moving to say. But where I lack in speech, I make up for in determination. Let my actions speak for themselves, for I will have my vengeance. As the last living son of Rælik, I will defend my father’s honor and uphold his noble name. Rally the men for council—my Æsa needs me.”~ Gustaf Ræliksen

He turned to look at her. "We've some talking to do.""Didn't we do that on the plane ride over here?""I doona remember talking. I remember kissing, touching, and many orgasms, but no talking.

...graced by some delicate, perceptive and fine-boned writing, is at the heart of the book, and Creel gets it all just right.

The clouds of night opened like ink blossoming in water.

I was young--so young--naive, isolated in a small world of safety and comfort too soon shattered by a phone call.

Children, Hadley thinks to herself, children are more civilised than this gang on the sauce.

Ien stopped her voice with more kisses, more promises of a world filled with only them.

No, I will not join your Civil War reenactment troupe.

As a historical novelist, there are few jobs more retrospective.

There are no more gates, only hinges clinging to the walls like broken spiders.

Though the heart may be cracked wide, pain can still seep in.

Inrealized how valuable the art and practice of writing letters are, and how important it is to remind people of what a treasure letters--handwritten letters--can be. In our throwaway era of quick phone calls, faxes, and email, it's all to easy never to find the time to write letters. That's a great pity--for historians and the rest of us.

What does freedom mean if we accept the fundamental premise that humans are social beings, raised in certain social and historical contexts and belonging to particular communities that shape their desires and understandings of the world?

Wicked eyes are not a good prospect for seminary boys. They want a gentle, soft sort of wife, not a wife who looks as though she may sprout wings and carry off the young children of the village. ~Maria "Smythe

...the long blue shadows of afternoon advanced before me like cheerful ghosts of last summer's growth, dancing past the withered flower borders and the stiff hedges to fall at the feet of a stone nymph, her cascade of water frozen in her urn.

Calmly, slowly, she reached behind with her left hand and came up against — yes, fabric. Fine linen, to be precise. So far, so good: she was inside a wardrobe, after all. The only problem was that this linen was oddly warm. Body warm. Beneath the tentative pressure of her palm, it seemed to be moving...With terrifying suddenness, an ungloved hand clamped roughly over her nose and mouth. A long arm pinned her arms against her sides. She was held tightly against a hard, warm surface."Hush," whispe

I've deprived my family in order to buy books. No doubt there is a special punishment in hell for such self-indulgence. Perhaps I shall be struck with blindness among the rarest known to men.

Sometimes people do misguided things for the most honorable of reasons.

You are an exceedingly beautiful mystery, one that intrigues me and one that I plan to solve.

He had an overwhelming urge to take possession of her lips, silencing any mention of another man’s name.

Her fingers clutched him now, and her body writhed with a frustration he knew all too well. He wanted her. Now. Here.

He didn’t save women. He damned them.

He poured a splash of liquid into a second cup. “Come in and warm yerself by the fire.” Ariana walked deeper into the room, toward the glow of the hearth. It’s heat enveloped her skin and eased away the chill with such expediency, she almost sighed. Connor appeared beside her with a metal cup extended. “I canna sleep often myself.” She closed her fingers around the cool surface and glanced at the dark liquid within. A sharp scent hit her nostrils. “Whisky,” Connor said. He was perfection in the

I canna let you die like Da,” he said softly. “And yet ye canna let me live,” she replied.

Saturated Arrogance...imprisoned musescried to be freeshe took away their quillsand saiddo not bother me...

The historical sense involves a perception, not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence

History is rich knowledge. In your travel, learn brief history of the place visited.

The last time Sean found trouble, she arrived in a package of blonde hair and blue eyes.” ~ Giles on Jem

The marine underworld stretched below the ship and embodied many secrets. The disappearance of Olga had become one of the mysteries that would remain with Stefania and her family. The disappearance of her baby sister and sudden departure from her home had taught the ten-year-old that life was filled with uncertainties. But she was willing to forget that for a little while.She jumped down from the barrel and headed toward Liam, Felix, and the other shipmates. They would sing shanties and talk of

It's a very good historical book about history.

But every historical statement and legitimization itself moves within a certain relation to history.

We are not merely passive pawns of historical forces nor are we victims of the past. We can shape and direct history.

Species go extinct because there are historical contraints built into a given body or a given design.

Be Patient to become a Patent

His legs may have been firmly rooted to the study floor, but his heart had just leaped the stile and was running down the lane.

Their love was so forbidden that their very touch could wrap a hangman's noose around them.

All the while Martin attempted to catch his aunt with a remorseful gaze, but the young woman was reabsorbed into her mother’s orbit, and though Anna embraced him, pressed on him the importance of visiting soon, he could feel that she was already very far away, not really seeing him, but cruising with distant eyes and a feather’s touch over the summits of all her disappointments.

As a historical novelist, there is very little I like more than spending time sorting through boxes of old letters, diaries, maps, trinkets, and baubles.

The word "We" is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages. What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it? What is my wisdom, if even the fools can dictate to me? What is my freedom, if al

When we are reading, a voice comes to us as in the dark and whispers, "Imagine!" Samuel Beckettas told by Bill Moyer in the Foreword he wrote for, The Public Library: A Photographic Essay by Robert Dawson. Afterword by Ann Patchett

The English language [during the Elizabethan era] wasn't standardized. There were no official dictionaries. There was no cultural belief that words should always be spelled the same way. So people spelled things however they heard them or however made sense. I mean the name Shakespeare had something like 16 different spellings, and the way he spelled it isn't the way we spell it.- School of Night - pg 44

I was torn apart. But you, my knight, you found all the pieces and put me back together.

Paying twenty-five dollars for me was your mistake, ma’am. I’m not worth more than fifteen.

What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.''They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.''You don't have much

What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.''They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.''You don't have much

Rooks have clustered on either side of the long road. It is as if they line a grand parade route for our passage. Their black feathers are stark as soot against the white road and the snow. They stab at the ground with their strange bare bills and gray unfeathered faces. The birds are like rough-edged black stones on a string around this stripped cold neck of road. The old books tell us rooks bring the virtuous dead to heaven’s gate.

Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius’s voice telling a tale. Liam’s flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whits

I’m all alone against the darkness. Dark winds rising against me.

I’m not only my father’s daughter, but also a daughter of the nation he founded. And protecting both is what I’ve always done.

Sons of a revolution fight for liberty. They give blood, flesh, limbs, their very lives. But daughters . . . we sacrifice our eternal souls.

It's time we woke up, women are pretty much people, seems to me. I know they dress like fools- but who´s to blame for that? We invent all those idiotic hats of theirs, and design their crazy fashions, and, what's more, if a woman is courageous enough to wear common-sense clothes -and shoes- which of us wants to dance with her? Yes, we blame them for gratifying us, but are we willing to let our wives work? We are not. It hurts our pride, that's all. We are always criticizing them for doing mercen

Shukhov stared at the ceiling and said nothing. He no longer knew whether he wanted to be free or not...it had gradually dawned on him that people like himself were not allowed to go home but were packed off into exile. And there was no knowing where the living was easier – here or there. The one thing he might want to ask God for was to let him go home. But they wouldn't let him go home.

Some people remember the sixties better than others do. Some weren't even there, some who were there were not really there, and some who were not really there were "really there".

Under the sanctuary are the catacombs where the dead wait for resurrection. The living do not venture there. The caverns here underneath the Sanctuary are illuminated only by dim shafts of light from the sanctuary. The walls are etched with flowers of frost, but at least I am out of the wind. Dark bays line the hall in front of me, a vast rabbit warren, each hold filled to the brim with the scent of the past.

You have a spine of steel and fire in your eyes, Rosalie. To have such a quality, one must be shaken to the foundation of one’s soul and put back together. I want to know how you emerged from hell made of steel and fire.

Hot-blooded men make war. It’s up to cool-headed queens like us to make the peace.