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21 " Laurie herself was more focused on the years when her kids were little, when she felt so necessary and purposeful, a battery all charged up with love. Every day she used it up and every night it got miraculously replenished. Nothing had ever been as good as that. "
― Tom Perrotta
22 " What do you say when you feel your life is taken right from your chest, even though I miraculously find myself still breathing? "
23 " It was one of those brief spells of complete happiness that come once in a rare while, an unlooked for gift of God, when the forces of darkness, of sorrow and temptation seem miraculously held back, a breathing space in the battle. "
― Penelope Wilcock , The Hawk and the Dove (The Hawk and the Dove #1)
24 " I was exhausted and had to rely on Herr Schreiner to help me and knew in my soul that God had sent him to my aid. As tired as I was, I couldn’t have handled my luggage alone. Finally another train did pull into the station but in stark contrast to the empty platform we were standing on, the train was completely full of people. Although he wasn’t that big of a man, Herr Schreiner pushed my suitcases up the two steps into the railway car, and I climbed up behind them. As the train left the station, he hung onto the two entrance handles right behind me and I pushed for space, trying to make enough room for him to get into the carriage. With every surge of the train I expected him to lose his grip but with what I am certain was superhuman strength, he hung on as the train picked up speed. Several of the people made snide remarks but I turned a deaf ear to this and pushed as hard as I could, so that he could also get in. With the help of another man pulling on his coat, Herr Schreiner finally managed to squeeze in far enough so that we could close the door behind him. Once safely on the train, someone from his school in Mannheim recognized him. Herr Schreiner had been a very popular, much admired school principal and seeing how tired and bedraggled we now looked, the passenger offered us his window seats and helped to make room so that we could store our suitcases in the luggage rack above our heads. The train didn’t make any more stops and continued east crossing the Rhine River Bridge, which miraculously was still there. I couldn’t believe that everything had come together as well as it had, and that I was on my way back to Überlingen and my children. "
― Hank Bracker
25 " Women are huntresses until the day we die. Our perpetual thirst for the chase endures until our last breath. It remains while we are too focused on our careers to pursue love, when we have been burned by past relationships, and even when we are simply enjoying the freedom of being single. It does not miraculously vanish once we are settled down in a monogamous relationship – we merely make the conscious decision to remain faithful. But a lioness in a zoo is still a lioness. Romance novels are the remedy for our restless hearts. They invite us to explore and experiment within the safety of their pages. Every book is an opportunity to satisfy our unending desire to fall in love. They allow us to experience it all over again, right from the start: The intoxicating newness. The thrill of the hunt. The exhilaration of the game. The building anticipation. The worsening hunger. And finally, the fulfillment of a much-needed release. Each book offers a chance to achieve a state of blissful, glowing contentment… Until the next one catches our eye, that is. "
26 " Lollipops and raindropsSunflowers and sun-kissed daisiesRolling surf and raging seaSailing ships and submarinesOld Glory and “purple mountain’s majesty”Screaming guitar and lilting rhymeFlight of fancy and high-steppin’ dancesSet free my mind to wander…Imagine the ant’s marching journeys.Fly, in my mind’s eye, on butterfly wings.Roam the distant depths of space.Unfurl tall sails and cross the ocean.Pictures made just to enthrallCreating images from my truthPainting hopes and dreams on my canvasCapturing, through my lens, the ephemeralLet me ruminate ‘pon sensual darkness…Tremble o’er Hollywood’s fluttering Gothics…Ride the edge of my seat with the hero…Weep with the heroine’s desperation.Yet… more than all these things…Give me words spun out masterfully…Terms set out in meter and rhyme…Phrases bent to rattle the soul…Prose that always miraculously inspires me!The trill runs up my spine, as I recall…A touch… a caress…a whispered kiss…Ebony eyes embracing my soul…Two souls united in beat of hearts.A butterfly flutter in my wombMy lover’s wonder o’er my swellingThe testament of our love given lifeNewly laid in my lover’s armsLuminous, sweet ebony eyesJust so much like his father’sA gaze of wonder and contentmentFrom my babe at mother’s breastWords of the Divine set down for meFaith, Hope, Love, and CharityGrace, Mercy, and undeserved Salvation“My Shepherd will supply my need”These are the things that inspire me. "
― D. Denise Dianaty , My Life In Poetry
27 " The faithful clamoured to be buried alongside the martyrs, as close as possible to the venerable remains, a custom which, in anthropological terms, recalls Neolithic beliefs that certain human remains possessed supernatural properties. It was believed that canonized saints did not rot, like lesser mortals, but that their corpses were miraculously preserved and emanated an odour of sanctity, a sweet, floral smell, for years after death. In forensic terms, such preservation is likely to be a result of natural mummification in hot, dry conditions. "
― Catharine Arnold , Necropolis: London and Its Dead
28 " We had our arms round each other. It was like holding in my hand some rare, exhausted, nearly doomed bird which I had miraculously happened to find. "
― James Baldwin , Giovanni's Room
29 " It might have interested Newt to know that, of the thirty-nine thousand women tested with the pin during the centuries of witch-hunting, twenty-nine thousand said “ouch,” nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine didn’t feel anything because of the use of the aforesaid retractable pins, and one witch declared that it had miraculously cleared up the arthritis in her leg. "
― Terry Pratchett , Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
30 " Oh! Great Lady of Fascination! We arise in somnambulant awe and dance entranced as you glide slowly and softly through the Heavenly Dome and suffuse our presence with unfathomable desires for faerie worlds, where all is order, where all is beauty, where nuances of quality proliferate miraculously in myraids of delicious subtleties. "
― Lady Svetlana
31 " My heart is filled with great joy.I am so thankful to God for miraculously saving my life. "
― Lailah Gifty Akita
32 " An aged monk led me to the infirmary. " He's got the place to himself. Once the other invalids learned there was a dragon coming they miraculously got well! The lame could walk and the blind decided they didn't really need to see. He's a panacea. "
33 " Under the seeming disorder of the old city, wherever the old city is working successfully, is a marvelous order for maintaining the safety of the streets and the freedom of the city. It is a complex order. Its essence is intricacy of sidewalk use, bringing with it a constant succession of eyes. This order is all composed of movement and change, and although it is life, not art, we may fancifully call it the art form of the city and liken it to the dance — not to a simple-minded precision dance with everyone kicking up at the same time, twirling in unison and bowing off en masse, but to an intricate ballet in which the individual dancers and ensembles all have distinctive parts which miraculously reinforce each other and compose an orderly whole. The ballet of the good city sidewalk never repeats itself from place to place, and in any once place is always replete with new improvisations. "
― Jane Jacobs , The Death and Life of Great American Cities
34 " My child looked at me and I looked back at him in the delivery room and I realized that out of a sea of infinite possibilities it had come down to this: a specific person born on the hottest day of the year conceived on a Christmas Eve made by his father and me miraculously from scratch. "
35 " Old Hubert must have had a premonition of his squalid demise. In October he said to me, ‘Forty-two years I’ve had this place. I’d really like to go back home, but I ain’t got the energy since my old girl died. And I can’t sell it the way it is now. But anyway before I hang my hat up I’d be curious to know what’s in that third cellar of mine.’The third cellar has been walled up by order of the civil defence authorities after the floods of 1910. A double barrier of cemented bricks prevents the rising waters from invading the upper floors when flooding occurs. In the event of storms or blocked drains, the cellar acts as a regulatory overflow.The weather was fine: no risk of drowning or any sudden emergency. There were five of us: Hubert, Gerard the painter, two regulars and myself. Old Marteau, the local builder, was upstairs with his gear, ready to repair the damage. We made a hole.Our exploration took us sixty metres down a laboriously-faced vaulted corridor (it must have been an old thoroughfare). We were wading through a disgusting sludge. At the farend, an impassable barrier of iron bars. The corridor continued beyond it, plunging downwards. In short, it was a kind of drain-trap.That’s all. Nothing else. Disappointed, we retraced our steps. Old Hubert scanned the walls with his electric torch. Look! An opening. No, an alcove, with some wooden object that looks like a black statuette. I pick the thing up: it’s easily removable. I stick it under my arm. I told Hubert, ‘It’s of no interest. . .’ and kept this treasure for myself.I gazed at it for hours on end, in private. So my deductions, my hunches were not mistaken: the Bièvre-Seine confluence was once the site where sorcerers and satanists must surely have gathered. And this kind of primitive magic, which the blacks of Central Africa practise today, was known here several centuries ago. The statuette had miraculously survived the onslaught of time: the well-known virtues of the waters of the Bièvre, so rich in tannin, had protected the wood from rotting, actually hardened, almost fossilized it. The object answered a purpose that was anything but aesthetic. Crudely carved, probably from heart of oak. The legs were slightly set apart, the arms detached from the body. No indication of gender. Four nails set in a triangle were planted in its chest. Two of them, corroded with rust, broke off at the wood’s surface all on their own. There was a spike sunk in each eye. The skull, like a salt cellar, had twenty-four holes in which little tufts of brown hair had been planted, fixed in place with wax, of which there were still some vestiges. I’ve kept quiet about my find. I’m biding my time. "
― Jacques Yonnet , Paris Noir: The Secret History of a City
36 " God allows unjust disparities between rich and poor because He does not miraculously intervene to establish justice against human wills. Also, discrepancies are not unjust by themselves; justice does not mean equality of result but equality of opportunity. "
