At Quotes

Swallowing, he entered the second code. Then there was a sound like a marble dropping on the floor - bouncing slowly, gradually getting faster as it dropped lower and lower… The thing was toying with him! Where was it? He strained his hearing, but all was again silent. He wanted to shout and scream obscenities at it, but he fought the impulse. It might not really know his location after all - and that would've led it right to him. It must be coming for him! It must be by the door by now, looking for a way in. Time was running out. He hastily keyed in the third and last code.Death the destroyer never is late!

Christina Engela

When you feel this burden, you might be frustrated, wondering why no one else cares as much as you do. The reason why you care and others don't could be because God has aimed it directly at you.

Craig Groeschel

What alarms me most is the fact that, even when God has now raised up a voice to speak on these issues, many sincerely believe that I am in error or at worst that I am doing something utterly wrong

The TSA liked having fresh agents on the job. Fresh agents with a clear mind and steady hand. Time travel wasn’t for the faint of heart. The pay was good though, but as Scrooby had decided long ago, that even if he didn’t get paid for it, the thrill alone was payment enough. Then again, the TSA realized they couldn’t afford to have disgruntled employees with too much time on their hands and the power of the gods at their fingertips, so the pay was very, very good. Debriefing was routine. And how he hated routine! His supervisor was a senior agent called Guy Krummeck, a rather drab character who liked his shiny silver suits almost as much as he liked to go over every little detail at least three times. Minimum. This time everything went right, so it went quick. Twenty minutes later, tired, he clocked out and went home to his small apartment. Tomorrow, after all, was another day again.

Christina Engela

18. Your life is before you. Be careful of the choices you make now that you could regret later. This regret is the subject of an old poem whose author has been forgotten. I hope you’ll never have reason to apply it to yourself.tAcross the fields of yesterday,tHe sometimes comes to metA little lad just back from play—tThe boy I used to be.tHe looks at me so wistfullytWhen once he’s crept within;tIt is as if he hoped to seetThe man I might have been.

James C. Dobson