Quotes About Mind

You knew Raven and Mikhail were in trouble when their minds were connected to Byron's. What is it? How does the vampire trap us?" "He ensnared Raven and me through Byron, a monumental feat," Mikhail admitted. Then he rubbed his jaw ruefully. "Is it possible, little brother, you enjoyed hitting me just a bit too much?

There is always a price to pay, he observed, as if reading her mind.

Jacques, are you hurt? I will come to you. Shea's soft voice swirled in his mind, caught fragments of his thoughts and seemed to piece him back together. She was, as always, his one and only anchor to reality. Stay there, but stay connected to me, Shea. Being so close to this place is disorienting me. I need you to keep me together. He was begging, but Jacques had no choice.

I am Jacques. I am your lifemate. There is no question that I can share your mind. It is my right, as it is yours to share mine. More than a right, it is a necessity for us both.

Would you stay out of my head? Wait until you're invited." If I waited for an invitation from you, little red hair, I would be centuries old before it ever came about.

He had learned to kill and then he had killed. Many times. Fourteen was far too young for his artistic mind to accept the violence and he'd been fortunate that he'd met his teacher, a rope master of more than forty years. The art had saved his sanity and his life. He needed it like others needed air.

Why do you fear me, Raven? You have seen me at my worst, as a killer, a dispenser of justice for our people." His thumbs stroked her nipples, a slow, erotic brush that sent liquid heat curling through her. "Do you believe I am evil? Touch my mind, little one. It is impossible for me to hide anything from you. I never concealed my true nature from you. You looked upon me once with the eyes of compassion and love. Of acceptance. Has that all been forgotten?

I guess it would be too much to ask to let Savannah bite my neck." Gary made an attempt at humor. He was rubbing his neck, every Dracula movie he had ever seen going through his mind. A low growl rumbling in Gregori's throat was his answer.

After what happened to Noelle, I could not bear for the same thing to happen to Eleanor. And this was the first time you ever warned one of us off a woman." Mikhail managed a wry smile. "The experience is new to me. Until it is not quite so new and raw, it is best I keep her as close to me as possible. Right now she is arguing with me." Byron looked shocked. "She argues with you?" "She has her own mind.

And stay out of my mind unless you're invited." She was staring, but she couldn't help it. He was so beautifully masculine. Jacques reached behind him and captured her hand, lacing their fingers together. "But I find the most interesting things in your mind, my love. Things you do not have any intention of telling me.

The knob turned easily enough, but the door remained closed, as if an unseen force pushed from the other side. For a moment panic welled up. The feeling of being trapped was overwhelming. Raven? Do you need me? Mikhail was instantly there in her mind, his voice gentle and loving. Just the sound of his voice calmed her. Did you lock me in? Not really, I locked everyone else out to protect you.

Mikhail watched as she snapped off her light, lay on the bed. He felt the stirring in his mind, the searching. Are you awake? Her question was tentative. At first he refused to answer, not liking that he needed this so much. He couldn't afford to be out of control; he didn't dare. Nothing, no one, could have such power over him. Certainly not some slip of an American, a small woman with more strength than good sense.

Gregory's words remain a sharp and timely rebuke to the continuing temptation to practice theology as though we could separate the exercise of our mind from the development of our character.

A writer's unconscious is difficult to read, but the imagination is rooted in the unconscious.

True silence is the rest of the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.

The fear of poverty is never far away from the working-class mind, and all the plasma TVs, PlayStations and iPhones are just talismans warding off that darkness.

In the dark, full of fear, fighting for life, the human mind could slip into pure instinct.

Literature, not scripture, sustains the mind and—since there is no other metaphor—also the soul.

The struggle for a free intelligence has always been a struggle between the ironic and the literal mind.

There are days when I miss my old convictions as if they were an amputated limb. But in general I feel better, and no less radical, and you will feel better too, I guarantee, once you leave hold of the doctrinaire and allow your chainless mind to do its own thinking.

Nothing proves the man-made character of religion as obviously as the sick mind that designed hell.

Part of the function of memory is to forget; the omni-retentive mind will break down and produce at best an idiot savant who can recite a telephone book, and at worst a person to whom every grudge and slight is as yesterday's.

I don't have a body, I am a body.

Thus , dear reader, if you have come this far and found your own faith undermined—as I hope—I am willing to say that to some extent I know what you are going through. There are days when I miss my own convictions as if they were an amputated limb. But in general I feel better, and no less radical, and you will feel better too, I guarantee, once you leave hold of the doctrinaire and allow your chainless mind to do its own thinking.