Horror immobolizes us because it is made of contradictory feelings: fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction. Horror is a fascination...Horror is immobility, the great yawn of empty space, the womb and the hole in the earth, the universal Mother and the great garbage heap...With horror we cannot have recourse to flight or combat, there remains only Adoration or Exorcism.
...What was wrong between Diana and me was that she was too much a mother to me, and as I had had one mother, and lost her, I was not in a hurry to acquire another--not even a young and beautiful one with whom I could play Oedipus to both our hearts' content. If I could manage it, I had no intention of being anybody's own dear laddie, ever again.
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...What was wrong between Diana and me was that she was too much a mother to me, and as I had had one mother, and lost her, I was not in a hurry to acquire another--not even a young and beautiful one with whom I could play Oedipus to both our hearts' content. If I could manage it, I had no intention of being anybody's own dear laddie, ever again.
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Nothingness is the basis of everything that exists today. It's the mother of creation & consciousness!
Female say Pack Leader stop,_ Pack Leader said angrily.__hat?_ Caine could make no sense of it till he saw Diana striding up, dark hair flying, eyes furious.__ told this filthy beast to stop,_ Diana said, barely controlled.__top what?_ Caine demanded.__hey__e still attacking the kids,_ Diana said. __e__e won. Sam is dead. Call them off, Caine.__aine turned his attention back to the battle between Drake and the monster. __hey__e coyotes,_ Caine said coldly.Diana flew at him. __ou__e lost your mind, Caine. This has to stop. You__e won. This has to stop.___r what, Diana? Or what?_ Caine demanded. __o get Lana. I__ hurt. Pack Leader, do what you want.___aybe this is why your mother abandoned you,_ Diana said savagely. __aybe she could see that you weren__ just bad, you were twisted and sick and evil.
My old man's a white old manAnd my old mother's black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I'm sorry for that evil wishAnd now i wish her wellMy old man died in a fine big houseMy Ma died in a shack.I wonder were i'm going to die,Being neither white nor black?
I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room
A misadventurer's greatest fear is their mother.