ghost

Imagine for a moment that you are the proud owner of a large house which you have spent years of your life painting and decorating and filling with everything you love. It's your home. It's something you've made your own, something for you to be remembered by, something that, perhaps years later, your children and grandchildren can visit and get a view of your life in. It's part of your creativity, your hard work... it's your property.Now suppose you decide to go camping for a couple of weeks. You lock your door and assume that nobody is going to break in... but they do, and when you return home, to your horror you find that not only do these trespassers break in, but they also have quite uniquely imaginative ways of disrespecting, vandalizing and corrupting everything within your property. They light fires on your lawn, your topiary hedges are in heaps of black ashes. There's some blatantly obscene graffiti splattered across your front door, offensive images and rude words splashed on the walls and windows. Your television has been tipped over. Your photographs of family and friends have had the heads cut out of them. There's mold growing in the refrigerator, bottles of booze tipped over on the table, and cigarette smoke embedded into the carpeting. Your beloved houseplants are dead, your furniture has been stripped down and ruined. Basically, the thing you've spent years working for and creating within your lifetime has been tampered with to the point where it is just a grim joke.So, I feel terrible for poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jane Austen and Lewis Carroll, who must be spinning in their graves since they have no rights to their own works of fiction anymore. I'm all for readers being able to read books for free once and only when the deceased author's copyright eventually ends. Still though, did Doyle ever think in a million years that his wonderful characters would be dragged through the mud of every pervy fanfiction that the sick internet geek can think of to create? Did Carroll ever suspect that Alice and the Hatter would become freakish clown-like goth caricatures in Tim Burton's CGI-infested films? Would Austen really want her writing to be sold as badly-formatted ebooks?The sharing of this Public Domain content isn't really an issue. Stories are meant to be told, meant to echo onward forever. That's what makes them magical. That being said, in the Information Age, there's a real lack of respect towards the creators of this original content. If, when I've been dead for 70 years and I then no longer have the rights to my novels, somebody gets the bright idea of doing anything funny with any of those novels, my ghost is going to rise from the grave and do some serious ass-kicking.

Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. __ine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I__ going to get Wylan__ ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.__rekker__ lips quirked. ____l just hire Matthias_ ghost to kick your ghost__ ass.___y ghost won__ associate with your ghost,_ Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain.

Today is an ephemeral ghost...A strange amazing day that comes only once every four years. For the rest of the time it does not "exist."In mundane terms, it marks a "leap" in time, when the calendar is adjusted to make up for extra seconds accumulated over the preceding three years due to the rotation of the earth. A day of temporal tune up!But this day holds another secret__t contains one of those truly rare moments of delightful transience and light uncertainty that only exist on the razor edge of things, along a buzzing plane of quantum probability...A day of unlocked potential.Will you or won't you? Should you or shouldn't

The past is a ghost, the future a dream and all we ever have is now.

Why do the living assume the dead know better than we do?Like they gained some knowledge by dying, but why wouldn__ they just be the same confused people they were before they died?

The past is a ghost, the future a dream, and all we ever have is now.

I saw the gooseflesh on my skin. I did not know what made it. I was not cold. Had a ghost passed over? No, it was the poetry.

For the Holy Ghost blesses us with optimism and wisdom at times of challenge that we simply cannot muster on our own.

Ghost stories really scare me. I have such a big imagination that after I watch a horror movie like 'The Grudge', I look in the corners of my room for the next two days.

The full benefit of forgiveness of sin through the Savior's Atonement begins with repentance and baptism and then expands upon receiving the Holy Ghost.

You must have faith to pray. You must have faith to ponder the word of God. You must have faith to do those things and go to those places which invite the Spirit of Christ and the Holy Ghost.

I took a break from horror I made three ghost movies back-to-back-to-back.

The knowledge and spiritual conviction we receive from the Holy Ghost are the result of revelation.

I wanted to - any chance I had to dress up as a boy, like Halloween, I would be a pirate or a ghost that wore a tie. A hobo.

O Death, rock me asleep, bring me to quiet rest, let pass my weary guiltless ghost out of my careful breast.

Science fiction is no more written for scientists that ghost stories are written for ghosts.

Nice is a city of ghosts and specters, but I hope not to become one of them right away.

Ah, mistress, you__e an angel. Sure there__ not a drop left? I might have remembered one more person_.___p yours,_ I said rudely with another belch. __t__ empty. You should tell me the name anyway, after making me drink all that sewage.__inston gave me a devious smile. __ome back with a full bottle and I will.___elfish spook,_ I mumbled, and staggered away.I__ made it a few feet when I felt that distinct pins-and-needles sensation again, only this time it wasn__ in my throat.__ey!__ looked down in time to see Winston__ grinning, transparent form fly out of my pants. He was chuckling even as I smacked at myself and hopped up and down furiously.__runken filthy pig!_ I spat. __astard!___nd a good eve__n_ to you, too, mistress!_ he called out, his edges starting to blur and fade. __ome back soon!___ hope worms shit on your corpse!_ was my reply. A ghost had just gotten to third base with me. Could I sink any lower?