A wealthy man and his son loved to collect works of art. They had in their collection works ranging from Picasso to Raphael and Rembrandt. When the Vietnam War broke out, the son was drafted and sent to fight in ’Nam. He was very courageous and died in battle. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son. About a month later, a young lad appeared at the door to his house and said, Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life that fateful day. He was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart. He died instantly. He used to often talk about you and your love for art. Here’s something for you, he added, holding out a package. It is something that I drew. I know I am not much of an artist, but I wanted you to have this from me as a small measure of memory and thanks. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. It captured the personality of his son. The father’s eyes welled up with tears as he thanked the young man for the painting. He offered to pay for the picture, but the man replied, Oh! No, sir. I could never repay what your son did for me. It is my gift to you. The father hung the portrait over his mantel and showed it proudly to all his visitors along with all of the great works of art he possessed. Some time later, the old man died. As decreed in his will, his paintings were all to be auctioned. Many influential and rich people gathered together, excited over the prospect of owning one of the masterpieces. On a platform nearby also sat the painting of his son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. Let’s start the bidding with the picture of his son. Who will bid for this picture? There was silence. A voice shouted from the back, Let’s skip this one. We want the famous masters. But the auctioneer persisted. Ten dollars, twenty dollars, what do I hear? Another voice came back angrily, We didn’t come here for this. Let’s have the Picassos, the Matisses, the van Goghs. Still the auctioneer persisted. The son. Anyone for the son? Who’ll take the son? Finally a quavering voice came from the back. It was the longtime gardener of the house. I’ll take the son for ten dollars. I am sorry, but that’s all I have. Ten dollars once, ten dollars twice, anybody for twenty dollars? Sold for ten dollars. Now let’s get on with the auction, said a wealthy art aficionado sitting in the front row. The auctioneer laid down his gavel and spoke. I am sorry, but the auction is over. But what about the other paintings? The masters? The auction is over, said the auctioneer. I was asked to conduct the auction with a stipulation, a secret stipulation that said that only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, paintings and all. The one who took the son gets everything.
     ― Ramesh Richard,
  
    
      Preparing Evangelistic Sermons: A Seven-Step Method for Preaching Salvation

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect works of art. They had...

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A wealthy man and his son loved to collect works of art. They had in their collection works...
We ignore the blackness of outer space and pay attention to the stars, especially if they seem to order themselves into constellations. "Common as the air" meant something worthless, but Hackworth knew that every breath of air that Fiona drew, lying in her little bed at night, just a silver glow in the moonlight, was used by her body to make skin and hair and bones. The air became Fiona, and deserving- no, demanding- of love. Ordering matter was the sole endeavor of Life, whether it was a jumble of self-replicating molecules in the primordial ocean, or a steam-powered English mill turning weeds into clothing, or Fiona lying in her bed turning air into Fiona.
     ― Anonymous

We ignore the blackness of outer space and pay attention to the stars, especially...

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We ignore the blackness of outer space and pay attention to the stars, especially if they seem to...
You can't give me the silent treatment all day, Janel," he said."I can and will, Jake," she rebutted, not turning to look at him.They sat on the bridge, Janel in the command chair, Jake slightly behind her at the tactical station; he'd spun his around and propped his feet up on the arm of hers. Crossing his hands over his stomach, he smiled at her profile. "Fine, then I'll just sing to pass the time and keep your company."He drew in a deep lungful of air and began an absolutely horrible rendition of 99,000 bottles of beer on the wall...
     ― Margaret   Taylor,
  
    
      A First Love Never Dies

You can’t give me the silent treatment all day, Janel,” he said.”I can and...

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You can't give me the silent treatment all day, Janel," he said."I can and will, Jake," she rebutted,...
My fruit is  p better than  q gold, even fine gold,         and my yield than  r choice silver.     20 I walk in the way of righteousness,         in the paths of justice,     21 granting an inheritance to those who love me,         and filling their treasuries.     22[^] [†]  s The LORD  t possessed [2] me at the beginning of his work, [3]         the first of his acts  u of old.     23 Ages ago I was  v set up,         at the first,  w before the beginning of the earth.     24 When there were no  x depths I was  y brought forth,         when there were no springs abounding with water.     25 Before the mountains  z had been shaped,          a before the hills, I was brought forth,     26 before he had made the earth with its fields,         or the first of the dust of the world.     27 When he  b established the heavens, I was there;         when he drew  c a circle on the face of the deep,     28 when he  d made firm the skies above,         when he established [4] the fountains of the deep,     29 when he  e assigned to the sea its  f limit,         so that the waters might not transgress his command,     when he marked out  g the foundations of the earth,         30 then  h I was beside him, like a master workman,     and I was daily his [5]  i delight,         rejoicing before him always,     31  j rejoicing in his  k inhabited world         and delighting in the children of man.
     ― Anonymous,
  
    
      ESV Study Bible

My fruit is  p better than  q gold, even fine gold,         and my yield than  r choice...

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My fruit is  p better than  q gold, even fine gold,         and my yield than  r choice silver.     20 I walk...
Or bid the soul of Orpheus singSuch notes as warbled to the string,Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
     ― John Milton,
  
    
      L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas

Or bid the soul of Orpheus singSuch notes as warbled to the string,Drew Iron...

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Or bid the soul of Orpheus singSuch notes as warbled to the string,Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,And...
Fulton, you haven’t been listening. I gave myself to him. Steven and I made love. Fulton closed his eyes tightly for a moment. Don’t say that. It’s true, Emma insisted softly, and she couldn’t help touching Fulton’s arm because he looked so crushed. I’m sorry, she added, but it is. I don’t care, Fulton insisted. His eyes were too bright and he was talking too quickly. I can make you forget him. If you’ll just let me hold you, let me kiss you, let me do the things he did— Emma retreated a step, but there was a wall of books at her back. She flinched when Fulton gripped her shoulders, remembering how frightened she’d been when he’d tried to take advantage of her the night before. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything, he said brokenly. Please, Emma whispered. Reluctantly, he let her go, but he was still standing too close. He drew a deep breath and let it out again. Are you almost through here? I’ll walk you home. It’ll be like old times, before he came along—you’ll see. I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Emma said, turning to walk away. Fulton caught her by the arm and wrenched her around. Maybe you want me to play rough, he drawled. Is that how it is, Emma? Does the cowboy take what he wants, instead of asking for it like a gentleman? Emma felt color surge into her face. She shrugged free of Fulton’s grasp and managed only by the greatest effort not to slap him across the face. I don’t think we have anything more to discuss, she said tightly. Please leave before I summon the marshal. Fulton laughed at that. Come on, Emma. Can’t you come up with a better threat than old man Woodridge? She backed away. You’re scaring me. Instantly, Fulton’s face changed. He was all tenderness and indulgence. I would never hurt you. I love you. Now, get your things and lock this place up. I want to walk you home. Being
     ― Linda Lael Miller,
  
    
      Emma And The Outlaw

Fulton, you haven’t been listening. I gave myself to him. Steven and I made...

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Fulton, you haven’t been listening. I gave myself to him. Steven and I made love. Fulton closed his...
Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures of him in class. She looked at the moon and cried. She drew little pictures of the moon in class and cried at them.
     ― Anonymous

Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures...

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Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures of him in class....
Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures of him in class. She looked at the moon and cried. She drew little pictures of the moon in class and cried at them.
     ― Anonymous

Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures...

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Wuthering Heights love. She stood outside his window at night. She drew little pictures of him in class....
Gareth?" "Yes, my love?" "Just one thing. If you ever do do anything like this again, Lucien won't have the chance to kill you because I'm going to get to you first." He laughed, curved his good arm around her neck, and, ignoring her feeble protests, pulled her down, kissing her so soundly that her head was soon as dizzy as his. She snuggled up beside him and he drew her right up next to him. They lay facing each other on one pillow, his fingers lightly caressing her breast. "I love you, Gareth." "Ah, Juliet, I love you, too. I cannot tell you what it meant to me to see you running across the stage toward me tonight ... to know that you had not left me, after all."  He swallowed hard, his eyes dark with the force of his gratitude, his love. "My greatest victory this evening was not defeating the Butcher; it was waking up and finding you here, with me." "Oh, Gareth ... can you ever forgive me for doubting you?" "I will forgive you anything, my love. Now, snuff out the candles and get back down here under the covers with me, would you?
     ― Danelle Harmon,
  
    
      The Wild One

Gareth?” “Yes, my love?” “Just one thing. If you ever do do anything like...

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Gareth?" "Yes, my love?" "Just one thing. If you ever do do anything like this again, Lucien won't...
She, also silent, her sweet face resting on her upturned palm, sat facing me, and as her eyes looked into mine I knew that neither she nor I had spoken human speech; but I knew that her soul had answered mine, and I drew myself up feeling youth and joyous love coursing through every vein.
     ― Anonymous

She, also silent, her sweet face resting on her upturned palm, sat facing me,...

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She, also silent, her sweet face resting on her upturned palm, sat facing me, and as her eyes...