Quotes - Page 429 | Just Great DataBase

Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manur'd with industry, why, the power, and corrigible authority of this, lies in our wills.

for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.

Grown-ups really are decidedly odd",

Death makes me hungry. Maybe it's because I've been emptied; or maybe it's the body's way of seeing to it that I remain alive, continue to repeat its bedrock prayer: I am, I am. I am, still.

Is that how we lived, then? But we lived as usual. Everyone does, most of the time. Whatever is going on is as usual. Even this is as usual, now. We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.

Do you itch, Jem? I asked as politely as I could. He did not answer. Come on in, Jem, I said. After while.

He had sinned mortally not once but many times and he knew that, while he stood in danger of eternal damnation for the first sin alone, by every succeeding sin he multiplied his guilt and his punishment. His days and works and thoughts could make no atonement for him, the fountains of sanctifying grace having ceased to refresh his soul.

A contract of eternal bond of love,   Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,   Attested by the holy close of lips,   Strengthened by interchangement of your rings,   And all the ceremony of this compact   Sealed in my function, by my testimony;

In reduced circumstances the desire to live attaches itself to strange objects.

I try not to think too much. Like other things now, thought must be rationed. There's a lot that doesn't bear thinking about. Thinking can hurt your chances, and I intend to last.

Понимаешь, малышка, если кто-то называет тебя словом, которое ему кажется бранным, это вовсе не оскорбление. Это не обидно, а только показывает, какой этот человек жалкий.

Kendim küçüğüm ama yaşım büyük.

You have a morbid aversion to dying.

The sad quiet grey-blue glow of the dying day came through the window and the open door, covering over and allaying quietly a sudden instinct of remorse in Stephen's heart.

Madman, thou errest. I say, there is no darkness but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.

So long as a road lies before us, and what care we if we must travel it alone!

This is the kind of touch they like: folk art, archaic, made by women, in their spare time, from things that have no further use. A return to traditional values. Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?

The red is the same but there is no connection. The tulips are not tulips of blood, the red smiles are not flowers, neither thing makes a comment on the other. The tulip is not a reason for disbelief in the hanged man, or vice versa. Each thing is valid and really there.

I sort of miss everybody I told about.

those children to work while Tom’s in jail. If