Best 327 quotes in «easter quotes» category

Spend every moment in "Hope" and "Love" for God for he has risen and brought us courage.

Spring is the sound of birds chirping, the taste of cherry juice, the feel of grass on bare feet, the sight of pink roses and blue skies, and the feel of dandelion fuzz. Spring, in other words, is a welcome, wondrous sensory overload.

The air of those rooms was saturated with the fine bouquet of a silence so nourishing, so succulent, that I never went into them without a sort of greedy anticipation, particularly on those first mornings, chilly still, of the Easter holidays, when I could taste it more fully because I had only just arrived in Combray[...]

The beauty of the cross and our crucified Lord cannot be easily fathomed by human mind or by barely reading scriptures in bits, but by careful reading of entire scripture in the spirit which will in turn engulf one with wisdom and love.

The fictional exploits of buccaneering men had lost their magic for him. Besides, there were other pirates on view in Tilbury that spring. One, unredeemed by any amnesty, hung from the gibbet at Tilbury Point, tugged at by a brisk breeze off the river. His body had been bound in chains, daubed with tar and encased in a cage, denied Christian burial as a warning to the living of the hideousness of death. It did not have quite that effect on Nathan. "It's Easter," he said to Hardcastle. "A week since," said Hardcastle. "When they went to the tomb to rewrap Christ's body . . ." Harcastle threw Toby in the air and caught him repeatedly, making the child laugh and laugh. ". . . except that it had gone . . ." said Nathan. "Raised to glory," agreed Harcastle, rubbing noses with the baby. ". . . out into the garden." Suddenly it seemed to him that the tarry skull of the pirate on the gibbet might not be shouting a warning after all -- that his decaying corpse might no longer be suffering the torments of the gibbet as his executioners like to suggest with cage and chain and padlock. There were amnesties other than the King's. The man might simply be singing: singing and dancing in the bright, brittle Easter sunshine, held up in midair not by chains but by invisible hands or on invisible shoulders.

The cross of Christ justifies God; He remains holy because He has punished sin in the death, the shed blood, of His Son.

The beauty of the cross and our crucified Lord cannot be easily fathomed by human mind or by barely reading scriptures in bits, but by careful reading of entire scripture in the spirit which will in turn engulf one with wisdom n love.

The organist was almost at the end of the anthem’s long introduction, and as the crescendo increases the cathedral began to glitter before my eyes until I felt as if every stone in the building was vibrating in anticipation of the sweeping sword of sound from the Choir. The note exploded in our midst, and at that moment I knew our creator had touched not only me but all of us, just as Harriet had touched that sculpture with a loving hand long ago, and in that touch I sensed the indestructible fidelity, the indescribable devotion and the inexhaustible energy of the creator as he shaped his creation, bringing life out of dead matter, wresting form continually from chaos. Nothing was ever lost, Harriet had said, and nothing was ever wasted because always, when the work was finally completed, every article of the created process, seen or unseen, kept or discarded, broken or mended – EVERYTHING was justified, glorified and redeemed.

Then she looked at the man on the tree and she smiled wryly. "They just aren't as interesting naked," she said. "It's the unwrapping that's half the fun. Like with gifts, and eggs.

There was a warrior once who fought Against man's subtlest, mightiest foe, And more than valiant deeds he wrought T' effect th' enslaver's overthrow. But ah! how dread was his campaign, Forc'd in the wilderness to stray, Lone, hungry, stung with grief and pain, And thus sustain the arduous fray. Prompt at each call from place to place, 'Mid sin's dark shade and sorrow's flow, He sped to save man's erring race, And bear for him the vengeful blow. But when his soldiers saw the strife, When imminent the danger grew, Though 'twas for them he pledg'd his life, Like dastards from the field they flew. Wearied, forsaken, still he strove, And gain'd the glorious victory; Yet such achievements few could move, To hail his triumpn 'beath the sky. Dying he conquer'd; yet at last No human honours grac'd his bier; No trumpet wail'd its mournful blast, No muffl'd drum made music drear. But when he dy'd the rocks were rent, The sun his radiant beams withheld, All nature shudder'd at th' event, And horror every bosom swell'd. E'en Death, fell Death! could not detain Him, who for man his life had given, He burst the ineffectual chain, And soar'd his advocate to heaven.

We’ll hop home, as we hares have done since time immemorial.

Want to know the coolest thing about the coming? Not that the One who played marbles with the stars gave it up to play marbles with marbles. Or that the One who hung the galaxies gave it up to hang doorjambs to the displeasure of a cranky client who wanted everything yesterday but couldn't pay until tomorrow. Not that he, in an instant, went from needing nothing to needing air, food, a tub of hot water and salts for his tired feet, and, more than anything, needing somebody - anybody - who was more concerned about where he would spend eternity rather than where he would spend Friday's paycheck. Or that he resisted the urge to fry the two=bit, self-appointed hall monitors of holiness who dared suggest that he was doing the work of the devil. Not that he kept his cool while the dozen best friends he ever had felt the heat and got out of the kitchen. Or that he gave no command to the angels who begged, "Just give us the nod, Lord. One word and these demons will be deviled eggs." Not that he refused to defend himself when blamed for every sin of every slut and sailor since Adam. Or that he stood silent as a million guilty verdicts echoed in the tribunal of heaven and the giver of light was left in the chill of a sinner's night. Not even that after three days in a dark hole he stepped into the Easter sunrise with a smile and a swagger and a question for lowly Lucifer - "Is that your best punch?" That was cool, incredibly cool. But want to know the coolest thing about the One who gave up the crown of heaven for a crown of thorns? He did it for you. Just for you.

We focus on Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, but we forget to pause in the stillness of the days between. Find time today to be present in that place of waiting. There is treasure to be found in the sacred peace that comes as you breathe in that place of quiet surrender. Don’t rush through the space called “Between.

We love Christmas presents but not Christ; Easter baskets but not crosses. We want to tell our friends with cancer that we will pray for them (we don’t) and our puddle-eyed children that their goldfish have gone to heaven (doubtful). When we lose our jobs we want to take comfort in the idea that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, but really, how can we? We have absolutely no idea what God has given us or what it might be for. We haven’t talked to Him in ages.

We almost always undervalue the significance of the Victory at the Cross.But as our understanding is gradually enlightened, we are continuously awed at how much the Father hath loved us

We make the delicate liqueur chocolates, the rose-petal clusters, the gold-wrapped coins, the violet creams, the chocolate cherries and almond rolls, in batches of fifty at a time, laying them out onto greased tins to cool. Hollow eggs and animal figures are carefully split open and filled with these. Nests of spun caramel with hard-shelled sugar eggs are each topped with a triumphantly plump chocolate hen; pie-bald rabbits heavy with gilded almonds stand in rows, ready to be wrapped and boxed; marzipan creatures march across the shelves. The smells of vanilla essence and cognac and caramelized apple and bitter chocolate fill the house. And now there is Armande's party to prepare for, too. I have a list of what she wants on order from Agen- foie gras, champagne, truffles and fresh chanterelles from Bordeaux, plateaux de fruits de mer from the traitor in Agen. I will bring the cakes and chocolates myself.

All heaven is interested in the cross of Christ, all hell terribly afraid of it, while men are the only beings who more or less ignore its meaning.

A Canadian newspaperman said yesterday that this is the President's "Easter egghead roll on the White House lawn." I want to deny that!

A dead Christ I must do everything for; a living Christ does everything for me.

Why don't they make chocolate horses for Easter with a belly full of gummy bears. Educational and sweet!

Would you like some warm Spring pie? Then, take a cup of clear blue sky. Stir in buzzes from a bee, Add the laughter of a tree. A dash of sunlight should suffice To give the dew a hint of spice. Mix with berries, plump and sweet. Top with fluffy clouds, and eat!

You ought to make something for Easter. You know. Eggs and stuff. Chocolate hens, rabbits, things like that. Like the shops in Agen." I remember them from my childhood; the Paris chocolateries with their baskets of foil-wrapped eggs, shelves of rabbits and hens, bells, marzipan fruits and marrons glacés, amourettes and filigree nests filled with petits fours and caramels, and a thousand and one epiphanies of spun-sugar magic carpet rides more suited to an Arabian harem than the solemnities of the Passion. "I remember my mother telling me about the Easter chocolates." There was never enough money to buy those exquisite things, but I always had my own cornet-surprise, a paper cone containing my Easter gifts, coins, paper flowers, hard-boiled eggs painted in bright enamel colors, a box of colored papier-mâché- painted with chickens, bunnies, smiling children among the buttercups, the same every year and stored carefully for the next time- encasing a tiny packet of chocolate raisins wrapped in cellophane, each one to be savored, long and lingeringly, in the lost hours of those strange nights between cities, with the neon glow of hotel signs blink-blinking between the shutters and my mother's breathing, slow and somehow eternal, in the umbrous silence.

Above all, it is not decency or goodness of gentleness that impresses the Middle East, but strength.

A happy and a glorious Easter will this one be to all of us who get a new vision of the risen Christ, and prostrate ourselves in humble adoration at His feet, and cry out: "Rabboni! Rabboni!" Then shall we set our hearts, lifted into a new atmosphere, on things above, and reach an actual higher life. We shall know more of what it is to live by Christ, in Christ, for Christ, and with Christ, till we reach the marvelous light around the throne in glory.

Almost everything is in the movie [The Hangover]. I think the fun little Easter eggs on the DVD will be sort of the gag reel stuff. There's a lot of takes we just couldn't get through.We were laughing.

A man who was completely innocent, offered himself as a sacrifice for the good of others, including his enemies, and became the ransom of the world. It was a perfect act.

...centre of the centre, the real heart of Christianity as it has been until now.

Am I really gonna deny someone the opportunity of a lifetime just because they met me 5 easters early?

And he departed from our sight that we might return to our hearts and find him there. For he left us, and behold, he is here.

April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.

A toast once heard: "To my big sister, who never found her second Easter egg until I'd found my first.

At this gathering [Council of Niceau in 324 AD] many aspects of Christianity were debated and voted upon ― the date of Easter, the role of the bishops, the administration of sacraments, and, of course, the divinity of Jesus... until that moment in history, Jesus was viewed by His followers as a mortal prophet... a great and powerful man, but a man nonetheless. A mortal.

Because I work with so many people on the east coast, I get some work done before I get the kids up.

Biography is a very definite region bounded on the north by history, on the south by fiction, on the east by obituary, and on the west by tedium.

But oh, she dances in such a way! No sun upon an Easter-day Is half so fine a sight.

Celestial spirit that doth roll; The heart's sepulchral stone away, Be this our resurrection day, The singing Easter of the soul - O gentle Master of the Wise, Teach us to say: "I will arise.

Christ appeared alive on several occasions after the cataclysmic events of that first Easter.

Christ died. He left a will in which He gave His soul to His Father, His body to Joseph of Arimathea, His clothes to the soldiers, and His mother to John. But to His disciples, who had left all to follow Him, He left not silver or gold, but something far better-His PEACE!

Christ hath arisen! O mountain peaks, attest- Witness, resounding glen and torrent wave! The immortal courage in the human breast Sprung from that victory-tell how oft the brave To camp midst rock and cave, Nerved by those words, their struggling faith have borne, Planting the cross on high above the clouds of morn!

And it is always Easter Sunday at the New York City Ballet. It is always coming back to life. Not even coming back to life - it lives in the constant present.

And then I went into television; and then television moved from the East Coast to Hollywood.

Any discussion of how pain and suffering fit into God's scheme ultimately leads back to the cross.

As a general rule, fans and idols should always be kept at arm's length, the length of the arm to be proportionate to the degree of sheer idolatry involved. Don't take a Beatle to lunch. Don't wait up to see if the Easter Bunny is real. Just enjoy the egg hunt.

At its very core the story of Easter has nothing to do with angelic announcements or empty tombs. It has nothing to do with time periods, whether three days, forty days, or fifty days. It has nothing to do with resuscitated bodies that appear and disappear or that finally exit this world in a heavenly ascension.

Brunei Darussalam is one of the oldest kingdoms in South East Asia.

Christendom never came from an unbroken grave. It would have been buried in that grave, as Judas thought it was going to be, and as the Jews thought it was going to be, except there had been a resurrection from the dead. Then you can explain Christendom, churches, and literatures, if Christ rose again; but otherwise they cannot be explained at all. Our whole civilization rests on the broken Cross of the Master, and it is incredible that a civilization like this, in a world advancing steadily for eighteen centuries, has been founded on a lie.

Christmas begins what Easter celebrates. The child in the cradle became the king on the cross. And because he did, there are no marks on my record. Just grace. His offer has no fine print. He didn't tell me, "Clean up before you come in." He offered, "Come in, and I'll clean you up." It's not my grip on him that matters but his grip on me. And his grip is sure. So is his presence in my life.

Come, ye saints, look here and wonder, See the place where Jesus lay; He has burst His bands asunder; He has borne our sins away; Joyful tidings, Yes, the Lord has risen to-day.

Comedy is the only hope for humanity.

Death is strong, but Life is stronger.