Best 6239 quotes in «fear quotes» category

Hatred stems from a place of fear.

Hatred taught. Detestation learned. A beautiful cherub, like kindling, set to burn.

Hatred happens when we refuse to see someone for their entire selves; we fear that if we see more than the qualities we hate, we will become them or worse, allow them to enter our hearts.

Have no fear. Trust in the vibrational currents of your life.

Have and show motivation to do and learn. That's the key for a good career. Everything else is an extrapolation of that.

Have no fear of death, no fear of life, no fear of being yourself. Your only fear should be to become what a mediocre world wants you to be.

. . . have not some religions, including the most influential forms of Christianity, taught that the heart of man is totally corrupt? How could the course of religion in its entire sweep not be marked by practices that are shameful in their cruelty and lustfulness, and by beliefs that are degraded and intellectually incredible? What else than what we can find could be expected, in the case of people having little knowledge and no secure method of knowing; with primitive institutions, and with so little control of natural forces that they lived in a constant state of fear?

Have you ever thought, when something dreadful happens, "a moment ago, things were not like this; let it be then, not now, anything but now?" And you try and try to remake then, but you know you can't. So you try to hold the moment quite still and not let it move on and show itself. - Nine Coaches Waiting

Have you ever asked yourself this question "what can God do through me?" The preacher has no platform if the people has no sense of mission.

Have you ever make out time to ask God if there is anything or anybody you need to drop in your life? Are you still holding on to offences? When is the right time to drop it? I am sure once you make this attempt He will show you. I declare that God is going to set some captives free.

Have you ever had a dream that you were certain was real, only to wake up and realize that everyone and everything in the dream was really you? Well this is how many mystics describe the nature of our reality, as a dream in which we think we are individual personalities existing in the physical universe. But eventually, like in all dreams, we will wake up. Except in this dream we do not wake up to realize we are still in the world, we awake from the world to realize that we are God.

Have you ever noticed that fear affects your physical mind and body?

Have you ever stopped to consider the number of choices you make daily Paradoxically speaking, every time you have a choice to make and you don't make it, by default, you are making a choice not to make a choice, which is, of course, a choice. You have no choice in the matter. This is an important question because the more conscious you are about your choices, the more likely it is you will end up where you want to be at the end of your stay on this planet.

...having a lot of money does not immunize people from suffering or fear.

He acted like a libertine of Europe with a genteel Southern propriety—and had all the morals of an emotionless psychopath. The two former masked the latter, like leaves covering a snare. You didn't notice the steel jaws until they were impaled in your flesh, and by then it was already far too late to run.

Hear folks talkin' about how some of us got the weight of the world on our shoulders? Fuck, maybe we do, but I'll hold onto it. At least it's somethin', you know?

Hear not fear. Fear not here.

Hear me, and I will instruct thee; hearken to the thing that I say, and I shall tell thee more.

Hear about the hidden time. Some think the hidden time is yet to come. The Kingdom of God does not come by Observation. It is hidden in the inner dimension.

Heaven is seeking reward for doing something good and hell is fear after doing something bad.

Heaven . . . is the same feeling. . . . No fear. No dark. When you know you are loved . . . that’s the light.

He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.

He began to see the truth, that Ged had neither lost nor won but, naming the shadow of his death with his own name, had made himself whole: a man: who, knowing his whole true self, cannot be used or possessed by any power other than himself, and whose life therefore is lived for life's sake and never in the service of ruin, or pain, or hatred, or the dark. In the Creation of Ea, which is the oldest song, it is said, 'Only in silence the word, only in dark the light, only in dying life: bright the hawk's flight on the empty sky.

He can give everyone what they so desperately crave: hope for a life beyond death... Love poems fall out of fashion over time, often turning maudlin in the ears of future listeners. Humans' enjoyment of satire and humor is equally fickle, and epic adventures stop seeming so epic when new heroes accomplish new feats. Yet mortals' fear and bewilderment of death will never die - not as long as people keep dying.

He could not believe that any of them might actually hit somebody. If one did, what a nowhere way to go: killed by accident; slain not as an individual but by sheer statistical probability, by the calculated chance of searching fire, even as he himself might be at any moment. Mathematics! Mathematics! Algebra! Geometry! When 1st and 3d Squads came diving and tumbling back over the tiny crest, Bell was content to throw himself prone, press his cheek to the earth, shut his eyes, and lie there. God, oh, God! Why am I here? Why am I here? After a moment's thought, he decided he better change it to: why are we here. That way, no agency of retribution could exact payment from him for being selfish.

He couldn't have pulled back the lock, they couldn't simply have climbed over the sides of the stall in all of three seconds, because those weren't the rules of the game. Theirs was the intoxication of the hunter, his the terror of the prey. Once they had actually captured him the fun was over and the punishment more of a duty that had to be carried out. If he gave up too early there was a chance they would put more of their energy into the punishment instead of the hunt.

He clearly suffers from some past traumas too, so hopefully he'll understand why I was untruthful to him about mine.

He'd been a fool, he saw that now. How could he have thought, even for a minute, that they'd be safe out here in the suburbs? The world was violent, rotten, corrupt, seething with hatred and perversion, and there was no escaping it. Everything you worked for, everything you loved, had to be locked up as if you were in a castle under siege.

He clutched at his chest, trying to find the pendant that hung there, to hold onto the reality of it, the reality of his age and the time in which he was living, but the shadows surrounded him on all sides and the fear grew in his heart and he was only a frightened little boy.

He could still escape—the fear was in front of him, and all he had to do was wrench free and run in the other direction. But he kept walking forward, straight into its embrace.

He didn’t reckon that God owed him anything. He reckoned that he’d had it all, and wasted it. Burning lakes and howling fiends had just never seemed that convincing, perils hardly fit to frighten naughty children. He turned over, staring up at the darkess. Damned…having found out now what hell was really like.

He didn’t remember the very first time he actually died very well. It wasn’t as bad as remediation, but he remembered being afraid and worried… and when he found himself alive again a few hours later with Mearth’s wild green eyes peering down at him, he remembered still being afraid and worried. It was strange, he thought, to be afraid of being alive… but being alive was worse than being dead in his mind.

He felt like a baked bean in a can, soaring through the air on a downward turn of a parabolic arc...

He explained that often times it's the love of something- like money, material, possessions, or power-and the fear of losing them, that command people to act. That love and fear are really the only two things that can forever alter a person, whether for the better or worse.

He fell into a solemn silence, which he only eventually broke to say, “I think I’ve become a terrible person. In fact, I’ve become a reptile. Do you know that reptiles are stupid because almost their entire brain capacity is used to feel fear?

He found it puzzling that so many rural people were hostile to, even terrified of, the place where they lived. It wasn't just that hard-working country folk had no time for the precious concerns of the effete urban environmentalists, what amazed Rice was how you could spend your whole life physically immersed in a particular ecological system and yet remain blinded to it by superstition, tradition, prejudice. Out west, it was ranchers' holy war on predators and their veneration of Indo-European domestic animals they husbanded on land too dry to support them. Here in the Appalachians, you saw rugged country men who refused to walk in the woods all summer because they were scared of snakes.

He had a hungry look in his eyes and it frightened her.

He had only one thing to do and that was what he should think about and he must think it out clearly and take everything as it came along, and not worry. To worry was a bad as to be afraid. It simply made things more difficult.

He had faced armed frigates and the threat of death countless times, yet none of it compared with the possibility of having Tabby taken from him again.

He hated being filled with terror. It was embarrassing.

He held her hand and shook his head. "They're inside, part of us by now. They are us. Where can we escape?

He himself, he realized, had always been most abominably frightened, even at the height of his divine power, a frail god upon a rickety throne, afraid of opening letters, of making decisions, afraid of the instinctive knowledge in the eyes of mules, of the innocent eyes of good men, of the elastic nature of the passions, even of the devotion he had received from some men, and one woman, and dogs.

He is everything you fear, and worse. He is also everything you hope, and more.

He is the kind of person I should expect to rescue one from a mad dog at any risk but then insist on a stoical indifference to the fright afterward." Jefferson Davis's future wife describing him at first meeting.

He kissed her forehead and drifted into an uneasy sleep, listening to the soft snoring of the creature on his chest, one he loved slightly more than he had come to fear.

He leaned towards me, and I did what any reasonable person would do when facing imminent death by being eaten alive. I screamed.

He lifted his hand to knock, but then he stopped. He could go neither forward nor back, so he simply stayed that way—hand frozen in the air.

He looks forlornly ahead of him, gazing at the road but looking at nothing in particular. The whole world is one big giant ball of light to him, and he feels like a bug inside it, waiting to be squashed. He feels like there is no sense of purpose, no direction. There is nothing waiting for him at the end of the rainbow. No pot of gold for all the pain he is feeling now, or the pain he has felt before. He just feels empty and lost, as if he is looking for something that can never be found. He feels lost that he can’t explain it to anyone and that no one will understand. He feels left out, standing alone, waiting endlessly for a ray of hope which never comes. He has suffered through this before, lurking in the shadows of his own despair, fighting for his life and losing the battle. But nothing ever makes this pain go away. Or the fear. He doesn’t fear what people fear. Not the loss of life or riches—Roman fears losing himself in this swamp called existence. He fears becoming the person he doesn’t want to become, and most of all, he fears himself. Fears his own potential to destroy and destruct. To obliterate. To suffocate his own life. He fears all that and he is afraid no one will ever know what his heart aches for, or how bad he has it. At times he feels the urge to tell this to someone, but other times he just enjoys being silent, watching on like a passerby at his own life, an observer rather than someone who’s actually living it.

He moved to the next tree. "Our past can only follow us if we allow it to, Hawk." "It doesn't follow me, Sensei, it haunts me," I said. "It lies in wait for me in the dark." "A warrior cannot be haunted." "What makes you think I am one?" "Because when I look at you, I see nothing but a warrior who insists on wrapping herself in an unnecessary cocoon.

He pondered his turmoil, wondering which he feared most—losing his father or being alone in the world. Both were inevitable. Neither could be stopped or slowed down. All he could do now was brace for impact.