Best 6239 quotes in «fear quotes» category

If you try to sell honey to bees, they will laugh at you. If you try to sell perfume to flowers, they will chuckle at you. If you try to sell fruit to trees, they will jeer at you. If you try to sell rain to clouds, they will scoff at you. If you try to sell fear to wolves, they will howl at you. If you try to sell terror to lions, they will roar at you.

If you've a notion of what man's heart is, wouldn't you say that maybe the whole effort of man on earth to build a civilization is simply man's frantic and frightened attempt to hide himself from himself? That there is a part of man that man wants to reject? That man wants to keep from knowing what he is? That he wants to protect himself from seeing that he is something awful? And that this 'awful' part of himself might not be as awful as he thinks, but he finds it too strange and he does not know what to do with it? We talk about what to do with the atom bomb...But man's heart, his spirit is the deadliest thing in creation. Are not all cultures and civilizations just screens which men have used to divide themselves, to put between that part of themselves which they are afraid of and that part of themselves which they wish, in their deep timidity, to try to preserve? Are not all of man's efforts at order an attempt to still man's fear of himself?

If you want courage, kill fear and blindfold ignorance

If you want new results, get a new mindset!

IF you want to be a winner than follow one simple rule and feed it in your mind. Take each task and work as " Do it yourself project.

If you want to catch your dreams, you have to drop your fears.

If you want to conquer fear then you have to put fear on your fears.

If you want to control people. Find out what they fear the most.

If you want to see how far we have not come from the cave and the woods, from the lonely and dangerous days of the prarie or the plain, witness the reaction of a modern suburban family, nearly ready for bed, when the doorbell rings or the door is rattled. They will stop where they stand, or sit bolt upright in their beds, as if a streak of pure lightning has passed through the house. Eyes wide, voices fearful, they will whisper to each other, "There's someone at the door," in a way that might make you believe they have always feared and anticipated this moment - that they have spent their lives being stalked.

If you work by faith and not by sight, you will always see a sign. You have to develop a space of comfort to know that there is a difference between signs and sounds, it means God will tell you that He will make a change in your life but He won't show you anything to demonstrate the change for a little while because He doesn't want your faith to be in the change; He wants your faith to be in the promise, so that when the change is a bit slow in coming, you will know how to trust in Him while you wait for it to come to pass.

I gave up drinking before my twentieth birthday. I haven’t touched the stuff since. And I’ve discovered that not everyone who does horrible things is a horrible person.

I gained my wings when I believed they were there all along. It wasn't in the fixing or the healing of my personality that I recognised my worth it when I opened to the truth that I am whole right now, exactly as I am. Flaws, mistakes, fears.

I gaze forward without fear.

Ignite the light within you, it will make your world brighter.

Ignorance breeds fear. Tell people the truth. Trust them to keep their heads.

Ignorance is the absence of knowledge. Fear is the absence of courage. Hate is the absence of love. Darkness is the absence of light.

Ignorance is the mother of fear.

Ignorance is your opponent, fear is your enemy, vice is your adversary, virtue is your friend, and wisdom is your helper.

Ignorance leads to fear, fear leads to hatred, and hatred leads to violence. This is the equation.

Ignorance of the Self (agnanta) is indeed fear.

Ignore your haters. Resist your fears. Embrace your dreams.

I guess everyone has a bird urge when they look down heights, a desire to jump, without wing or buoyant sail. Fear of heights is fear of a desire to jump.

I guess pencil crayons are like life; we hope to gain wisdom through our experiences, and sadly many of us learn important lessons later in life - however all that colour we scratched and pressed into our canvases create stories for our children, and grandchildren - things to laugh at as we look back, and hopefully things others can use as examples of lessons of caution, and tales of overcoming negative situations despite the overwhelming odds stacked up against us. Tales of past likes and loves, lessons learned, and the stories about how you met the right person and how you ended up with them - often a winding tale until there's an 'AH-HA' moment of enlightenment, lol. Tales of raw adversity...because rawness is beautiful, and learned wisdom which proves showing weakness is actual bravery. That not everyone you lose is a loss, and that in life, a situation will keep repeating itself until one learns their lesson. As sad as it is to see these pencils being shortened, and the way one tries to preserve what's left as they get shorter and shorter... the new box of crayons which will eventually be bought will continue the storytelling of the old, and add new stories until they themselves expire.

I had a dream about you. You was a crocodile and i was always looking for you with fear. Your teeth were alabaster and your skin green as grass. Unfortunate you had already a girlfriend. And i hoped she finish like a handbag. I love you from my all reptile heart, which is poikilothermic.

I had a dream about you. In my dreams you are always different, perhaps even more real to me. How can I explain this to you? It seems like in my dreams I envision parts of you that you prefer keep under surface. You hide from me, as if there was something to hide. You push me away, in fear. Now, I know you are not afraid of me, but that you can’t trust yourself, since it’s beyond your control. I know it’s frightening to love someone that much. I know it because I am afraid, too. And I just wish that for once, we would be afraid together.

I had been intimidated by the fear that if I declined something offered me, a yawning crevice would open between the other person’s heart and myself which could never be mended through all eternity

I had feared that if I opened the floodgates I would drown. But as the waves crashed over me, I was not consumed, I was swept up, washed, my soul blanketed with blessed relief.

I had lost confidence and a sense of self. Who am I? Am I a person who cowers in fear at the back of a spin class, avoiding everyone’s gaze? This uncertainty about who I am, this confusion over where I truly was in the time line of my illness and recovery, was ultimately the deeper source of the shame. A part of my soul believed that I would never be myself, the carefree, confident Susannah, again.

I had nothing to fear from my father. Except his disappointment. Which was no small thing.

I had not said anything about what had happened the day before—about being scared down to my very bones when I thought they had left me. I don't know what came over me. Ever since my mother left us that April day, I suspected that everyone was going to leave, one by one.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

... I had realized my fears and acknowledged my mistakes.

I had the impulse to look over my shoulder, to make sure he was not striding across the sky already, his gilded arrow pointed at my heart. But there was something in me that was sick of fear and awe, of gazing at the heavens and wondering what someone would allow me. 'Come in,' I said, and led him through my door.

I hated the quiet. I could hear my fears that much louder for it.

I have always had the capacity to go within myself and to discover the silence within, the inner meditative quality, the inner source of love and truth – the inner language of silence. Now I also notice that this silence is going deeper, and that I go beyond the ego and disappear into the silence. First this brought up fear, but now I am enjoying this meditation of disappering into the silence and to be nobody. I have started experimenting with this phenomenon to understand how to consciously go beyond the ego: yesterday when I took a cofee at a restaurant, I consciously turned my attention within and disappeared into the silence, which was like finding an inner source of bliss. In aloneness, I experiment with being consciously alone as a door to be egoless. In conscious aloneness, the ego can not function. In aloneness, your are not. When I am walking, I consciously experiment with being with Existence without having the mind constantly commenting. I try to just be wordlessly with the people and situations that I meet on my walk. When I can just be with Existence, it opens the door to be one with the Whole.

I have a scar-a faint gouge in my knee from when I fell down on the sidewalk as a child. It's always seemed stupid to me that none of the pain I've experienced has left a visible mark; sometimes, without a way to prove it to myself. I began to doubt that I had lied through it at all, with the memories becoming hazy over time. I want to have some kind of reminder that while wounds heal, they don't disappear forever- I carry them everywhere, always, and that is the way of things, the way of scars. That is what this tattoo will be, for me: a scar. And it seems fitting that it should document the worst memory of pain I have.

I have always been interested in witchcraft and superstition, but have never had much traffic with ghosts, so I began asking people everywhere what they thought about such things, and I began to find out that there was one common factor - most people have never seen a ghost, and never want or expect to, but almost everyone will admit that sometimes they have a sneaking feeling that they just possibly could meet a ghost if they weren't careful - if they were to turn a corner too suddenly, perhaps, or open their eyes too soon when they wake up at night, or go into a dark room without hesitating first.

I have been learning a great deal about the need to let go of our fears and truly trust the Lord. When we hold on to fear we let false beliefs (and Satan) be in control. When we trust, we give the control back to God. When we give Him the control we open up our connection to Him so that He can inspire us with the actions we need to take to receive the blessings we desire. I think it comes down to believe, listen, trust, and act. Faith is the ability to believe something enough that you are to act upon the belief. Do I believe God when He says everything will be OK? Do I believe Him enough to trust Him and am I willing to give Him the control and listen to His prompting to do things that He says will make my situation better?

I have come to see this fear, this sense of my own imperilment by my creations, as not only an inevitable, necessary part of writing fiction but as virtual guarantor, insofar as such a thing is possible, of the power of my work: as a sign that I am on the right track, that I am following the recipe correctly, speaking the proper spells. Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed. Telling the truth, when the truth matters most, is almost always a frightening prospect. If a writer doesn’t give away secrets, his own or those of the people he loves; if she doesn’t court disapproval, reproach and general wrath, whether of friends, family, or party apparatchiks; if the writer submits his work to an internal censor long before anyone else can get their hands on it, the result is pallid, inanimate, a lump of earth. The adept handles the rich material, the rank river clay, and diligently intones his alphabetical spells, knowing full well the history of golems: how they break free of their creators, grow to unmanageable size and power, refuse to be controlled. In the same way, the writer shapes his story, flecked like river clay with the grit of experience and rank with the smell of human life, heedless of the danger to himself, eager to show his powers, to celebrate his mastery, to bring into being a little world that, like God’s, is at once terribly imperfect and filled with astonishing life. Originally published in The Washington Post Book World

I have fallen, fallen into the arms of lost hope. I’m lost, unsure whether to stay where I am or stand up and risk falling so painfully again. Maybe if I stay here the pain of my dreams ripping from my soul will fade. Maybe I can learn to enjoy seeing my aspirations, the beauty shining brightly, fade into the distance. I don’t think I can learn to love this stagnant water of doubt in which I’ve fallen. I have to stand up. I have to take a step towards my glowing dreams. Fear will cling to my ankles, attempting to pull me back down, its ropes of anxiety wrapping tightly into me. I may even trip, giving fear a minor victory, but I will stand again. I will keep getting up, over and over again, until my legs grow strong, my mind becomes resilient, and my fear weakens. Let fear fight me, I know I am strong enough to overcome anything it throws my way.

I have lain long here in your mind, longer than any nightmare has before me. I have sunk my roots into your worst imaginings and feasted on your memories. I know you, child.

I have lived long enough to know that wherever there is crisis there is always Christ. Look for Jesus in the middle of all your crisis. Whenever He comes the whole storm goes down.

I have lived long enough to see God make my enemies my footstool not even footsteps.

I have learned to thank God for what I cannot see, I have learned to trust God with what I cannot.

I have never seen fear greater than to power and success. Even when they never said they did not deserve them; Are you running away from them? If you know diligently the hierarchy of your values, why do you run away?

I haven't the courage, or perhaps the hardness, to withstand the tremendous pathos of this life. I love life's casual beauty- fear its awful strength.

I have often wondered since at my own firmness. In that dreadful interview with my uncle I had felt, in the whirl and horror of my mind, on the very point of submitting, just as nervous people are said to throw themselves over precipices through sheer dread of falling.

I have the word of God and my bible is very interesting, this book was conceived in battle, Jesus Christ our Saviour was conceived in brokenness, out of barenness to redeem a people who were in bondage to their sin. I know exactly where to go when the people start getting confused, trading lies for truth, buying injustice for justice and even when the media starts to show me the prospectives of the world that I am living in, I have my prospective from the word of God.

I have to go. I have to be brave.

I have graduated to the extent of not asking what is happening in my life because I trust the maker(God).