Best 106 quotes in «angels and demons quotes» category

Gabriel: What’s the point of having power, if one cannot use it? What’s the point of immortality, if one cannot truly live?

Got A Few Angels Fighting My Demons

He looked like the devil. His skin ruddy, his eyes a glowing yellow. Jet black hair slicked back on his head hung to his shoulders. But the demons didn’t call him Devil, or Satan, or even Lucifer. They called him… Azazel.

He has a beauty to him that is not quite angelic, a quality that's both ethereal and dark. (Jonathan)

He looked like a man searching for an out. Any out.

He meant to find her, and make it so they would never part again. He lied to himself when he tried to believe it was curiosity and a desire to make sure she was okay that drove him to hunt her down time after time. It wasn’t about any of that really. He wanted her, and he waited for the chance to have her.”- Marc (Marked Book #1) page 38

He was not her sole companion. She had her demons, too. You can't run from them, as Lexi discovered. Changing cities doesn't help either; you carry them along inside you. You just wake up one day, fed up, and decide to snuggle with them instead. You invite them along as you go about your day, balancing them on your shoulder as you would a toddler, but with very strict conditions: You will not set fire to my hair. You will not take candy from strangers. You will not tie me up in chains while I sleep. You will behave. And Lexi's demons, allowed to come close, sat on her shoulder. They waved to the angels perched on her other shoulder and struck up a conversation with Lexi. 'What's that noise?' her demons asked, sidling close to her ear. 'Oh, that?' Lexi massaged her temples. 'It's the air whistling through the hole in my heart.' 'You're afraid,' they taunted. 'I am,' she admitted. 'Afraid of the sky falling. Afraid of the tight-rope snapping. Afraid I can't dance well enough on the edge. Afraid there are no hands to steady my body. Afraid of hands that wish to cage my heart.' 'Coward,' the demons goaded.

Hell and Heaven are states of being, not destinations. They are worlds we carry within. Don't expect to find angels and demons -- not in the way you've envisioned them. As God is called Allah, so Man is called Monster. Don't be fooled by titles. Call a skunk a rose and it will continue to reek. Hydras do not crawl out from between the weatherworn pages of fairytale anthologies. On the contrary, they ride the subway and order food at the local drive-through and enjoy stolen kisses at the cinema. Only one head is visible to the naked eye. They tend to avoid reflective surfaces. Each head is a sin: each belch of fire is a sin put to action. But you should know that the shadows differ. There may be seven heads, or three, or one. Those with one head are particularly tricky. Who's to say if they're human or hydra? You'd have to kiss them, bite them. You would know them by their mouth. The name of their sin is tattooed on the inside of their bottom lip, so they can lick and taste its sweetness.

Hell in life indicates a state of suffering, of agony, of torture (by others, by circumstances, or by ourselves), and of insipid colors and little joy. Hell is a heavy vibration that drags us spiraling down from the highest to the lowest, darkest vibrations..

His chuckles rumbled, devoid of humor, as if mirth was a kidney stone that had gotten stuck somewhere in the intestinal mess of the phone lines.

Had pretended to be Abbadon of the Dark, when always he had been working for the Light.

I can just barely tell when you're afraid because that is the only emotion I have been able to recognize.

I am a guardian of sorts.”- Liam (Marked Book #1) page 171

I am yours. Whatever you ask of me it is done.”- Marc (Marked Book #1) page 179

I cannot ever imagine a time or place in which I will not love you. I am willing to do whatever it takes.

I’d accepted my judgment without question. Agreed to live a mortal life. I didn’t know my memories would come with me; didn’t know I’d relive them every day. Death would have been more merciful.

I give you comfort. I give you peace. I give you joy. I give you hope. I give you life.” Jesus kept talking to her. “I give you strength. I give you love. I give you power. I give you Me.” Jennifer started jumping up and down and hugging Jesus.

I’m not trying to fix you. I don’t think you’re broken.”- Damian (Marked Book #1) page 266

I have decided to change something. I am thinking I may want to go by Aimee again.”- Aimee (Marked Book #1) page 102

I met a boy. And when he smiled, my life began.

Is it wrong to protect your heart?”- Marc (Marked Book #1) page 130

I think it would have to be the way that my sister looks at you when you can’t see it.” “Yeah? And how’s that?” he asked, very interested in the answer. “Oh, you know,” she said coolly, “like you’re the air she needs to breathe.

He who writes is the martyr, seen through the eyes of the unassuming doll.

It's true; most souls come here in whatever clothing they died in, truly unfortunate for the people who died naked. Of course, it's really worse for us than them. Most people don't look good without their clothes,...

I want to believe," he heard himself say. Victoria's reply carried no judgement or challenge. "So why don't you?" He chuckled. "Well, it's not that easy. Having faith requires leaps of faith, cerebral acceptance of miracles, immaculate conceptions an divine interventions

I would have done better to cherish my good memories. I know that you were trying to protect me, and I admire you for that. I wish now that I had let you.”- Aimee (Marked Book #1) page 288

I’ve given up already in life but something or someone keep pushing me to keep going.

Kohler shrugged. "Sometimes to find truth, one must move mountains.

Like a porcelain facade, her outer shell was breaking away.

It was a fleeting feeling, one there and suddenly gone, like a dove shattered to pieces during a magician's disappearing act.

Love. It was the only explanation. That was what love did to you. It wormed its way inside you and leeched you of your courage. It made you weak, reliant on other people's opinions and expectations. It paralyzed you.

Modern infatuation with angels is based on imagery that is far removed from Psalm 103’s depiction of angels as 'mighty ones who do his bidding.' With the loss of knowledge and respect for scriptures has come a greatly demeaned understanding of spiritual realities, especially those concerned with supernatural occurrences.

Miranda waited. No voice spoke. No heavenly choir broke out in song. God Himself did not call her name. She frowned. Typical.

No matter how much we might wish it, there is no way to build a lock that only angels can open and demons cannot. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either ignorant of the mathematics or less of an angel than they appear.

No one had fought back. His friends had not retaliated and morphed into monsters. They had fallen like flies. Perhaps such evil did not lurk in the others. Perhaps he's been wrong. The thought came to him suddenly, stopping his heart as if he'd been yanked from the dance hall and flung countries and time-zones away only to crash into arctic waters. It marked the end of something, as revelations often do. He was the monsters.

Not all people are 'people', some are more and some are less. But only those who listen intently with their hearts will recognise them for what they are.

People are not totally good or bad, black or white - unless we are talking of evil psychos. We, human beings, are somewhere between angels and demons. That is what makes us, human beings, lovely imperfect.

Once upon a time, the world was quintessentially human. People took pride in normalcy; they preferred things in black and white, for salt and pepper are easier to digest than gray matter. When things were disagreeable or different, they liked to label them "otherworldly." It relieved them of accountability. "The Devil made me do it," they preferred to say. But when they looked in the mirror, they didn't notice the Devil looking back. Not at first.

One of my earliest memories was of a maze of pale green walls. The corridors never ended, no matter which way I turned. I was running, my feet bare, my paper-thin gown flapping around skinny foal-like legs, and the demons kept on coming. I’d run the maze before, because I always knew which way to turn to find the little clear plastic box. I’d run, and run. Lungs aching, throat burning, my feet slapping against the smooth floor, and the sound of scrabbling claws chased me down. I made it to the box, every time (I’d learned later, there were others who hadn’t) and once inside, I’d yank the clear door closed. The demons didn’t see the box. They saw only me, the wraith-like little half-blood girl. They would launch themselves—claws extended, jaws wide, eyes ablaze—and slam into my box, sending shudders rattling through my bones. They’d snap and snarl, hook their teeth into the box and gnaw at its edges, desperate to get to the feast huddling a few millimeters away. Flooding, the Institute had called it. At first I was afraid, and I learned how to run. Then I was angry, and I learned how to fight with my fists and my element. Then, I got even. I lured those demons into a corner and ambushed them, killing every last one. After countless visits to the maze, after weeks, years, I’d started liking it, and killing became as natural as breathing. It was what I was good at. What I was made for. What I lived for. © Copyright Pippa DaCosta 2016.

One-winged angels, she thought. Perhaps that is what love makes us. To fly, we have to embrace each other.

Peace, so Miss Sanders could grapple with her demons. Quiet, so she could almost hear the Hellfire crackling beneath the crust of the carpeted schoolroom.

Science itself caused half the problems it was trying to solve. "Progress" was Mother Earth's ultimate malignancy.

Lexi was older now than she'd been in kindergarten. Her brain functioned with more logic and less emotion. Gabriel knew it would be harder this time. Now Lexi had to make sense of things before she believed in them.

She could hear the voice of her childhood, could see a younger version of herself plucking petals off a flower. He loves me; he loves me not. (She) left the petals alone, not ready to hear the answer. The fragrance of the flowers danced around her; and in her mind, or memory, or both, she could hear a song. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be transported there. He stood in a black suit looking painfully handsome; she wore a green dress wishing he would see her…really see her. It was easy and comfortable. They swayed slowly, lost in the melody, the moment. His hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, their fingers clasped tightly together. He loves me; he loves me not.

She had gone through the veil and returned to Earth. But the veil only opens one way.

She was lucky enough to know little enough to fear nothing more than wasps, the dark, and the darker figments of her imagination.

She smiles and snuggles into me as we wait for our table. I inhale her scent. Vanilla and something else. Something different. Smokey almost. Sexy. It drives me crazy with need and I have to move away while I can.

So,” Lauren said. “You help ghosts with unfulfilled wishes cross over to the astral plane for judgment.” “Yes.” “And you hunt demons.” “Yes.” “And you’re married to an angel.” “Yes.” She paused. “…so basically, you’re Dean Winchester.” I made an exasperated sound. “I am NOT.” She smirked. “Yeah, sure.

Some Ange'el are a bit more powerful. Each one has their own set of capabilities and level of skill depending on the purity of their genes and their age. Some Ange'el can heal ya. Some can convince ya to do their will. Some know what you're thinking. Some can speak to you using only their minds, and Viviane ... well, Viviane can do it all.

Something was bleeding… and something was broken. It was my heart… because I had to leave you. (Chase to Rayne)