Best 106 quotes in «angels and demons quotes» category

Actions have reactions, nonetheless. People rarely show up at Hell's doorstep clutching a map of bad intentions.

Angels are good not simply because they see bad as bad, but also because they see bad as corny.

A hand in mine.. hot. Breath on my neck... sweet. The feel of lips on my own... forbidden.

Aimee turned and walked out, giving him a wink and a smile, careful not to part her lips. His reaction to her fangs, as amusing as it may be, would hurt her chances of blending in.” – Aimee (Marked Book #1) page 215

A pang of deep longing ripples through me. I’m torn between my promise to send Aydan to the Abyss and my need to keep him safe. The opposing forces fragment what remains of my mind, breaking me down once again.

Angels were sent to protect. To interfere when necessary, but never to intrude, or encroach on one's free will. The people would have a different mission. One of proactivity. One of protection. The idea that: could the actions of evil be prevented? ...But there were those in the Human population that not only chose not to believe in the presence of angels, but also chose not to believe in the existence of evil." - #WarAngel (2016)

Beeswax, with its subtle undertones of smoke and honey. The smell of ink on wet paper, the sickly-sweet smell of decay. The sweat of clean bodies, the scent of burnt gloves. She loved the crackle of the fire and the clang of the tools. She loved the magic of sweat-streaked alchemists who blew down metal pipes and created bubbles within molten glass. She loved the flawless final chapter, the glistening undulations as smooth as ice.

As long as you're still walking with the demons of hell! You'll never have the time to slow down to see the angels of heaven behind you.

Always have a plan, but be prepared to change it at any given moment.

Before her parents were killed, Lena hadn't minded school. She had even liked some of her classes. Now school was just watching the clock tick.

Both of you are threads in a carefully woven masterpiece of a blanket that is life. Parts of you are weaved into parts of him. There's no changing that.

Between death and hell a bridge shining silver wings offers his soul hope.

Death walks among us

Do You Believe?

First, you must be certain that you are ready for knowledge. There are many things that we bury in our minds for a reason. Are you sure that you want to go digging up the past?”- Elsie (Marked Book #1) page 226

Dear Sir, I'll gie ye some advice, You'll tak it no uncivil: You shouldna paint at angels, man, But try and paint the Devil. To paint an angel's kittle wark, Wi' Nick there's little danger; You'll easy draw a lang-kent face, But no sae weel a stranger.

Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human.

Do you remember bedtime as a child? I was terrified of the dark. I was terrified of the closed closet door that surely cracked open when I wasn't looking and spewed out ghouls and devils. I took care that no arms or legs protruded from the bed. I sometimes slept with the covers over my head. Sweltering, panting, barely breathing. Not even my hair exposed, lest a monster discover and devour me. I remember begging my father to check under the bed. I remember trying to explain how some monsters had invisibility cloaks. He would kiss my cheek and switch off the light. We stop looking under the bed once we realize that the monsters are inside us. It's funny how they transform. Suddenly they don't mind daylight. Suddenly they dress nicely, speak our language, and share our customs. They sit next to us on the metro and jog around our neighborhoods. They slip things into our drinks at parties and offer us jobs. Sometimes we spot them, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we even do the unthinkable: we invite them to our bed. As adults, we burn down the sanctuaries we created as children. Our inner child freaks out, but its screams are drowned by our moans as our monsters bring us to orgasm.

Dreaming is what you do when your eyes are closed...living is what you do with that dream once you open your eyes!

Everything made sense in a book...Too bad her life wasn’t fiction.

Got A Few Angels Fighting My Demons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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..

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 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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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