Best 2438 quotes in «angel quotes» category

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

He tasted like summertime - of wicked thunderstorms, fresh clover, and wild honeysuckle - and I had the sensation of falling, my stomach tumbling over and over again until calm finally reached in, rooting deep and stretching out to encompass everything: my mind, my body. And my soul - whatever that was. The same clean, almost scentless breeze whipped over us again, just like it had the first night we’d met, and I could physically feel one chapter of my life closing and another beginning.

He tries to get close to her because he wants to know what her glow feels like. She’s alone on the dance floor and even though she’s dancing, there’s a kind of sadness lurking about her, like her heart is somewhere else. Roman doesn’t think he has ever seen a woman look this beautiful. It’s not just her halo either. Even in that one brief moment Roman feels it. He feels her become a part of his life. Her halo is glowing a little less bright now, and Roman doesn’t know why. But he wants to find out.

Hey, he's not using a holster," I said, glancing at Alex's on the dresser. He laughed out loud. "Yeah, I guess he must want something shooting off. It'd be so great if these things were true to life - the next scene would show him at hospital like, clutching himself in agony."'Angel - L.A.Weatherly

How can it be wrong? Love picks the right path, not the one of least resistance.

How do you possibly manage to turn talk of an angel into something perverted?

Human Angels are souls who have chosen to be born now on this planet to awaken themselves and humanity to Unconditional Love and Awareness of the Oneness.

Human Angels are beacons that simply being who they are, illuminate the darkness, to help those who are still on the path to stay the course.

I allow myself to rest deeply and be rejuvenated, trusting the love of the angels to support and hold me for my highest good.

I can’t look people in the eye and tell them that they’re going to die anymore.

I am writing like an angel

I did,” Henric said, with a triumphant look. “Oh,” Meena said, opening the book to the page 74, the one from her dream. “You mean this prince?” She pointed at the illustration of Lucifer. Henric’s grin faltered slightly. “Precisely.” “He’s not a prince,” Meena said. “As you know perfectly well, he’s a fallen angel. And what was Lucien’s mother?” “A p-princess,” Henric stammered. But there was terror in his eyes. “No,” Lucien said, shaking his head. “She was an angel.” Meena swung around to look at him. Tears glittered in her eyes as she gazed up into his, which had gone back to their normal deep brown. “Yes, Lucien,” she said, holding the book open in front of him. “That’s why Henric was trying to keep this from you. Because he realized it was the one thing that might help you remember what your mother always taught you. You, of all people, really do have a choice. You can choose to be good . . . because you are part good. No matter how hard you try to be the devil’s son, you’ve still got an angel for a mother.

I couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because I didn’t even know I needed you. You must have been sent to me.

I don't do it for Michael. I do it for them." "Them?" "People." "They're broken! Flawed!" "Yes, but some of them try to do better. Try to forgive.

I’d like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel. A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, “God . . . help me!” The next thing she remembers—just as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness—was a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant’s lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God’s angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t be walking through here this late at night,” was all he said as he turned away. “Wait! What’s your name?” she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground. All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, “Bob’s as good as any. . . .” An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple “no” on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God. God is very objective; He wants to make us think, to engage the faculties we have been given, and to learn from the messengers he sends us. He wants us in the ark before the flood; he could come himself—or send a Noah—but most of the time he sends Bob. Bob is in you, Bob is in me, Bob is in the emotionalized, sarcastic, mocking, patronizing, proud or foolish person which points out meaningful things to us in the worst possible moments, or in the worst possible way.

I don't know who you are; you could be an axe murderer for all I know. How am I supposed to trust you and follow you? For that matter, follow you where?" Gabe inquired. "Search yourself, what do your instincts tell you?" Uri asked. "That you're a crazy nut job and freaking me out!" Gabe snapped back.

I don't know what God intends, or what qualifies Him to forgive me,' Sobran said

If an angel could admit she was wrong about a vampire, maybe there was hope for the werepanthers in East Hampton after all.

If I could remove one thing from the world and replace it with something else, I would erase politics and put art in its place. That way, art teachers would rule the world. And since art is the most supreme form of love, beautiful colors and imagery would weave bridges for peace wherever there are walls. Artists, who are naturally heart-driven, would decorate the world with their love, and in that love — poverty, hunger, lines of division, and wars would vanish from the earth forever. Children of the earth would then be free to play, imagine, create, build and grow without bloodshed, terror and fear.

If you are stupid enough not to know the difference between the devil and the angel, you quickly find the devil! This is what happens to most people in democracies just after elections!

If I weren't out of my mind at this second, I would've sworn he nuzzled my temple.

If it's to be, it's up to me. to which I add; If not now...then when?

I landed on my side, my hip taking the brunt of the fall. It burned and stung from the hit, but I ignored it and struggled to sit up quickly. There really was no point in hurrying so no one would see. Everyone already saw A pair of jean-clad legs appeared before me, and my suitcase and all my other stuff was dropped nearby. "Whatcha doing down there?" Romeo drawled, his hands on his hips as he stared down at me with dancing blue eyes. "Making a snow angel," I quipped. I glanced down at my hands, which were covered with wet snow and bits of salt (to keep the pavement from getting icy). Clearly, ice wasn't required for me to fall. A small group of girls just "happened by", and by that I mean they'd been staring at Romeo with puppy dog eyes and giving me the stink eye. When I fell, they took it as an opportunity to descend like buzzards stalking the dead. Their leader was the girl who approached me the very first day I'd worn Romeo's hoodie around campus and told me he'd get bored. As they stalked closer, looking like clones from the movie Mean Girls, I caught the calculating look in her eyes. This wasn't going to be good. I pushed up off the ground so I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but the new snow was slick and my hand slid right out from under me and I fell back again. Romeo was there immediately, the teasing light in his eyes gone as he slid his hand around my back and started to pull me up. "Careful, babe." he said gently. The girls were behind him so I knew he hadn't seen them approach. They stopped as one unit, and I braced myself for whatever their leader was about to say. She was wearing painted-on skinny jeans (I mean, really, how did she sit down and still breathe?) and some designer coat with a monogrammed scarf draped fashionably around her neck. Her boots were high-heeled, made of suede and laced up the back with contrasting ribbon. "Wow," she said, opening her perfectly painted pink lips. "I saw that from way over there. That sure looked like it hurt." She said it fairly amicably, but anyone who could see the twist to her mouth as she said it would know better. Romeo paused in lifting me to my feet. I felt his eyes on me. Then his lips thinned as he turned and looked over his shoulder. "Ladies," he said like he was greeting a group of welcomed friends. Annoyance prickled my stomach like tiny needles stabbing me. It's not that I wanted him to be rude, but did he have to sound so welcoming? "Romeo," Cruella DeBarbie (I don't know her real name, but this one fit) purred. "Haven't you grown bored of this clumsy mule yet?" Unable to stop myself, I gasped and jumped up to my feet. If she wanted to call me a mule, I'd show her just how much of an ass I could be. Romeo brought his arm out and stopped me from marching past. I collided into him, and if his fingers hadn't knowingly grabbed hold to steady me, I'd have fallen again. "Actually," Romeo said, his voice calm, "I am pretty bored." Three smirks were sent my way. What a bunch of idiots. "The view from where I'm standing sure leaves a lot to be desired." One by one, their eyes rounded when they realized the view he referenced was them. Without another word, he pivoted around and looked down at me, his gaze going soft. "No need to make snow angels, baby," he said loud enough for the slack-jawed buzzards to hear. "You already look like one standing here with all that snow in your hair." Before I could say a word, he picked me up and fastened his mouth to mine. My legs wound around his waist without thought, and I kissed him back as gentle snow fell against our faces.

I had braced myself for imminent death, and there you exploded upon us like some avenging angel. I have grown used to the idea that human beings die or they betray and I could only rely on myself, but that's not true anymore. I feel I can trust you. That may seem so small an admission, but from me, it is the greatest compliment I can ever give.

I know the scent of betrayal. I may be kind to you, but don't mistake my kindness for weakness. After all, the Angels have a sharp sword too

If you want to know what heaven is like, marry an angel.

I knew I was in danger from the moment I proposed visiting you a second time. I knew because God warned me by sending the whirlwind that pulled a few feathers.' 'But you still came every year.' 'God is my maker but not my master. And I don't think he was saying “Thou shalt not”, rather, “I think you're going to regret this..”' 'So, you go freely, with hints. If God made a suggestion to me I'm sure I'd take it. I mean, I assume He has, but I've misunderstood.

I know that you're a virgin and as bodiless as any paralytic. I know I'm old and not as handsome as I once was. But I know you love me as I love you.' And he kissed the angel.

I'll never see Ivy alive again. But she's still everywhere. In every drop of bubbling swamp water. In every leaf hanging from every tree. In every speck of swamp mud. In every blade of grass. In every gift she left behind for me: two sacks of miscellaneous objects, a grass bracelet, her home, her love, and my life. A swamp angel named Ivy lived in my backyard. And now she doesn't. But wherever she is, I know she's watching me. Just like the angel she's always been.

I'm not an atheist," he says suddenly. "Oh?" He nods. "Because on the night of my fifth birthday, I prayed for an angel to watch over me." He slurps his milk, then looks up at me with a milk mustache. "And God brought you to the dock." My eyes well up with tears as I watch him turn back to his mug.

I miss the stars the most. They give off their light, completely unaware or heedless of the life and death taking place beneath them. It doesn’t matter to them whether the angels win this war. Or the demons. Whether the whole world burns. In the end, they’ll still be there. Constant and true.

I’m not leaving you. Right here, right now is the happiest I’ve ever been. I love you. That means I don’t leave. Sorry.

I’m of the camp that if an angel tells you one thing, and a man in ruby slippers tells you another, you go with the angel.

I’m by myself,” she said finally. “No family to speak of.” “I see.” Leaning forward again, he rested his arms against the table. “That must be rather difficult.” “Sometimes.” “And lonely, I imagine. Perhaps that is why you came here tonight?” Her jaw popped under the strain of maintaining decorum. “First: I said I was alone, not lonely. There's a big difference. And second: is that really why you think I'm here?” “I do not know what to think. I know you must have reasons for being here other than what you have already hinted at. Reasons important enough to make an otherwise intelligent woman not only bring food to a stranger so late at night, but also accept his invitation to sit inside an empty motel room without a second thought.” “Why don't you just call me a hooker while you're at it?

I’m Emma. I’m here to make you see the meaning of your life.” Her exalted words were totally conquered by her dragging tone and lack of eye contact.

I’m going to ask you a question,” I said. “And I want an answer this time, no dodging and no playing cryptic. Is the reason you’re leaving because you need to look for Nicholas, or because you want to get away from me?” Daniel looked me square in the eye, unblinking. “The first thing accomplishes the second, now doesn’t it?

I'm not leaving you. We still have a chance." "How?" Kayson's voice echoes his hopelessness. He's already given up. "Hey, as long as we are still breathing, we still have a chance. If you quit, then you're quitting on me too.

I'm sorry if me being turned on turns you on.

In Hell... bad is good... and I am second only to the Devil.

In August of 1998, I completed Seize the Night, the sequel to my novel Fear Nothing, one of many of my books in which a dog is among the cast of principal characters. Every time I wrote a story that included a canine, my yearning for a dog grew. Readers and critics alike said I had an uncanny knack for writing convincingly about dogs and even for writing from a dog's point of view. When a story contained a canine character, I always felt especially inspired, as if some angel watching over me was trying to tell me that dogs were a fundamental part of my destiny if only I would listen.

I never heerd...nor read of nor see in picters, any angel in tights and gaiters...but...he's a reg'lar thoroughbred angel for all that.

In the absence of deliberate cruelty, the harshness of his face and the fullness of his mouth just looked sullen and a little wicked. An angel frozen into a tableau of marmoreal perfection as he contemplated his imminent fall from grace.

Insert the biggest, most awkward silence in the history of big awkward silences. I stare at him. I'm suddenly exhausted by all the lies I've told him. He's my friend, and I lie to him every day. He deserves better. I wish I could tell him then, more than anything I've ever wanted. I wish I could stand in front of him and truly be myself and tell him everything. But it's against the rules.

It can't be anyone but you I always wondered why A million "thank you"'s piled up And before I knew it, it was love I was in love with you

I recall the wind, the lilacs, the gray, the perfume, the song, and the wind, but I don't recall what the angel said.

It can't be anyone but you I understand the reason now Like an angel gently descending, You taught me the meaning of living on earth Whispering,"I want you to protect me," You supported my heart

I opened the window to let some fresh air into the room and was surprised to see that the rain was not just falling, but that it formed an actual wall of water, as if the whole sky were falling. While I was staring at the strange phenomenon, the form of an angel began to appear before me… It was Matariel, the Angel of Rain, whom I had not seen since my descent and who on this occasion appeared in a shiny, blue-grey form. She was only an arm’s length away and stared straight at me. She looked like a young woman floating on enormous wings -not a single drop of rain touched her. The smell of the cool rain swept the room as Matariel began talking to me. She never once moved her lips, but her every word was clearly audible in my head.

I remembered Robyn telling me the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and how they'd survived: when the King chucked them in the furnace and an angel or someone went in with them. The furnace blazed all around them but they didn't burn. And it did calm me. I don't know if it was Robyn or an angel or even God himself was in the boot, but I was starting to suspect that whenever I wanted God, he was there. Only not necessarily in the form I wanted, or doing what I wanted...In the pitch of the black boot I clung to the image of a fiery furnace, and it wasn't the furnace or Hell either.

I saw my first angel. And it was you.

I saw an Beautiful Angel I tried to reach for it ,spreading his wings it flew so high across the unlimited sky leaving a glow in the darkness of the night, that beautiful Angel is illuminating my world