Best 2438 quotes in «angel quotes» category

It's your worst sin saving your f***ing life; It's the devil's knife carving holes into your soul so angels have a way to make their way inside; Life doesn't rhyme. Still, life is poetry, not math. The whole world's a stage, but the stage is a meditation mat. You tilt your head back; you breathe. when your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and you pray for rain.

It takes four angels to oversee an apocalypse: a recorder to make the book that would be scripture in the new world; a preserver to comfort and save those selected to be the first generation; an accuser to remind them why they suffer; and a destroyer to revoke the promise of survival and redemption, and to teach them the awful truth about furious sheltering grace.

I turned my back on the devil, turned my back on the angel too.

I turned my face up to his. I could hardly look at him the same way. I was crying without realizing I'd started. "You made a deal with Hank. You saved my life. Why would you do that for me?" "Angel," he murmured, clasping my face between his hands. "I don't think you understand the lengths I would go to if it means keeping you here with me.

It was a kiss to level mountains and shake stars from the sky. It was a kiss to make angels faint and demons weep...a passionate, demanding, soul-searing kiss that nearly knocked the earth off its axis.

It was a light that shone over our faces, our wounds and scars. It was a light so brilliant and white it could have been beamed from heaven, and Brian and I could have been angels, basking in it. But it wasn’t, and we weren’t.

It was a very funny conference. I knew [Christopher Hitchens] before that. He had always been a good angel to me. He once stole a phrase from me that came out of his mouth on television. I saw his eyes move sideways. I thought, It's alright, you can have it! The conference was light on women. Salman Rushdie showed up, they were doing their own thing. I didn't feel neglected!

It was heaven. Forget angels, forget St. Peter and glittering harpsichords. Heaven was a dance in the arms of one's true love.

It was love that motivated His self-emptying, that led Him to become a little lower than angels, to be subject to parents, to bow His head beneath the Baptist's hands, to endure the weakness of the flesh, and to submit to death even upon the cross

It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.

It was like when we were little kids and we played games on the ivy-covered hillside in the backyard. We were warriors and wizards and angels and high elves and that was our reality. If someone said, Isn’t it cute, look at them playing, we would have smiled back, humoring them, but it wasn’t playing. It was transformation. It was our own world. Our own rules.

It was Mary who first adored the Incarnate Word. He was in her womb, and no one on earth knew of it. Oh! how well was our Lord served in Mary's virginal womb! Never has He found a ciborium, a golden vase more precious or purer than was Mary's womb! Mary's adoration was more pleasing to Him than that of all the Angels. The Lord 'hath set His tabernacle in the sun,' says the Psalmist. The sun is Mary's heart," and "Mary is the aurora of the beautiful Sun of Justice.

It wasn‟t even desire. It was far more than that. It was love. Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angels— and yes, all those annoying little cupids—wished to use for embellishment.

It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels.

It was the beginning of a day in June; the deep blue sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were, as yet, nearly free from passengers, the houses and shops were closed, and the healthy air of morning fell like breath from angels, on the sleeping town.

It was stealing her breath, imbecile. Go get a towel." -Christophe, Strange Angels by Lili St. Crow

It was the kind of experience, Molly said, that would grow calluses on an angel's ass.

It was your song that made me sing It was your song that gave me wings It was your light that shined guiding my heart to find This place where I belong It was your song Dreams can come true With God's great angels like you

It was wonderful love that Christ should rather die for us than for the angels that fell. They were creatures of a more noble extract, and in all probability might have brought greater revenues of glory to God; yet that Christ should pass by those golden vessels, and make us clods of earth into stars of glory -- Oh, the hyperbole of Christ's love!

I urge you with all the strength of my soul to approach the Eucharistic Table as often as possible. Feed on this Bread of the Angels from which you will draw the strength to fight inner struggles.

I used to listen to so much doo-wop, and I've talked a lot about gospel music, but I realised a lot of that language came from doo-wop music. You know, "I Asked the Lord Above," "Heaven Sent Me an Angel." That's rock-'n-roll, and that's where a lot of this language is coming from. Also, I've said before that as soon as you start having a conversation with Jesus in a song you know you're dealing with issues of morality and how fragile it is to be human. It's a shortcut to putting those ideas across.

I've always felt like I had a guardian angel in some of those ways.

I've always believed in experiencing everything in life. When you walk out with blinders on, you cut yourself off from the angels and the fairies.

I've always seen the bright lights of the angels, and I know that lower-entities can't disguise this light, because it only comes from the Love of God.

I’ve always seen you, angel. From the moment you found me, I’ve seen nothing but you.

I've always said it's interesting to watch devils cry when angels want to stab you in the back. I like that mixture.

I've built many doorways and set out traps so that no one will be able to reach this place. That's what the angel said. This is a castle of darkness for the angel and I alone. Only within this yielding gloom can I lament the misfortune that has rained down all around me, only here am I permitted to scorn and pity the ugliness, the filthiness of how I smile and pretend at being pure in the light of day.

I want to be one of the artists in the cathedral on the great plain. I want to make a dragon's head, an angel, a devil - or perhaps a saint - out of stone.

I've buried six Guardian Angels who have been shot and killed in the line of duty. I was stalked myself, had a gunman go pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, five hollow point bullets, God save me. What do you think this is? This isn't Zimmerman. But unfortunately, he's become the face of Block Watch, Crime Watch.

I've got The Father on my side, Jesus Christ, The Holy Spirit and 2/3 of the angels. What do you think I'm going to do? Sit down and cry?

I've never done too much inquiry into angels.

I've read everything Thomas Wolfe ever wrote; my brother and I memorized whole chapters of 'You Can't Go Home Again' and 'Look Homeward, Angel.'

I've told Kamal Haasan, Amitabh Bachchan, Naseeruddin Shah, Nana Patekar, I just want to touch you. They are the gods of acting. When people call me God, I say, no, I'm still an angel or saint of acting. I still have a long way to go.

I want to protect my own happiness. I'm not an angel. I'm just a normal girl.

I've never spoken with an angel, though one time I felt the awesome weight and glory of God's presence in an angel in my bedroom as I kneeled in prayer. I kept my eyes closed, good Baptist that I was at the time, so I never knew if it was an angel. (I now am reasonably confident it was.)

I wanted to get an angel wings tatooed on my back, as a guardian thing.

I want to win when the whole world is watching, ... I want to win a World Series in an Angels uniform.

I was at Yankee Stadium one time at 5 a.m., but that was to buy angel dust

I was a shy ugly kid who led a big fantasy life. I thought I was an angel sent from heaven, to cure polio. When Dr. Salk did that I was really pissed off.

I was an angel of the desert. In your arms I broke my wings.

I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve such a wonderful gift, and I wasn't sure if it was insolent, but I thanked God for fallen angels.

I was constantly around all those religious images and to me, angels exist. I feel we were definitely guided and helped and I'm always referring to them in my work.

I wasn't sent here to find angels! I wasn't sent here to dream of them. I wasn't sent here to hear them sing! I was sent here to be alive. To breathe and sweat and thirst and sometimes cry.

I would not have lasted a minute, literally a minute, on this Earth without God and angels by my side, because I was born. And right as I was born, I went into a respiratory arrest. So, big things that keep me going are friends and family, God. And another thing is looking forward to what's going to happen tomorrow.

I was shocked when I found out who the biggest failure in the Bible actually is...The biggest one in the whole Bible is God...I mean, He lost His top-ranking, most anointed angel; the first man He ever created; the first woman He ever created; the whole earth and all the fullness therein; a third of the angels, at least - that's a big loss, man....Now, the reason you don't think of God as a failure is He never said He's a failure. And you're not a failure till you say you're one.

I watched Picasso visit the Planet of the Apes, as the masters rot on walls and the angels eat the grapes.

I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.

I wish I could go back and rewrite my first book, You Bright and Risen Angels; I could do a better job. But in the meantime, nobody knows as much about my books as I do. Nobody has the right but me to say which words go into my books or get deleted or edited. When I'm dying, I'll smile, knowing I stood up for my books. If I die with more money, that wouldn't bring a smile to my face. Unless I got better drugs or more delicious-looking nurses.

I wonder what becomes of lost opportunities? Perhaps our guardian angel gathers them up as we drop them, and will give them back to us in the beautiful sometime when we have grown wiser, and learned how to use them rightly.

I wouldn't have been sent back to help you," Tristan continued. "I wouldn't have been made an angel if it weren't important that you live, Ivy. I want you to be mine" -Ivy could hear the pain in his voice- "but you're not." "I am!" she cried out loud. "We're on different sides of a river," he said, "and it's a river that neither of us can cross. You were meant for somebody else.