Best 596 quotes in «demons quotes» category

The demons that haunt you every night are hell afraid of you loving yourself.

The Devil's minions worked his treacherous plot through the hearts of men, possessing them, ruling them. These hounds of hell ran wild these days through their human hosts, working greater and greater abominations.

The difference in our potential as angels or demons is the effect of time on the decisions we make.

The glove suddenly feels much heavier, now, more dense. The rush of power didn’t come through me, but wrapped around me; invisible and strangely empty, like a purely mechanical force. It wasn’t like I just got stronger; it was separate from me, like something stepped in and punched him instead of me. I pull the glove off gingerly, half afraid I’ll punch my own fingers off.

The hordes of demonic activity at times can take advantage of those who are wounded by others in the body of Christ. When we allow any hurt we can be used of the enemy to sow discord into God's work and His body.

The Holy Spirit never uses guilt or shame to persuade us to give. For that matter, he never persuades us to give in the first place. That's called manipulation, a device employed by a different spirit.

The last time I checked,I didn't have any special talent,thought Kara.Can I paint a demon to death?Drown it in some gouache?

The last thing he wanted was to see the bright, shining, happy faces of the other angels up there.

Themes of descent often turn on the struggle between the titanic and the demonic within the same person or group. In Moby Dick, Ahab’s quest for the whale may be mad and “monomaniacal,” as it is frequently called, or even evil so far as he sacrifices his crew and ship to it, but evil or revenge are not the point of the quest. The whale itself may be only a “dumb brute,” as the mate says, and even if it were malignantly determined to kill Ahab, such an attitude, in a whale hunted to the death, would certainly be understandable if it were there. What obsesses Ahab is in a dimension of reality much further down than any whale, in an amoral and alienating world that nothing normal in the human psyche can directly confront. The professed quest is to kill Moby Dick, but as the portents of disaster pile up it becomes clear that a will to identify with (not adjust to) what Conrad calls the destructive element is what is really driving Ahab. Ahab has, Melville says, become a “Prometheus” with a vulture feeding on him. The axis image appears in the maelstrom or descending spiral (“vortex”) of the last few pages, and perhaps in a remark by one of Ahab’s crew: “The skewer seems loosening out of the middle of the world.” But the descent is not purely demonic, or simply destructive: like other creative descents, it is partly a quest for wisdom, however fatal the attaining of such wisdom may be. A relation reminiscent of Lear and the fool develops at the end between Ahab and the little black cabin boy Pip, who has been left so long to swim in the sea that he has gone insane. Of him it is said that he has been “carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of the unwarped primal world glided to and fro . . . and the miser-merman, Wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps.” Moby Dick is as profound a treatment as modern literature affords of the leviathan symbolism of the Bible, the titanic-demonic force that raises Egypt and Babylon to greatness and then hurls them into nothingness; that is both an enemy of God outside the creation, and, as notably in Job, a creature within it of whom God is rather proud. The leviathan is revealed to Job as the ultimate mystery of God’s ways, the “king over all the children of pride” (41:34), of whom Satan himself is merely an instrument. What this power looks like depends on how it is approached. Approached by Conrad’s Kurtz through his Antichrist psychosis, it is an unimaginable horror: but it may also be a source of energy that man can put to his own use. There are naturally considerable risks in trying to do so: risks that Rimbaud spoke of in his celebrated lettre du voyant as a “dérèglement de tous les sens.” The phrase indicates the close connection between the titanic and the demonic that Verlaine expressed in his phrase poète maudit, the attitude of poets who feel, like Ahab, that the right worship of the powers they invoke is defiance.

The light was bright, too bright for others to see. Yet, in the bright light, I found myself seeing angels and demons; each trying to manipulate the other to do as they wished of them. In the bright light, I saw war being waged, two opposing sides tearing one-another apart with their bare hands. A yin-and-yang affect, the push and pull too great to ignore. As others turned away, blinded by the intolerable ignorance only those who perceived themselves as mortals could possess, I lunged forward; thrusting myself between each being's claws, attempting to protect not only angels but demons alike.

The Mad Affliction's arm shot out of the cage, grasping for me. I jumped back. His long, ragged talons swiped the air in front of me. "Free me!" the Mad Affliction cried. He grasped for Bethany, but she backed away, too. "Free me and know the living nightmare that is unending madness!" "You're not doing yourself any favors," I told him.

The more perfect a person is on the outside, the more demons they have on the inside.

The most possessive part of Conall didn't want another male to even look at Rhea.

There are three heavens. The first heaven is the earth and the world of mankind, and the third heaven is where God dwells. However, the second heaven is a place of time and space, where both demons and angels tread, plot, and fight against each other.

The Prince of Hell shrugged. 'Shit Happens

Then we still have time!” I gasp. “It’s not too late. We know what he’s going to do. We’ll return to the cave and fight.” “We?” Kernel says sarcastically. “Yes! I’ll fight to save Dervish and Bill-E. I don’t care what those monsters throw at us. When it’s family, it’s different.” “You really think you can choose not to be a coward if and when it suits you?” Kernel jeers. Beranabus interrupts wearily before I can retort. “It doesn't matter. You're arguing about nothing. The time for heroics has passed.

The only difference between writers and people who don't write is that writers aren't afraid to display their demons.

The prophecy stated that Hades' most beloved oracle, Sybil, was to bed two males of significance on the same night. Each male had been chosen from the finest of all Hades' demons to consecrate this union. They were to fill her not only their seed but with their blood, giving the boys their life and their abilities. On the day of their birth, Sybil announced that her boys were to rule the five rivers and would do so in peace for many years, but that eventually, one of her sons would become the underworld's demise, while the other would become its destiny.

There can be no light without shadow.

The Reckoning The time has come for Retribution A time for Redemption, A time for Forgiveness A time for Renewal, A time to prevail My love will set you free my darling. Our love, forever bound. -SL Ross

There is a festival where we wear the faces of demons to ward evil spirits from our dead in the vale. Sometimes we fail.

There is a demon inside of me. Not a literal one, of course, because such things don't exist. Not that I've ever seen anyway. But there might as well be because I can feel something deep down that doesn't belong in this world, a darkness that permeates my being and shadows the world around me. I don't usually let it hurt anyone – not intentionally – but it is ravenous. It demands to be fed. Sated. Set loose every now and again. Most people can't handle my demon.

There would never be anyone else. Not if he lived a thousand lifetimes.

The religion of Hell is patriotism, and the government is an enlightened democracy.

The scent of the leather and the feel of the cold steel transported her back in time. “But Daddy, why can’t I have a sword and a scabbard? Dillon and Tynan have one and look, I can lift it above my head, too.” Kylah chuckled because she hadn’t lifted it above her head; she’d barely lifted the broadsword off the floor. But Cearnach was always supportive. He’d told her, “Someday, little one… someday you will be a great warrior just like your brothers.

The scariest thing about monsters is that they hide. They hide in your head where no one else can see them, making it feel almost as if no one can save you from them.

The same pot that gave birth to the angels created the demons too. And eventually, there came a time where the differences between both races perished. What came out of the pot next shook the whole universe, and turned it into a graveyard of dreams.

The scent of freshly laundered clothing that had been dried in the desert sun lingered around him. She breathed deeply, remembering how kind he had been to her that day, and she closed her eyes. The tip of his tongue brushed her mouth, and her lips parted slightly. She tilted her head back, relaxing against the strength of his arm as he cradled her. His other hand found her hip. Kisses, not so light now, trailed along her jaw before dipping lower. She sighed, the roughness of his unshaven cheek teasing the delicate skin of her throat, sparking a sense of restlessness in her that she did not know how to resolve. She wanted to touch him too, to kiss him in return, but she also wanted to stay just as she was because she liked what he did to her.

The shrinks call it Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. I call it hell. The demons are waiting in each corner, ready to drag me back to the battlefield. - Puncture Wounds (2014)

The underworld was made up of many different regions. Each area was its own private sector and not everyone who resided here was malevolent. Some beings here were virtuous, while others had yet to decide what they were - their fates having yet to be decided. Not all dark creatures were evil, just as not all light creatures were moral. Corbin and Quentin were the epitome of that dichotomy.

The starlight, which seemed strangely bright tonight, wasn't starlight at all. Instead, Lucifer's demons had gathered high in the firmament above. It was their eyes that shone like stars through the wildfire smoke.

The slam of a car door drew her attention to a new arrival. Maxville Deputy Sheriff Zach Manus emerged from his unmarked 2011 Camaro and stalked toward them. Deep sorrow and anger laced across his handsome features. His light-brown hair stood a little more on end than normal. He stopped in front of them, his frown deepening and his golden-brown eyes darkening.

The things I’ve seen," he continues easily, "have shown me that the only constant is change. Too much power in one place is a fool’s errand. Eventually, and inevitably, no matter how good the intentions, or how long the life, power always wins out, and everyone suffers for it. The only true path of rational existence is balance; a constant re-assessment of the burdens of power, if you will.

The voices in my head are never meant to be silenced, they are always meant to be listened to, embraced and turned into something so fascinating such as poetry

The wolves wait for you, little lamb.

The whole crazy business seemed to pull out of my guts the very worst in me—my worst fears—the worst aspects of my character—my worst insecurities and feelings of shame and guilt. I didn't know it at the time, but that was exactly what was supposed to be happening. That's what Solomonic magick is all about. The worst in me was my problem. The worst in me was the demon. When it finally dawned on me that I had successfully evoked the demon, and I had the worst of me trapped in that magick Triangle, I had no alternative but to harness and redirect its monstrous power and give it new marching orders. From then on, that particular demon would be working for me rather than against me.

The woman lived inside him, was his mate.

This is wrong. Out of this world wrong. But then again, so am I.

They are not demons, not devils... Worse than that. They are people.

They’ll keep warning you from monsters that hide in the dark, and demons that sleep beneath your pillow. But no one will ever warn you from the monster that bites your heart and those demons that feed on the peace of your mind. Bur dear, they are the most dangerous and the scariest of them all …

This dude could read Pat the Bunnyand make it terrifying.

This is what we get for thinking that scaley orange skin and fake hair could keep that former demon out of elected office.

They celebrated the sins, while the kindness continued to weep in the corner. The swords of the demons shined brighter, while the wings of the angels were crumpled and bled.

They prefer their meals alive and terrified, for fear is their favorite sauce.

They wanted to stick her on a spit and roast her --- after doing some horrible things to her.

This is an age of demons and amoral angels and all sorts of deep fears, like the first centuries of the Christian era, it's an age of extreme solutions.

This is the gateway to Hell, baby… Welcome to The Underworld.

Those who were afraid of the dark and always refused to throw themselves inside it. Never got to see and feel how beautiful it is, to meet and greet one's own demons.

Those who hurt, Screw up, if you are lucky Demons will let you watch.

Those words you left unsaid ; got rotten inside your head ...