Best 20 quotes in «messenger quotes» category

See, he who slept wifeless found a noblewoman, He who was not seen stands. See, he who had nothing is a man of wealth. The nobleman sings his praise. See, the poor of the land have become rich, The man of property is a pauper. See, cooks have become masters of butlers, He who was a messenger sends someone else. See, he who had no loaf owns a barn. His storeroom is filled with another’s goods. See, the baldhead who lacked oil Has become owner of jars of sweet myrrh. See, she who lacked a box has furniture. She who saw her face in the water owns a mirror.

O Heavenly Children, God's messengers are as limitless as the fish in the sea. They come in all colors, regions, languages and creeds. But their message is one and the same, don't you see? He only wishes to unite all His children under one family tree.

There are good ways and bad ways to get my attention. Whacking on my ego with a crowbar will get my attention, sure, but it's not going to leave me well disposed to the messenger.

The essence of all things determines souls that are fit to send messages for their kinds.

This message was left for you by messenger, Mr. Marks.” The clerk smiled. “That’s the way they used to do it before email.

Texting is not talking and a phone is not a friend.

Those of us who work in the field of trauma and abuse, whether psychologists, psychoanalysts, social workers, doctors, counselors, or psychotherapists, have been provided with beautiful tools for understanding the impact of trauma. We become adept at understanding the dynamic of why the messenger is always shot and broadcast the Bionic insight of why the visionary is not bearable to the group. However, when it comes to military mind control, abuse within religious belief groups or cults, and deliberately created dissociative identity disorder, we enter the least resourced field of all.

Whenever I feel sad, I just take out my phone and listen to her laughter recorded in my online messenger.

When she fell asleep, she dreamed of a woman riding the moon across the sky. Her pale hair caught the light of the sun, and the long curls became iridescent rainbows that wrapped the world with love and peace. "There's someone you have to meet," the woman in the dream said. "Hurry.

You know that when your partner deletes their messages to a past lover after being accused of cheating, then it is likely that they were being unfaithful in some way.

What do I do now?” I ask desperately. “Tell me! What do I do now?” He remains calm. He looks at me closely and says, “Keep living, Ed…. It’s only the pages that stop here.” He stays perhaps another ten minutes, probably due to the trauma that has strapped itself to me. I remain standing, trying to contemplate and recover from what’s transpired. “I really think I’d better go,” he says again, this item with more finality. With difficulty, I walk him to the door. We say goodbye on the front porch, and he walks back up the street. I wonder about his name, but I’m sure I’ll earn it soon enough. He’s written about this, I’m sure, the bastard. All of it. As he walks up the street he pulls a small notebook from his pocket and writes a few things down. It makes me think maybe I should write about all this myself. After all, I;m the one who did all the work. I’d start with the bank robbery. Something like, “The gunman is useless.” The odds are, however, that he’s beaten me to it already It’ll be his name on the cover of all these words, not mine. He’ll get all the credit. Or the crap, if her does a shit job. But I just remembered the I was the one- not him- who gave life to these pages. I was the one who- I tell me to stop. It’s an inner voice and it’s loud. All day, I think about many things, though I try not to. I look through the folder and find everything as he said. All the ideas are written in and people are sketched. Scratchy excerpts are stapled together. Beginnings and endings merge and bend. Hours wander past. Days follow them. I don’t leave the shack, and I don’t answer the phone. I barely even eat. The Doorman sits with me as the minutes pass by. For a long time, I wonder what I’m waiting for, but I understand it’s just like he said. I guess it’s for life beyond these pages.

Everyone in the organizations is very important. From the sweeper to the security officer; from the messenger to the manager, everyone doing well at his post is a leader. The organization becomes a leading one when it’s made up of people leading in their roles.

You're my guardian angel, Abbey," she said as she climbed into the car. "No, not really, Sam. I'm just a messenger." "But that’s what angels are. That’s how God says, 'I'm here, and it's going to be all right.

As the Tawrat [Torah], the Zabur [The Psalms of David], the Injil [Gospel] and the Quran are divine books, the Veda [written in about 1200 B.C.] also has divine elements in it. For example, just like the Bible [in the book of Isaiah, chapter 29, verse 12], there is prophesy in the Veda [in Atharvaveda, book 20, Hymn 127, verses 1-13] about the arrival of the final Messenger of God, Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.)!

He . . . felt as if, wanting to be needed by everyone, he were merely becoming some sort of semi-invisible messenger.

For all these stars, nothing is new. They’ve seen all kinds of wars and miracles, too. They know the messengers with their holy books will smile and wash their hands in blood. They know the politicians with their good looks will make the poor eat pies of mud. They’ve seen the Earth freeze and then burn with greed. They’ve seen the trees and the seas emptied. Yet, you won’t hear their sneers when a man arrives and, having experienced a number of years, proclaims: 'I have lived!' Because nothing is new under these stars: the lies, the love, the memories and scars, the ruin, the revolution, the fakes and true, the families, the friends, none of it is new. All of it—even the me and you.

God is the message owner; prophets and pastors are messengers. It's happens on no account when the messenger becomes greater than the message owner! Let's us avoid these "human worships", confining our source of hope in prophets, kings, presidents, lawyers, etc. God deserves the greatest honour!

Ignoraba que las palabras pudieran pesar tanto.

It is clear enough that not every something can be elevated to the rank of a thing - otherwise everything and everyone would be speaking once more, and the chatter would spread from humans to things. Rilke privileges two categories of 'entities' [Seienden), to express it in the papery diction of philosophy, that are eligible for the lofty task of acting as message-things - artifices and living creatures - with the latter gaining their particular quality from the former, as if animals were being's highest works of art before humans. Inherent to both is a message energy that does not activate itself, but requires the poet as a decoder and messenger.

I have taken on many Understandings in my life [...]. I have listened to another Messenger's incomprehensible signals in the night. The thing you call God is not even alone in the sky. It is a thing of metal that demands we make more things of metal - and I have seen it, how small it is.