Best 400 quotes in «redemption quotes» category

Trevor climbed once again to the land of the living, naked except for an antique gas mask strapped to his face. As he peered through glass eyes like a mutant fly and breathed through the alien snoot, a single thought coiled through the booby-trapped labyrinth of his brain: I need to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to be alone.

Trevor could almost see the invisible gas leaking from the broken furnace, billowing around his body, wafting in his wake from the laundry room to the living room, seeking out the nostrils of the realtor, the yuppies, the toddler, and every other goddamn trespasser before seeping into their bloodstream and infecting their cells until they dizzied, ached, barfed, and fell to the floor like a bunch of— He caught himself. He breathed through his nose. He pushed away the hate, calmed the tornado strangling his gut, and thought of HER.

Trying to get stuff straight right at the end when you never cared all through your life. Trying to get into heaven on the affirmative action plan.

Turned out, monsters were capable of love after all. But it didn’t mean they should.

Turn it beautiful. His words came faintly at first, but they came again and again, always softly, always with the insistence of an elder commanding wisdom. Turn it all to beauty. She walked to the rail. When she turned and sat upon it, she heard a sailor in the crowd murmur that she might play them a tune. She hoped he was right. She needed the voices to be wrong. Fin raised the instrument to the cleft of her neck and closed her eyes. She emptied her mind and let herself be carried back to her earliest memory, the first pain she ever knew: the knowledge that her parents didn’t want her. The despair of rejection coursed through her. It fathered a knot of questions that bound her, enveloped her. Waves of uncertainty and frailty shook her to the bones. Her body quivered with anger and hopelessness. She reeled on the edge of a precipice. She wanted to scream or to throw her fists but she held it inside; she struggled to control it. She fought to subjugate her pain, but it grew. It welled up; it filled her mind. When she could hold it no more, exhausted by defiance and wearied by years of pretending not to care, Bartimaeus’s words surrounded her. Got to turn it beautiful. She dropped her defenses. She let weakness fill her. She accepted it. And the abyss yawned. She tottered over the edge and fell. The forces at war within her raced down her arms and set something extraordinary in motion; they became melody and harmony: rapturous, golden. Her fingers coaxed the long-silent fiddle to life. They danced across the strings without hesitation, molding beauty out of the miraculous combination of wood, vibration, and emotion. The music was so bright she felt she could see it. The poisonous voices were outsung. Notes raged out of her in a torrent. She had such music within her that her bones ached with it, the air around her trembled with it, her veins bled it. The men around fell still and silent. Some slipped to the deck and sat enraptured like children before a travelling bard.

Unbidden, tears fell from the man’s eyes, and a low keening whine escaped his throat. The big man, whose name was Geralt, despised himself for the fear he felt, and he knew that he would tell the terrible child anything he wanted to know. Geralt’s magical ability was intuitive in nature. He could look at a person, and see their truth. When he looked at the boy he saw razed cities, sundered limbs, and broken bones. He saw vengeance made flesh, come to reap the bitter harvest the Chickenhawk gang had sown.

Universe, tell me about the time when the world was kind, when words didn't shatter the soul and leave people bleeding into the crease of their smile. tell me about the time when people wouldn't hide behind sarcasm or humor to mask themselves from dying slowly on the inside. Universe, tell me the names of all the stars in your sky, because I may have met one the other night. His presence in my thoughts, his touch in my heart and no longer a dream but laying next to me now. There are marks on my body from the energy of our light. He is broken, like me, a fallen star. Yet, aspires to soar and believes he can fly. I too believe in dreams. Universe, do you think you can do something about all the lonely souls? the broken? the fallen stars? There are so many of us. And what about the hurt? the pain? the restlessness? Or is this all part of something bigger, a lesson to be learnt? so we can become a part of you? Universe, it’s me, Please hear my soul speak, my heart beat, I've learnt my lesson. Forgive me. Offer me redemption or bring me back to you. Universe, are you there?

Was it a moment of indecision or was it a moment of redemption. Redemption long overdue and long unacknowledged? They didn’t know. He suddenly went at her mouth and she claimed it as if it was never supposed to be elsewhere. It was stormy. It was fierce. His manhood shafted through his loose night pajamas challenging her even beyond the thickness of her bath robe, which was cast aside in one unsparing sweep of his hand, revealing the quavering ripeness of her fulsome breasts. After a moment of awe, he went at them with unquenched ferocity. First he devoured her there itself, against the wall, on the carpet. Within moments their frenzied hands tore away each other’s underpants with unapologetic fury and then in one smooth motion of a dancer’s lucidity, he lifted her and like a great performer of an opera, placed her on the bed. The inviting altar of desire and passion and longing. Now as they claimed each other, there was unhurried fluidity in their motion. Tears of pain and love in their eyes. Ecstasy of carnal compatibility in their fusion. Symphony of sensuality in their strokes and when he finally exploded inside her, she had gone aflame with matching uncontrollability. It was a heavenly union which in one go had robbed them of their beings, their earth, their universe, their past, their present, their future. In one instant, they had undone what was done and had done what was ‘not done’.

we are continuing God’s work of forming, filling, and subduing. Whenever we bring order out of chaos, whenever we draw out creative potential, whenever we elaborate and “unfold” creation beyond where it was when we found it, we are following God’s pattern of creative cultural development.

We all are like filthy rags in the site of God; not one clean enough, good enough, righteous enough, to stand before a holy God.

We all got pushed into doing some bad stuff. And some people would blame all of that stuff on their circumstances. Maybe most people do. They come from shit and then do some shit. But you and I know better than that. It's not right. The stuff that's done to us is one thing. But the stuff we do because of it is a different story. There are very few things that are really beyond a person's control in life." -Caesar

We are [God's] by creation, and again by redemption. He has every right to tell me what to do with my mind and body. I have. I right to do whatever I want with my body.

We are never the heroes of our own stories, unless we are lying. If we choose to count ourselves among the brave, we write ourselves as the villains we are, hoping for redemption.

We are not called to bring redemption to the nations single handedly

We'd rather have a grand spectacle of retribution of the 'wicked', than their silent walk towards redemption that our wishes questions the depth and nature of our love and hearts.

We could all use a little redemption.

We believe because it gives us faith. It gives us the willingness to go through our day, to keep the existentialist threat of meaninglessness away. We believe because we crave to be seen, to be known, to be understood. We believe because that is the only thing we can do. If there is no one to judge us - to tell us that we are good, and that if we are bad, we can be redeemed - why bother living at all? Why bother being good at all? If there is no one to look after us, and we are truly alone in this universe, what purpose do we have? We have nothing but the present moment, and only temporariness.

We had given in to our vulnerability and cast down any pretenses that we were too strong to be weak.

We have been redeemed by the Lord Jesus Christ! Halleluiah!

We have been redeemed from darkness to the light. So we must live as people of light!

Weedon Scott had set himself the task of redeeming White Fang - or rather, of redeeming mankind from the wrong it had done White Fang. It was a matter of principle and conscience. He felt that the ill done White Fang was a debt incurred by man and that it must be paid.

We just have to redeem ourselves. No one else is going to do it for us.

We sit together in the waiting room of one existence, waiting to be shuffled into the waiting room of the next. Not the existence of another lifetime, simply a different mindset, a different age, purpose, exile and a separate redemption. A separate world in which to wait.

We must submit to the righteous God for our redemption.

We’re all looking for forgiveness from someone.

We mock that which we don't understand, and then we get to experience it ourselves.

We’re all just waiting for our moment to redeem ourselves.

We're the perfect complement to each other. I help him stay grounded and he helps me fly.

We tried not to look at each other for a minute, smiling each time we did. Except for the tiny scars on her wrists, she seemed perfect to me, and so I loved the scars, because they meant that I could save her from something, and save myself

We’ve made it private, contained it in family, when its audacity is in its potential to cross tribal lines. We’ve fetishized it as romance, when its true measure is a quality of sustained, practical care. We’ve lived it as a feeling, when it is a way of being. It is the elemental experience we all desire and seek, most of our days, to give and receive. The sliver of love’s potential that the Greeks separated out as eros is where we load so much of our desire, center so much of our imagination about delight and despair, define so much of our sense of completion. There is the love the Greeks called filia—the love of friendship. There is the love they called agape—love as embodied compassion, expressions of kindness that might be given to a neighbor or a stranger. The Metta of the root Buddhist Pali tongue, “lovingkindness,” carries the nuance of benevolent, active interest in others known and unknown, and its cultivation begins with compassion towards oneself.

We've peered into the deepest parts to see beyond what lies on the surface.

We work all our lives to be who we become. And, it's who we become that determines what becomes of us.

We witness the miracle of redemption together with people of like passion

What if "redemption" means not only freeing yourself from what you've done, but also from what's been done to you?

What good is praying in public if you as an individual do not follow The Teachings of GOD'S Prophets in The Holy Bible ? Repent !

What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can't get there any other way?

When a relationship of love is disrupted, the relationship does not cease. The love continues; therefore, the relationship continues. The work of grief is to reconcile and redeem life to a different love relationship.

What I want to tell you as you read these stories is that I both found and lost God a hundred times over. In fact, maybe I've never actually found God at all, but imagining that I have indeed found something so much larger and more beautiful than I can explain is more often enough for me.

What redeems sorrow and drives life forward is not reason but instinct.

When Bill Burke asked my mother out, she experienced the unluckiest day of her life. Diana (to become my high school sweetheart-and wife) agreeing to go out with me was the luckiest day of my life.

When God restores you, you might not see all the changes at once. You'll begin to notice parts of you that were broken are no longer that way. Then one day, you realize you're an entirely different person than you used to be. That's grace.

When the Scripture relates redemption to the law of God, the terms it uses are to be carefully marked. It does not say we are redeemed from the law. That would not be an accurate description and the Scripture refrains from such an expression. We are not redeemed from the obligation to love the Lord our God with all our heart and soul and strength and mind and our neighbour as ourselves. The law is comprehended in these two commandments (Matt. 22:40) and love is the fulfilling of the law (Rom. 13:10)... It would contradict the very nature of God to think that any person can ever be relieved of the necessity to love God with the whole heart and to obey his commandments. When Scripture relates redemption to the law of God it uses terms that are more specific.

When we consistently consume the God-breathed Words of the Bible, it teaches us, rebukes us, corrects us, trains us and it thoroughly equips us for every good work. God’s Word is filled with love, redemption, blessing, and promise.

when you destroy somebody, you are destroying yourself meanwhile. Maybe right now you are not alert, but one day you will find that the same ditch that you have dug for others has proved your own grave. So it is always very very essential to feel, to know, to be certain.

When you’re a monster, no one sees what kind of man you are.

When you fall into the gutter you tell yourself that you can climb out. Then you notice that you’re covered in filth but you still think that you can get out. But the smell seeps into your soul and is always there with you. All you need is someone else to look at you differently, talk to you like you’re someone that matters and extend a hand. Only then can you climb into the gutter.

When you hit rock bottom, don't forget you still have something to share or to give to the others. This is where redemption lays.

You know how the Eclipse of the sun shows it? Christ's strength eclipses your powerlessness in God's likeness, and there is total darkness on your weakness.

Whose truth do you want to know, Dr. Amin Jaafari? The truth of a Bedouin who thinks he’s free and clear because he’s got an Israeli passport? The truth of a serviceable Arab per excellence who’s honored wherever he goes, who gets invited to fancy parties by people who want to show how tolerant and considerate they are? The truth of someone who thinks he can change sides like changing a shirt, with no trace left behind? Is that the truth you’re looking for, or is it the one you’re running away from? What planet do you live on, sir? … Our cities are being buried by machines on caterpillar tracks, our patron saints don’t know which way to turn, and you, simply because you’re nice and warm in your golden cage, refuse to see the inferno consuming us.

Why on earth would she believe in a God who forgives her when you won't?