Best 1914 quotes in «hell quotes» category

Mediocrity-the artist's hell.

Men are free to choose whether they wish to live for God or against Him and therefore to opt for heaven or for hell. We must recognize that God has made everything to make man happy, and in accordance with this plan, God asks man to obey the laws that He has established; but God has also given man the ability to refuse this truth. This is the situation in which all of us are placed.

Men are willing to buy their way into Hell and yet are willing to pass on a free ticket to Heaven.

Men can go to hell! I’ll meet them there.

Mephistopheles: Within the bowels of these elements, Where we are tortured and remain forever. Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is must we ever be. And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that is not heaven.

Mephistopheles: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

Merry-go-rounds are a shared lie of childhood. Cruelty masked as fun. Tedium cloaked as adventure. A great spinning vessel of torment getting the tykes ready for the damnation most of them will richly deserve, all because their minds were permanently twisted by this parade of pony horrors.

Modesty was hardly a priority in her mind until now. Now she had been cast from Hell and again knew shame.

Mortals live but their souls are little more than raw energy coursing through flesh. When they die that energy is broken down and returned to the cosmos. There is no heaven, and no hell. Only delusion.

Most great artists define a new and unique region of hell.

My heart is eternally yours, but my soul will always be hell bound.

My hours are filled with fantasy and indifference. In day and night dreams, I think of my heaven with you. All the time in between, I carelessly spend in hell without you.

My job as a Christian is not to get people to heaven when they die, it's to get heaven to people while they're alive

My Life is bad because of my mother and father... choices..., they made the wrong choices.

Nafasi yako peponi itapotea iwapo utamruhusu Pluto (kiongozi wa ahera) akukaribishe bazarai (makao makuu ya ahera) kwa kuchukua maisha yako mwenyewe. Kujiua ni kujipenda zaidi kuliko unaowapenda. Anayejiua hujifikiria zaidi yeye kuliko wengine.

My ship – the Demeter, was a star-liner operated by the Red Star Line. I say ‘was’ because of the events you will read about in this account. This is a long letter, I know, but I had quite a long time to write it. You probably already know this, having seen the commercials running on all the major channels for the last twenty years or so, but the Red Star Line is the largest cruise operator in the known universe. Unless something has changed between now and by the time you read this, this is probably still true. In fact, customers of the Red Star Line get more quality, value for money – and smiles by Demeter than they do anywhere else. Okay, okay. It’s an old joke – corny for sure, but what the hell.

My mother-in-law belongs in Hell, but the devil is afraid she’ll end up taking over.

No matter how rich or poor you are, all life will come to a sudden halt to travel into two types of destinations; Heaven and Hell.

Neither Heaven nor Hell are far from routine. The biggest danger lies in the perception of the proximity.

No hells or heavens has Mirdad to offer you, but Holy Understanding which lifts you far beyond the fire of any hell and the luxuriance of any heaven. Not with the hand, but with the heart must you receive the gift. For that the heart must needs be disencumbered of every stray desire and will, save the desire and will to understand.

No matter the joy in heaven, its coldness will make you bask beside the flames of hell.

No one can break the Queen of the First Circle.

Neither to heaven nor to hell, my journey is towards my home.

Nice work," he said. I grinned. "You look like hell, though," he noted. "I doubt hell has this much Kool-Aid," I replied.

No, I thought. Not just Hell. Really, Heaven was just as guilty. What kind of group could advocate goodness and not allow its members to love?

No matter how rich or poor you are, all life will come to an halt with two types of destinations; Heaven and Hell.

No one believes in Hell--until they get there.

No one was meant to see hell before they got there. No one should have to live with the devil. So many homilies on faith were ruined once you no longer required it for belief.

No one's happy here, you know that. But I am content, and maybe that's enough for me.

No other religion ever raised Hell to such importance as Christianity, under which it became a fantastic underground kingdom of cruelty, surrounded by dense strata of legend, myth, religious creed, and what, from a distance, we might call dubious psychology.

No parent should have to bury a child ... No mother should have to bury a son. Mothers are not meant to bury sons. It is not in the natural order of things. I buried my son. In a potter's field. In a field of Blood. In empty, acrid silence. There was no funeral. There were no mourners. His friends all absent. His father dead. His sisters refusing to attend. I discovered his body alone, I dug his grave alone, I placed him in a hole, and covered him with dirt and rock alone. I was not able to finish burying him before sundown, and I'm not sure if that affected his fate ... I begrudge God none of this. I do not curse him or bemoan my lot. And though my heart keeps beating only to keep breaking--I do not question why. I remember the morning my son was born as if it was yesterday. The moment the midwife placed him in my arms, I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding. I remember holding my son, and looking over at my own mother and saying, "Now I understand why the sun comes up at day and the stars come out at night. I understand why rain falls gently. Now I understand you, Mother" ... I loved my son every day of his life, and I will love him ferociously long after I've stopped breathing. I am a simple woman. I am not bright or learn-ed. I do not read. I do not write. My opinions are not solicited. My voice is not important ... On the day of my son's birth I was infused with a love beyond all measure and understanding ... The world tells me that God is in Heaven and that my son is in Hell. I tell the world the one true thing I know: If my son is in Hell, then there is no Heaven--because if my son sits in Hell, there is no God.

No one spoke more about hell than Jesus did, and the hell He came to save men from was not only a hell on earth . . .it was something to come.

Nothing dies in Hell.

No, this is wonderful!” Mrs. Hernandez’ face turned into a wrinkle mosaic when she smiled. “It’s not what you give, but the spirit in which you give. That’s what’s important.” Rise was on the fast track to hell, if that was the standard. Her neighbor had trouble with a heavy box, so she reached to help, thinking it might slow her descent into the fiery pit of eternal damnation.

Not knowing who you are is a certain kind of hell.

Not one word about hell in the Bible would ever make you want to go there.

Nothing outside of God and His truth should be sacred to us. And so it is with hell. If hell is some primitive myth left over from conservative tradition, then let's set it on that dusty shelf next to other traditional beliefs that have no basis in Scripture. But if it is true, if the Bible does teach that there is a literal hell awaiting those who don't believe in Jesus, then this reality must change us. It should certainly purge our souls of all complacency.

Of the scaly tribe I may mention those suckers belonging to the body loaferish, that ever rise to the surface of respectability, but are always groveling in the mud of corruption, whose sole study appears to be how much they can get without the least physical exertion; and who would rather ride to hell in a hand-cart than walk to heaven supported by the staff of industry.

Now we come to forgiveness. Don't worry about forgiving me right now. There are more important things. For instance: keep the others safe, if they are safe. Don't let them suffer too much. If they have to die, let it be fast. You might even provide a Heaven for them. We need You for that. Hell we can make for ourselves.

Okay, fine. But just so you know, following me into hell means you're all definitely the sidekicks.

Oh, no. Not you, man. Why did we come here? This place is Hell!

O me, this place is hell.

One man may shoot himself in the forehead with a .38 and wake up in the hospital. Another may shoot himself in the forehead with a .22 and wake up in hell...if there is such a place. I tend to believe it's here on earth, possibly in New Jersey.

Once I was free in the shackles of sin: Free to be tempted, just bound to give in; Free to be captive to any desire; Free to eternally burn in hell’s fire. ‘Til Someone bought me and called me His slave: Bound by commands I am free to obey; Captive by beauty I’m free to adore-- Sentenced to sit at His feet evermore.

Once you're already in hell, it's too late to beg for mercy.

One mans hell is another mans paradise.

Once there was and once there was not a devout, God-fearing man who lived his entire life according to stoic principles. He died on his fortieth birthday and woke up floating in nothing. Now, mind you, floating in nothing was comforting, light-less, airless, like a mother’s womb. This man was grateful. But then he decided he would love to have sturdy ground beneath his feet, so he would feel more solid himself. Lo and behold, he was standing on earth. He knew it to be earth, for he knew the feel of it. Yet he wanted to see. I desire light, he thought, and light appeared. I want sunlight, not any light, and at night it shall be moonlight. His desires were granted. Let there be grass. I love the feel of grass beneath my feet. And so it was. I no longer wish to be naked. Only robes of the finest silk must touch my skin. And shelter, I need a grand palace whose entrance has double-sided stairs, and the floors must be marble and the carpets Persian. And food, the finest of food. His breakfast was English; his midmorning snack French. His lunch was Chinese. His afternoon tea was Indian. His supper was Italian, and his late-night snack was Lebanese. Libation? He had the best of wines, of course, and champagne. And company, the finest of company. He demanded poets and writers, thinkers and philosophers, hakawatis and musicians, fools and clowns. And then he desired sex. He asked for light-skinned women and dark-skinned, blondes and brunettes, Chinese, South Asian, African, Scandinavian. He asked for them singly and two at a time, and in the evenings he had orgies. He asked for younger girls, after which he asked for older women, just to try. The he tried men, muscular men, skinny men. Then boys. Then boys and girls together. Then he got bored. He tried sex with food. Boys with Chinese, girls with Indian. Redheads with ice cream. Then he tried sex with company. He fucked the poet. Everybody fucked the poet. But again he got bored. The days were endless. Coming up with new ideas became tiring and tiresome. Every desire he could ever think of was satisfied. He had had enough. He walked out of his house, looked up at the glorious sky, and said, “Dear God. I thank You for Your abundance, but I cannot stand it here anymore. I would rather be anywhere else. I would rather be in hell.” And the booming voice from above replied, “And where do you think you are?

One cannot create paradise without maintaining hell.

One of the less savory notions of the early Church was that of the abominable fancy, the idea that part of the joy of the saved lay in contemplating the tortures of the damned.

One time, two years ago, I took a draught of morphia, meaning to end my life. My mother found me before the life was ended, the doctor drew the poison from my stomach with a syringe, and when I woke, it was to the sound of my own weeping. For I had hoped to open my eyes on Heaven, where my father was; and they had only pulled me back to Hell.