Best 1914 quotes in «hell quotes» category

Nothing dies in Hell.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

O me, this place is hell.

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

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.

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 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?

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

One cannot create paradise without maintaining hell.

One mans hell is another mans paradise.

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.

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.

On Sundays, Presbyterians were not allowed to eat hot food or read the funny papers or travel the shortest journey; parents believed in Hell and believed tiny babies could go there. Baptists were not supposed to know, up until their dying day, how to play cards or dance. And so on.

On the one hand you had people constantly fighting Hell; on the other, you had people constantly fighting Hell on earth.

O, the sorrow of us all, to wander the earth in a shell. And looking to the heavens, we lay to rest in hell. The suffering of the innocent in the midst of Jacob’s well. How the miles fled between us, and that distance is still great. Though on the same shore we now sit, in temporal quietude to wait. The moon is our bright witness; it will lead us to the gate.

Our hearts are all prison walls when we hold people captive with chains of unforgiveness.

Ortez sauntered over to the nearest wall intercom. "Bridge, this is the captain -- what the hell's going on up there? I didn't schedule a combat drill for today." Hell, it occurred to him -- he hadn't scheduled any kind of drill for at least four months. On the other end of the line, young 2nd lieutenant Cedric Pankow, the com officer, let it fall.

Pain, sorrow, anger, these are all powerful emotions. Allowed to rule and left unchecked, they would destroy you. However, through training and willpower you can choose to harness those feelings and use them for something great.

Over the years of being stuck in this shit hole called life, I had debated religion and church, souls and freewill, heaven and hell. I had come to a few conclusions. Mankind was too self-serving to understand what He had wanted from them. It wasn’t a million dollar church, it wasn’t perfection, it wasn’t about how many times you prayed or apologized or that one day a month where you fed the homeless. And you weren’t banished to hell for that one time you told someone to fuck off. You didn’t end up in hell for that time you were a bitch to your fellow man. It took a lot to end up there, and man worked at it with crazed enthusiasm. They worked harder at chiseling their way into hell, than any other action.

Our world must be hell, then. It must be the hell of some other place where all of us committed atrocious sins of some sort, and now we’re stuck here until we die and either come back or are whisked off to some other hell. It couldn’t be worse than this one, though.

Paper terrorists, contrast flow as a domesticated emperoist. Building my empire, elevation to the Heaven is a high that keeps me higher. A pillar of fire, lead us to the Promised Land even though our nature makes us a liar. Always set my feet on the right path you've paved but when setting out on a path of revenge, make sure you dig up two graves. It's either love or hate and who can relate? Enter the Kingdom of Heaven or Hell is your fate.

Pape Satan, Pape Satan, Aleppe!

Pastor Russell lived in nearby Pittsburgh and said that there was no hell. This was terrible for we all knew that everyone but the Baptists were going there, so to believe there was no hell upset all the countryside theology.

People are stupid, because of watching the same over and over and over and over - which goes as far as I can tell hell.

People fear hell, that's because they did not serve the army. In hell they will have a Demon; in the army, several will torment their lives. The good thing about the army is that, after a year, they all become good. But in hell the evil wolf remains eternal.

People debate over whether or not there is a literal Hell, in the literal sense often described as fire and eternal torture, which, to many, seems to be too harsh a punishment. If men really want to fear something, they should be fearing separation from God, the supposedly more comforting alternative to a literal Hell. For separation from the authorship of love, mercy, and goodness is the ultimate torture. If you think a literal Hell sounds too bad, you are very much underestimating the pain of being absolutely, wholly separated from the goodness while exposed to the reality of the holiness of God.

Paradise is near to you when you are powerful; hell is nearer when you are weaker

People often speak of hell, not wanting to go there, avoiding it..etc. I never had that problem because hell is a state of mind. Look around you; rape, murder, wars, hatred, envy...my friend; you're already there!!

People say things are going to be Hell without even the slightest notion of what Hell is.

People were leaping off La Bestia and running as if chased by demons spilling from hell. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Melquis and Edith jump together; I could tell Solyapa was still in front of me. I let go more out of reflex than plan, and regretted it that instant, thinking that perhaps I should have helped Solyapa first. No matter, I was surprised by the jerky scrape of dirt against my flesh as it tugged and wrestled against me as I kept moving forward despite being on the ground. The dirt itself was surprisingly hot; there was red in my eyes, nothing was clear; I felt a pain over the front of my head and my right eye was throbbing.

People who have never been through any sort of shit always assume that they know how you should react to having your life destroyed. And the people who have been through shit think you're suppose to deal with it the exact same way they did. As if there's a playbook for surviving hell.

People who go through hell in the Heaven of Earth are mostly the people who live their lives according to some religious rules!

People will say,"there's heaven and hell", and they take it so serious that they look so sorrowful with penitence. I would rather ask them to show me the route that leads to heaven or hell.

Perhaps hell is like that; a discordant confusion of anxious souls. Some argued, some slept, some shouted, some wept, some wrote, some sketched and many conspired about their coming interrogation. But mostly they did no more than stare into space, eyes unfocused as they tried to see tomorrow.

​Per me si va ne la città dolente, Per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, Per me si va tra la perduta gente. Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore: Fecemi la divina potestate La somma sapienza e'l primo amore Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create se non etterne, e io etterno duro. Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'intrate.

Plenty of things in the universe are old, my dear. That's like saying Florida is a metaphor for hell because they're both hot - though your grandfather would agree wholeheartedly with that, I suppose.

Ramadi’s sky was generously filled with stars. Celestial ornaments set against a banner of a deep blue velvet sky. It was a place where hell, death, and heaven were so clear and the closest I’ve felt to all three in my life.

Politics is the struggle for power. Politics is hell.

PORTER This is a lot of knocking! Come to think of it, if a man were in charge of opening the gates of hell to let people in, he would have to turn the key a lot.

Preaching Hell, blood and fire upon me, promising a future of misery and condemnation. I was a gutter rat, a wolf, a Jezebel, a whore, the devil .

Pye turned his paw over and chewed his claws. “Humph. What you think of me is none of my business.” “You don’t know, do you?” “Know more than you . . . Know what?” “You are dead.” Pye patted his paws. “No, I’m not.” He rolled on his back and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the fire. “I’ve been here since 1665.” Pye chuckled. “You are, if I may so, in remarkably good condition.” Apart from the hole in your head, missing tail, and pulmonic plague cough. “I’ve seen them come. Seen them go. Seem them hang around in limbo. That’s what it’s called when beings don’t leave this Earth.” “Purgatory!” “I am responsible for many deaths,” Rita said. “You!?” “They couldn’t build the graves fast enough to bury the bodies.” “I don’t understand how a mere stump-tailed fur ball could endanger life.” “If I were you I'd think that.” A silence followed before Rita said, “I did not work alone.” “Oh?

¿Qué es peor, el infierno o nada?

Real religion does not mean Gods - it does not mean Angels and Demons - it does not mean miracles of healing. Real religion is all about you and your fellow humans. There is nothing else.

Priscilla is in hell. Well, we all are. Life is torture, consciousness is torture. All our little devices are just morphia to stop us from screaming . . . We're each of us screaming away in our own private padded cell.