All Quotes By Tag: Angels

“Laugh, I tell youAnd you will turn backThe hands of time.Smile, I tell youAnd you will reflectThe face of the divine.Sing, I tell youAnd all the angels will sing with you!Cry, I tell youAnd the reflections found in your pool of tears -Will remind you of the lessons of today and yesterdayTo guide you through the fears of tomorrow.”

“In the Deep South, God is a cotton king,Trussed up in plantation whites and powdered over smooth with a little bit of talcum from Momma’s compact.He’s the Georgia dust that gets on everything, in everything,Caking the soles of bare feetsifting through cracks in church pews, and catching in your lover’s eyelashes.In the Deep South, the Devil is a beautiful boywho swears and cheats at billiards on Sunday.He is the one who reaches up your skirt,pulls out the prayers your were saving for somedayand lights them on fire with his tongue.He will sing hymns while feasting on your forfeit heart,call you blessed while peeling away dignity like stockings,then drag you out in front of the church to be stoned.In the Deep South, the Holy Spirit is an old womanwith hands brown and gnarled as the nuts she boilsand a voice soft and dark as the Appalachian sky.She is the swamp kingdom matriarch children are sent towhen sins need to be wished away like warts,the presence of whom straightens the spines of wayward soulsand coaxes a “Yes Ma’am” from the devil’s own.In the Deep South, Jesus is a mixed-race childwith drops of destiny mingled into his bloodand the names of the saints tattooed along his spine.He has his mother’s bearing, one that wears suffering nobly,and baleful eyes that speak of the sins of his forefathers.The word of God flutters from his mouth like butterflieswith bodies baptized in tears and wings dipped in steel.In the Deep South, angels drink too much.They sashay and guffaw and forget to return calls.They tell white lies and agonize over what to wear.In the Deep South, angels look very much like you and I,and they cling to each other with dustbowl desperationand replenish their failing reserves of grace with ritualin the hopes of remembering what they once were,what wonders they once were capable of performing”

“Death. It was something I had to think about once. Weird, right? Strange that death was ever an inevitable end, but it wasn’t anymore. Not really. I eluded it. Tricked it. It was an odd concept—the world aged, moved forward, yet I . . . didn’t.”

“There was an image in my mind—an expectation of what it would be like when I finally gave myself fully to a man. It wasn’t like this. It was always at night with candles flickering lazily, music filling the air with a sexy melody, and maybe a bubble bath. But no. It was infinitely better, and there was no froo froo, stereotypical scene that played out. It was incredible. Brilliant. Amazing. Indescribable, really. Like all the planets in the galaxy aligned for a perfect moment in time. As if this was the beginning of time. From now until the rest of eternity, everything finally had meaning.”

“Are we talking hell hounds and flames here?” Des asked, pacing at the end of our beds.I repeated the question and gave a heaving sigh of relief when Jameson said I had the wrong idea.”He’s going to ‘lead us into temptation.'””That doesn’t sound so bad,” Des said with a cheeky grin.”

“I didn’t want to go to hell, but even the idea of reclaining my halo scared me because it would mean leaving Aly.”

“The day you were born the angels whispered, “She is going to love him until the day she dies.”

“L’avrebbe trovata?Senza il minimo dubbio.L’avrebbe salvata?Sempre.”

“Strano come certi ridicoli rituali appaiano perfettamente sensati quando si è innamorati.”

“أجمل ما في الحب بداياته التي تسبق الاعتراف به بشكلٍ صريحٍ.. وأسوأ ما فيه أن تكون له نهاية حتَّى وإن كانت سعيدة.. فالسّعادة يضيعها الملل والاعتياد، وإن حافظ عليها المحبون تبقى كسلعةٍ مُجمدةٍ، فقدت حيويتها وفائدتها، فليت كل العشاق يحبون من البداية إلى البداية!!”

“It’s like we have the bones of animals and the hearts of angels.”

“Robert, I’m sorry that you feel so strange, but I’m not sorry that you’re feeling it because of me,” I whispered, my heart feeling a familiar twinge as I continued, “but even if you hadn’t felt it, it would not change the way I feel about you.”

“The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.–as quoted in THE RIVER OF WINGED DREAMS”

“Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.”

“How I wish I was like the water,Flowing so freely with every dropLet my every emotion wonder,No need to start, nor even stopHow I wish I was like the fire,Burning with every flame upLeaving a trace of hot desireAs a Phoenix raises its’ wings upHow I wish I was like the earth,Raising each flower from the groundSeeing the beauty of death and birthAnd then returning to the groundHow I wish I was like the wind,Hearing each whisper, sound and thoughtA lonesome and wandering little wind,Shattering all that has been soughtOh, how I wish I was where you are,Not separated by empty space, so farIt seems like we’re galaxies apart,But we find hope within our heartAnd how I wish I was all of the above,So I can come below and yet forget,The beauty of angels which come down like a doveAnd demons who love with no regret.”