Quotes About Saint

And thus I clothe my naked villanyWith odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

O! thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stolen forth of Holy Writ And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Such an injury would vex a very saint.

I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture,Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ,And seem I a saint, when most I play the Devil.

Oh, thou hast a damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked.

Slowly but surely I want to strip her of every kind of happiness as to make a saint of her

Slowly but surly I want to strip her of every kind of happiness as to make a saint of her.

She read there, mingling sensuality and primness; she saw the hypocrisy, the refusal to see himself except as he wished to be. There, in his face, were the marks of those characteristics which were at the very root of his nature and which had made him the man he was, the man who had sent thousands to their death, the murderer who saw himself as a saint.

A man can suffer like a pagan, like the damned, or like a saint. If he wishes to suffer with Christ, he must try to suffer like a saint. For then, suffering is of benefit to our own souls, and applies the merits of the Passion to those of others: "I fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ, in my flesh, for His Body, which is the Church."10

Saint Anthony said, in his solitude, he sometimes encountered devils who looked like angels, and other times he found angels who looked like devils. When asked how he could tell the difference, the saint said that you can only tell which is which by the way you feel after the creature has left your company.

Há uma piada italiana muito engraçada sobre um homem pobre que vai todos os dias à igreja rezar diante da estátua de um grande santo, implorando: «Querido santo, por favor, por favor, por favor... dá-me a graça de ganhar a lotaria.» Este lamento continua durante meses. Por fim, a estátua exasperada ganha vida, olha para ele e diz com um ar fatigado: «Meu filho, por favor, por favor, por favor... compra um bilhete.»

There is a certain unbending rigidity about Augustine that offers little compassion to anyone with whom he disagrees. Cadfael was never going to surrender his private reservations about any reputed saint who could describe humankind as a mass of corruption and sin proceeding inevitably towards death, or one who could look upon the world, for all its imperfections, and find it irredeemably evil.

You are looking at a murdered man, Father Prior. A man's hand fitted that arrow, a man's hand drew the bow, and for a man's reason. There must have been others who had a grudge against Rhisiart, others whose plans he was obstructing, besides Saint Winifred. Why blame this killing on her?

The saint is a good Welshwoman, and knows her countrymen. We are not quick in respect to rank or riches, we do not doff and bow and scrape when any man flaunts himself before us. We are blunt and familiar even in praise. What we value we value in the heart, and

Even a saint may take pleasure, in retrospect, in having been once desired

No todo lo que lleva habitó es santa rosa

Americans do not naturally apply the term bourgeois to themselves, or to anyone else for that matter. They do like to call themselves middle class, but that does not carry with it any determinate spiritual content. The term middle class does not have any of the many opposites that bourgeois has, such as aristocrat, saint, hero, or artistall good.

To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.

I married a saint - well, a saint who curses.

Did you send candy and flowers on Valentine's Day, Wells? It's okay, you know. He was a saint.

Knights Hospitaller of Saint John. (Nursing monks devoted to the care of Christian pilgrims, who pray to gentle Jesus seven times a day and kill without compunction).