Quotes About Heart

As we experience life throughout the years, the truth is that our heart gets broken—not like a broken bone per se, but wounds and offenses block aspects of our heart, cutting us off from feeling certain emotions or connecting with God.

Our relationship with God is not a matter of thinking about the Lord, analyzing Scriptures or saying mental prayers—but an act of our will to open the door of our heart!

At the heart of the impulse to tell stories is a mystery so profound.

Grief, I swear to God, doesn't live in the heart. It lives in the senses. And sometimes, all I want to do is cut off my nose so I can't smell her, hack my fingers off at the joint.

Joe closed his hand over the watch and it was still warm from his father's pocket, ticking against his palm like a heart.

It never works that way. Once that ugliness has been forced into you, it becomes part of your blood, dilutes it, races through your heart and back out again, staining everything as it goes. The ugliness never goes away, never comes out, no matter what you do. Anyone who thinks otherwise is naive. All you can do is hope to control it.

he'd never believed that power, in any shape or form, was anything more than the intemperate protrusion on the egomaniacal heart. Since all egomaniacs were insecure to their frightened cores, they this weilded power barbarically so the world would not find them out

The worst of us has good in him. The best of us has pure fucking evil in his heart. We battle. It's all we can do.

and it blew open a chamber of her heart that refuses to close no matter how hard she presses down on it.

Time is our enemy, but whatever happens I will love her and stay by her side until he last beat of her heart.

Most people want to be circled by safety, not by the unexpected. The unexpected can take you out. But the unexpected can also take you over and change your life. Put a heart in your body where a stone used to be.

That's the good thing 'bout God. Since He can see right through your heart anyway, you can go on and tell Him what you really think.

For there is a time in the tide of the heart, when Arrived at its anchor of suffering, a grave Or a bed, despairing in action, we ask O God, where is our home?

The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has moved past love to mania. This has the strong clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of unreason, before plunging howling into the abyss. Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart.

Much depends on your attitude. If you are filled with negative judgment and anger, then you will feel separate from other people. You will feel lonely. But if you have an open heart and are filled with trust and friendship, even if you are physically alone, even living a hermit's life, you will never feel lonely.

Forgiveness is nothing less than the way we heal the world. We heal the world by healing each and every one of our hearts. The process is simple, but it is not easy.

When you set out to change the world, the job seems insurmountable, but each of us can do his or her small part to effect change. We change the world when we choose to create a world of forgiveness in our own hearts and minds.

I think it was a communication of the heart. When we kept quiet, our hearts discovered that they were kindred spirits.

Your face is my heart Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul

but Sassenach—I am the true home of your heart, and I know that." He lifted my hands to his mouth and kissed my upturned palms, one and then the other, his breath warm and his beard-stubble soft on my fingers. "I have loved others, and I do love many, Sassenach—but you alone hold all my heart, whole in your hands," he said softly. "And you know that.

For I had come back, and I dreamed once more in the cool air of the Highlands. And the voice of my dream still echoed through ears and heart, repeated with the sound of Brianna's sleeping breath. You are mine, it had said. Mine. And I will not let you go.

I have loved others, and I do love many, Sassenach—but you alone hold all my heart, whole in your hands," he said softly. "And you know that.

If ye have to ask yourself if you're in love, laddie—then ye aren't