Quotes About Heart

You believe in things you cannot see and speak a language that only hearts know.

so, the water that would cleanse me was not water from my head—where I'd learned to rationalize my indifference. But water from my heart.

Letting myself experience or desire pleasure is like a shot through the heart of their memory.

Saint Augustine said it best: You stir man to take pleasure in praising You, because You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.

Sir, I've had the experience of being in a country where people were trying to kill me. Every day. That simplifies life a good bit. In matters of the heart, we have only two options. Hate them or love them. That's it. That's all we got. There's no middle.

As early as 3000 BC, the Chinese had named the heart the Emperor of Organs. Since then, people have spent their whole lives looking for the Holy Grail, the fountain of youth, or the center of the universe. Why look so far away when it's right there in the middle of every human on the planet? The more I understood this, the closer I thought I was getting

Indifference is the curse of this age. We need to hear that. Indifference is evil, and it could not be further from the heart of God. Don't think so? Let me point you to the Cross. Hanging there, Jesus was anything but indifferent. Don't think I've somehow got a handle

That was the night I learned the value of an old hymn. How something so old and "out-of-date" could say words my heart needed to hear and didn't know how to say.

Indifference is the curse of this age. We need to hear that. Indifference is evil, and it could not be further from the heart of God.

Indifference is the curse of this age. We need to hear that. Indifference is evil, and it could not be further from the heart of God. Don't think so? Let me point you to the Cross. Hanging there, Jesus was anything but indifferent.

Lord, You're the only one here who knows what You're doing, so we ask that You come hang out with us a bit. Be the guest of honor at this table. Fill our conversations, our time, and our hearts. For"—Charlie pointed his voice in my direction—" they are the wellspring of life.

All hearts have but one request. One simple, unspoken, undeniable need. One undeniable fear. To be known. You can stamp it out. Kill it. Box it up and hem it in. Numb it and close the door. Bury it and nail it shut. Encase it in stone. But eventually, the needs of the heart will tear the door off the hinges, unearth it, and crack the stone. No prison ever built could house it. Those of us who think we can are lying to ourselves. And those next to us. Hope never dies.

Something in the hardwiring of her heart felt with acute sharpness what others felt. If you cried, tears dripped down her face. If you laughed, the ends of her mouth turned upward. It was both her greatest strength and deepest weakness.

She curled my hand into a fist and showed it to me. "Life is a battle, but you can't fight it with your fists." She gently tapped me on the chin with my fist and then put her hand on my chest. "You got to fight it with your heart." She pulled me back to her chest and sucked through her teeth like she was trying to pick the corn out with her tongue. "If your knuckles are bloodier than your knees, then you're fighting the wrong battle.

Belonging comes before identity. Ownership births purpose. Someone speaks whose we are, and out of that we become who we are. It's just the way the heart works.

otherwise. "Agua de mi corazón." I

Above all else, guard your heart . . . And on the back . . . for it is the wellspring of life.

forgiveness offered—especially when so undeserved—cuts chains off the human heart that no other power in any universe anywhere can rattle much less break.

A joyful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.

She smiled, tilted her head, and . . . have you ever seen video of melting glaciers where huge chunks, the size of skyscrapers, break off and crash into the sea? If hearts can do that, then when her hair slid from behind her ear and down over her eyes, and the right side of her lip turned up, I heard my heart crack down the middle.

That was the night I learned the value of an old hymn. How something so old and "out-of-date" could say words my heart needed to hear and didn't know how to say.

Love has its own communication—one you can't prove in a courtroom, in a lab experiment, or on a doctor's chart. It's the language of the heart, and while it has never been transcribed, has no alphabet, and can't be heard or spoken by voice, it is used by every human on the planet. It is written on our souls, scripted by the finger of God, and we can hear, understand, and speak it with perfection long before we open our eyes for the first time.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

In a very few minutes this torture was mercifully ended. Blackie fell to the ground and died, his brave heart burst and mine broken. There never lived a nobler pony.