Quotes About Heaven

A killer Cuban restaurant with a giant cigar bar. Have me a Cuban sandwich. That's just like heaven to me. I'm a simple man.

A teardrop on earth summons the King of heaven.

The 'kingdom of Heaven' is a condition of the heart - not something that comes 'upon the earth' or 'after death.'

I'm sure I've lost a few jobs because I'm a Christian. That's irrelevant. I can honestly say that of everything I have, of everything I've experienced, nothing compares to the joy of knowing Christ. Because I've been given a glimpse of Heaven and it outshines all of the rest.

When I escaped from China and came to Hong Kong, the contrast was that China was like hell and Hong Kong like heaven. Though I was very poor, I smelled the air of freedom and was full of hope for the future. That's the way I thought heaven is.

There won't be separate stalls in heaven.

I had never felt so alone. I was in the deadlands, the limbo where souls wander nameless and formless, unable to speak or to touch. And in that blind silence I knew it was not the nature of death that frightened me; it was what lay beyond, not Heaven, not Hell, but spirit without a form, without a place to be. I would be nowhere. I would be nothing. [Chapter 26]

Besides, I'm not sure they let ferrets into Heaven and I'd miss old Mavet.

I wasn't prepared for death. Nobody is. You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

I figure the folks that are the most interesting get to go to heaven. I mean, if I was God, that's who I'd want there with me ... I'd rather be a superhero in hell than an angel in heaven. What the feck would I do all day if I wasn't kicking demon ass?

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell.

Och, woman," he said softly, "you show me Heaven and ask me to revisit Hell? Not now, sweet Jessica. Now is for us. No grim thoughts. Only us .

Death will come, grief will rain down again and again, and the only way to survive it and remain an alive, passionate being is to pay the price of pain every time, or you will become as barbarous and icy as the Fae. It's always going to hurt. But as long as you're still capable of suffering you're still capable of joy. Better the depths of hell and heights of heaven than the horror of feeling nothing.

I'd rather be a superhero in hell, kicking all kinds of demon ass, than an angel in heaven, wafting around with a beatific smile on my face, playing a pansy harp all day. Dude, give me drums and bang cymbals! I like the crash and bang.

I also figure being eternally happy would be eternally boring so I try not to be too interesting, even though it's hard for me. I'd rather be a superhero in hell, kicking all kinds of demon ass, than an angel in heaven, wafting around with a beatific smile on my face, playing a pansy harp all day. Dude, give me drums and big cymbals! I like the crash and bang.

You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

Buona notte, Lisa. Dormi con gli angeli... Poi torna sulla terra e dormi col tuo diavolo, che sarebbe disposto a bruciare all'inferno, per una notte tra le tue braccia

I figure if there is a God, he or she isn't paying attention to what we build or if we follow some elaborate rules, but copping a ride on our shoulders, watching what we do every day. Seeing if we took this great big adventure called life and did anything interesting with it. I figure the folks that are the most interesting get to go to heaven.

I wasn't prepared for death. Nobody is. You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell. We stand in front of those two possible apertures at all times; choose which one to go through.

Women revert to their maiden names in Heaven, Rutherford feels fairly certain. He can't remember where he learned this--France or the Bible.

It's our suspicion that there's another, better Heaven behind the cumulus screen,' he murmurs into the grass, bending and tearing at a root that tastes beautifully yellow. 'That's the trouble. That's what keeps us trapped here, minds in animals.

Women revert to their maiden names in Heaven, Rutherford feels fairly certain. He can't remember where he learned this—France or the Bible.

Heaven, Kiwi thought, would be the reading room of a great library. But it would be private. Cozy. You wouldn't have to worry about some squeaky-shoed librarian turning the lights off on you or gauging your literacy by reading the names on your book spines, and there wouldn't be a single other patron. The whole place would hum with a library's peace, filtering softly over you like white bars of light…