Quotes About Resurrection

When the black and mortal blood of man has fallen to the ground ... who then can sing spells to call it back again?

Could you bring back a man without a head? Not six times. Just once.

Dead man, dead man When will you arise? Cobwebs in your mind Dust upon your eyes

Harte sent one of her revived men after him, and Pat sent him back in boxes.

It is an ill thing to meet a man you thought dead in the woodland at dusk.

« Barabas pulled Christopher out of the cage. The man stared up at him. "I died, didn't I? Are you an angel?" "Sure," Barabas said. "Follow me to the Heavenly Shower »

We ought to be living as if Jesus died yesterday, rose this morning, and is coming back this afternoon.

To many Americans, everything from the Easter morning to the Ascension had to be made up by the groveling enthusiasts as part of their plan to get themselves martyred.

You'll wake up on Easter morning, And you'll know that he was there, When you find those choc'late bunnies, That he's hiding ev'rywhere.

The first coffee of the morning is never, ever, ready quickly enough. You die before it's ready and then your ghost pours the resurrection potion out of the moka pot.

With my ninth mind I resurrect my first and dance slow to the music of my soul made new.

That's the evergreen nature of a great song. They can be resurrected. They can be covered. They can find new relevance due to changing circumstances in history.

Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection not in books alone but in every leaf of springtime.

Make peace with the universe. Take joy in it. It will turn to gold. Resurrection will be now. Every moment, a new beauty.

For I remember it is Easter morn, And life and love and peace are all new born.

Goo can't be return from dead person, revive him and you will see an evil thing. WHich isn't really that the person... (Pet Semetary 1 by Stephen King)

Pet Sematary 1 is one crazy story and film.

Die every night so in the morning you are reborn.

Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.

Here let dead poetry rise once more to life.

Out of the ruined lodge and forgotten mansion, bowers that are trodden under foot, and pleasure-houses that are dust, the poet calls up a palingenesis.

I like the one about the little soulworms that fly out of the nest for the resurrection.

O God bid my poor body to ariseOn that bright day triumphant through the skies!

Politics can be the graveyard of the poet. And only poetry can be his resurrection.