Quotes About Devotion

If God was small enough to understand, I reckon He wouldn't be big enough to worship.

Some people are that - more than a parent, more than a role model, more than anything less than a religion.

Heart of my heart, bone of my bone, spirit of my spirt, we cannot be held.

T)he motive consecrates the deed.

Shall I say of you that you worship the image of your God that you have in your mind, but not your God?

As a devout Baptist, she believed it was a sin to pray for anything for yourself. You ought to pray only for strength to bear whatever the Lord saw fit to send you, she thought. I was never able to follow this advice, for although I would often feel a sense of uneasiness over the tone of my prayers, I was the kind of person who prayed frantically-"Please, God, please, please, PLEASE let Ross MacVey like me better than Mavis.

Doris is very religious. She says it is a comfort. Her minister is plump and pink, and if he met John the Baptist in tatters in the desert, stuffing dead locusts into that parched mouth for food, and blazing the New Kingdom out of those terrible eyesockets, he would faint. But so would I, likely.

Non mi prendere mai sul serio quando ti dico di lasciarmi. Tienimi, ti prego, tienimi. Vieni quando ti pare, una volta al mese, una volta all'anno, ma tienimi...».

Chi ti ama c'è sempre, c'è prima di te, prima di conoscerti

Cosa pretendeva da lui? Tutto. Semplicemente tutto. E questo era stato il vero sbaglio. Chiudersi in un solo amore e chiedergli tutto. Semplicemente perché di tutto hai bisogno.

Tienimi! Vieni quando ti pare, una volta al mese, una volta all'anno. Ma tienimi.

I'd cut up my heart for you to wear if you wanted it.

I'd cut up my heart for you to wear if you wanted it.

Say you'll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won't go. I'll stay around here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice and compromise you, so you'll have to marry me to save your reputation.

She wanted Adam Fox with the fervour of parched earth thirsting for water, corn aching for the warmth of ripening sun, a starving skeleton drooling over a crust of bread. Her passionate young body yearned to feel his touch, soft lips quivered an invitation to be kissed, wounded eyes promised a lifetime of devotion, if only . . .

He loved her, would give his life for her, he knew that now. Why that was, he wasn't completely sure. It didn't matter. It was what it was.

You're the hero my young romantic heart settled on so long ago, you're an absolute tiger at times, you're devious and not above playing a few tricks. I love you whatever you are all the time. I've loved you for ten years without stopping. I'll love you for as long as I have breath in my body. I'm committed to one man and I'm ready to face real life with him.

His love for her was a gift he gave her daily, expecting nothing in return. He walked at her side, his love for her a torch to guide her footsteps along the dark path she walked.

It's a long time that I've loved you. Never, never go away.

I love you. I really do. As I am now, with these last five years behind me, I am a person who is quite terribly in love with you and will always be – or so I think now, today, in this taxi.

He was fine, and foreign, and he did not belong here. I held him close, not crushing, not waking him, letting him sleep, and I suffered. I had never felt such feelings before. I would do anything for him; I would do anything. Anything that was asked of me, that would increase his happiness or health, I would do, and willingly. So I told myself, rocking him, the winter sky white at the window.

Fidelity, enforced and unto death, is the price you pay for the kind of love you never want to give up, for someone you want to hold forever, tighter and tighter, whether he's close or far away, someone who becomes dearer to you the more you've sacrificed for his sake.

I have said before, says the Soul, that I lack nothing, because my beloved has from all time sufficient, 2 out of his just nobility, and will have enough for evermore. What then should I lack? I do not love myself, or him, or his works, 3 except only for him. And what he has, which I do not have and shall not have, is more my own than what I do and shall have in my possession from him himself.

I'm quite sure that most writers would sustain real poetry if they could, but it takes devotion and talent.