Quotes About Revelation

Of the wickedness of the world he was too forgetful. To discover evil in a new friend is to most people only an additional experience: to him it was ever a surprise.

I thought you were the ghost of yourself.

Tras realizar algunas averiguaciones supo que el nombre de la muchacha era Bathsheba Everdene

Occasionally, on purpose, Dr. Lecter drops a teacup to shatter on the floor. He is satisfied when it does not gather itself together. For many months now, he has not seen Mischa in his dreams. Someday perhaps a cup will come together. Or somewhere Starling may hear a crossbow string and come to some unwilled awakening, if indeed she even sleeps.

Do you know how you caught me, Will?' 'Good-bye, Dr. Lecter. You can leave messages for me at the number on the file.' Graham walked away. 'Do you know how you caught me?' Graham was out of Lecter's sight now, and he walked faster toward the far steel door. 'The reason you caught me is that we're just alike' was the last thing Graham heard as the steel door closed behind him.

They tried sodium amytal on him three years ago trying to find out where he buried a Princeton student," Graham said. "He gave them a recipe for dip.

All should be laid open to you without reserve, for there is not a truth existing which I fear, or would wish unknown to the whole world.

There is not a truth existing which I fear, or would wish unknown to the whole world.

To write these things now is to state the commonplaces of history. But to find them out in 1942, to have them break upon you from a June sky, was to suffer a fundamental shock, a derangement in that area of the brain in which stable ideas about humankind and its possibilities are kept.

Jaki? dystyngowany l?k, ?e swymi pytaniami sprowokowa? zbyt wielk? poufa?o?? i dowie si? czego?, co go nic nie obchodzi, krzy?owa?a si? w nim z ju? rozbudzon? ciekawo?ci? i uwag?, z pragnieniem, by si? z tych ust dowiedzie? czego? wi?cej.

la palabra es enemiga de lo misterioso y cruel delatora de lo vulgar.

The only thing to seek in contemplative prayer is God; and we seek Him successfully when we realize that we cannot find Him unless He shows Himself to us, and yet at the same time that He would not have inspired us to seek Him unless we had already found Him.

We have what we seek. We don't have to rush after it. It was there all the time, and if we give it time it will make itself known to us.

Show us your Christ, Lady, after this our exile, yes: but show Him to us also now, show Him to us here, while we are still wanderers.

He's not a safe safe or a tame God, securely lodged behind the bars of a distant Heaven; He has the most annoying manner of showing up when we least want Him; of confronting us in the strangest ways.

God utters me like a word containing a partial thought of Himself. A word will never be able to comprehend the voice that utters it. But

God utters me like a word containing a partial thought of Himself.

For God has willed to make Himself known to us in the mystery of the Psalms.

IT is not we who choose to awaken ourselves, but God Who chooses to awaken us.

The other loan was that of a book. The Headmaster came along, one day, and gave me a little blue book of poems. I looked at the name on the back. "Gerard Manley Hopkins." I had never heard of him. But I opened the book, and read the "Starlight Night" and the Harvest poem and the most lavish and elaborate early poems. I noticed that the man was a Catholic and a priest and, what is more, a Jesuit.

We must check the inspirations that come to us in the depths of our own conscience against the revelation that is given to us with divinely certain guaranteers by those who have inherited in our midst the place of Christ's Apostles?by those who speak to us in the Name of Christ and as it were in His own Person. Qui vos audit me audit; qui vos spernit, me spernit.

Man is the image of God, and his inner self is a kind of mirror in which God not only sees Himself, but reveals Himself to the "mirror" in which He is reflected.

the one Word that rips apart the day...

Oedipa sat on the earth, ass getting cold, wondering whether, as Driblette had suggested that night from the shower, some version of herself hadn't vanished with him. Perhaps her mind would go on flexing psychic muscles that no longer existed; would be betrayed and mocked by a phantom self as the amputee is by a phantom limb. Someday she might replace whatever of her had gone away by some prosthetic device, a dress of a certain color, a phrase in a letter, another lover.