Quotes About Redemption

Virtue keeps more people out of heaven than all their sins combined.

Grace is favor shown to people who do not deserve any favor at all," concludes Martyn Lloyd-Jones. "We deserve nothing but hell. If you think you deserve heaven, take it from me, you are not a Christian.

Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness... and perhaps even Satan - Satan, in spite of himself - somehow serves to work out the will of God.

And yet even from this—from evil—there will finally come good in some way; in some way that we may never understand or even see." Merrin paused. "Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness," he brooded. "And perhaps even Satan—Satan, in spite of himself—somehow serves to work out the will of God.

An anguished moan escaped from Karras as he bowed his head above the Host. He struck his breast as if it were time and murmured, "Domine, no sum dignus.... I am not worthy... say but the word and my soul shall be healed.

He could not bear to search for Christ again in stench and hollow eyes; for the Christ of pus and bleeding excrement, the Christ who could not be. In

For a time, Karras watched him as he listed down the street; watched with fondness and with wonder at the heart's labyrinthine turnings and improbable redemptions.

Y, sin embargo, incluso de esto, del mal, vendrá el bien. De algún modo. De algún modo que nunca podremos entender, ni siquiera ver.

Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness," he brooded. "And perhaps even Satan—Satan, in spite of himself—somehow serves to work out the will of God." Merrin

Therefore from the storehouse of His Passion I borrow the price of my debt,

Then you will not be ashamed to tell men and demons that you are sanctified, and are living a pure and holy life free from sin, a life that gives you power over the world, the flesh, and the devil.

There, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana.

O! my offense is rank, it smells to heaven;It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't;A brother's murder!

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd,No reckoning made, but sent to my accountWith all my imperfections on my head.

And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

I am a manMore sinn'd against than sinning.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.

In those holy fieldsOver whose acres walk'd those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nail'dFor our advantage on the bitter cross.

Love that comes too late,Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.

I am in bloodStepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

Thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this.

And my ending is despair,Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,Which pierces so that it assaultsMercy itself and frees all faults.

Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd.

Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.