Quotes About Sacrifice

Abortion too, is a form of human sacrifice (depopulation) on a huge scale, just as in the distant past babies were sacrificed to the god Moloch. Bert Hellinger warns us in the extreme about the consequences of abortion on a family and the consequences on the other living children of that family.

The Christos did not need to die for our sins. The Absolute Reality is perfectly capable of forgiving humanity without requiring the death of anyone and even less of his own Son.

Crowley did not sacrifice children. Crowley always used analogies for things, so he called masturbation 'child sacrifice.' In his book, Magick, Aleister Crowley referred to masturbation jokingly and dysphemistically as child sacrifice.

In another letter, he suggests that writing the book was "purchased so dearly and with such hardship that nobody who had the choice would have written it at that price".

It's like an Irish family. They fight like hell among themselves. They want nothing to do with each other. But you throw a disaster at them, and they're all shoulder to shoulder and they'll do whatever it takes. They don't stop for one minute to think what their personal cost or toll is going to be in it, they just do it.

Acting is a masochistic form of exhibitionism. It is not quite the occupation of an adult.

'Twould be as much as my life was worth.

The with forbidden the death of warriors

There is a green hill far away, outside a city wall, where our dear Lord was crucified who died to save us all. We may not know, we cannot tell, what pains he had to bear, but we believe it was for us he hung and suffered there. He died that we might be forgiven, he died to make us good, that we might go at last to heaven, saved by his precious blood.

We love, while knowing that someday our love might be lost forever. We laugh as we stride along, even while recognising that doom lies at the end of the road. We give, while comprehending that in the end 'twill all be taken away. we are nothing less then heroes.

She had seen what it cost him and her heart quickened with compassion. For that alone, she might have loved him almost.

It terrifies you. That you missed out on something. That you gave up something you didn't know you wanted." A sharp, pitying smile pinched the corners of her lips. "What was it? Was it a boy? Was it a vocation? Or was it a whole life?

It had not been science that Lydia had loved. And then, as if the tears are telescopes, she begins to see more clearly: the shredded posters and pictures, the rubble of books, the shelf prostrate at her feet. Everything that she had wanted for Lydia, which Lydia had never wanted but had embraced anyway. A dull chill creeps over her. Perhaps—and this thought chokes her—that had dragged Lydia underwater at last.

And Lydia herself—the reluctant center of their universe—every day, she held the world together. She absorbed her parents' dreams, quieting the reluctance that bubbled up within.

To a parent, your child wasn't just a person: your child was a place, a kind of Narnia, a vast eternal place where the present you were living and the past you remembered and the future you longed for all existed at once.

Ed Lim had gone to four different toy stores searching... he would have bought it for his daughter, whatever the price.

Everything that she had wanted for Lydia, which Lydia had never wanted but had embraced anyway. A dull chill creeps over her. Perhaps—and this thought chokes her—that had dragged Lydia underwater at last.

Evidence of his mother, out there, elsewhere, so worried about somebody else's children though she'd left her own behind. The irony of it leached into his veins.

Everything that she had wanted for Lydia, which Lydia had never wanted but had embraced anyway.

For as long as she could remember, Pearl had understood the hierarchy: her mother's real work was her art, and whatever paid the bills existed only to make that art possible.

Ever since that summer, he had felt something still binding their ankles and tugging him off balance, fettering her weight to his. For ten years, that something had not loosened, and now it had begun to chafe. All those years, as the only other person who understood their parents, he had absorbed her miseries, offering silent sympathy or a squeeze on a shoulder or a wry smile. [...] He had buoyed her up with how too much love was better than too little.

She glanced at her brothers, at her mother, still in her bathrobe on their tree lawn, and thought, They have literally nothing but the clothes on their backs.

She's some kind of artist," Mrs. Richardson had said, and when Mr. Richardson asked what kind, she answered jokingly, "A struggling one.

There is no substitute for hard work, 23 or 24 hours a day. And there is no substitute for patience and acceptance.