Quotes About Sacrifice

It was agreed upon," Percy wrote, speaking in the passive voice of a decision that ought to have been his alone, "to put the children to death, the which was effected by throwing them overboard and shooting out their brains in the water." This

We who have seen war, will never stop seeing it. In the silence of the night, we will always hear the screams. So this is our story, for we were soldiers once, and young

Ghosts, the old warriors said, were the price a fighting man paid to follow the path of the warrior;

I will love you like no other for I have died a thousand tiny deaths and everytime I died I thought of you.

And here is the paradox at the heart of the Christian life: The one who embraces suffering, who dies to himself in order to die for others, is actually happier than the one who shuns suffering and who puts himself above all else.

the Blood and the Blood from the Body. In what other way, in fact, would it be possible to represent the bloody Sacrifice through the Consecration? Hence our oppo nents defeat themselves with their own weapons when they deny that the separation of the Blood from the Body is a result of the words of Consecration.

The sacrifice predicted by Malachias cannot be the Sacrifice of the Cross. The prophet employs the word minchah, which means an unbloody food-offering. The Sacrifice of the Cross, though a true sacrifice, was not an unbloody food-offering. The Sacrifice of the Cross was confined to Golgotha and the Jewish people, and hence was not a universal sacrifice in the sense of Malachias,

bishops, and the clergy throughout the world. The holier the Church is in her members (especially the pope and the episcopate), the more agreeable must be her sacrifice in the eyes of God.

The question arises: How can the Lord's Blood be truly shed in the Chalice? Such an unbloody shedding of blood seems to involve a contradiction. It is possible and necessary to distinguish a twofold

St. Augustine says: " It would be an affront to pray for a martyr; we should [rather] commend ourselves to his prayers.'*

Many of us served in the war, many died. We have written for Germany, we have died for Germany. We have spilled our blood for Germany in two ways: the blood that runs in our veins, and the blood with which we write. We have sung Germany, the real Germany! And that is why today we are being burned by Germany!

Allons, enfants de la patrie,Le jour de gloire est arrivé!…Aux armes, citoyens!Formez vos bataillons!Marchons! Marchons! Qu'un sang impurAbreuve nos sillons![Forward, sons of France,The day of glory has come!…To arms, citizens!Line up in battalions!Let us march on! Let the impure bloodof enemies drench our fields!]

She thought of Flametail, her shy, sweet-tempered ginger kit, always eager to help his Clanmates, who'd grown to be a medicine cat and then drowned in icy waters; of Dawnpelt, who'd as a kit been fierce and playful by turns, who'd left ShadowClan for the Kin and been murdered by Darktail. And of stubborn, good-hearted Tigerstar. Her kits meant everything to her, too, and now Tigerstar was the only one left.

give you a life for selflessness," the former WindClan leader announced. "Use it well in the service of your Clan.

Looking down at the foaming white water, he remembered how Bluestar had hurled herself over, taking with her the leader of the dog pack. Firestar had plunged in to save her; he shivered at the memory of the roar of water in his ears, the weight of his soaking fur, the exhaustion in his legs as he tried to swim with Bluestar's body gripped in his teeth.

You will be a great leader." Bluestar's voice was the merest whisper. "One of the greatest the forest has ever known. You will have the warmth of fire to protect your Clan and the fierceness of fire to defend it. You will be Firestar, the light of ThunderClan." "No," Fireheart protested. "I can't. Not without you, Bluestar." But it was too late. Bluestar sighed softly, and the light died from her eyes.

He would bleed a river of blood, every drop spilled for her helpless kits. . . .

Her heart ached as she recognized Frogleap. She could only stare at him wordlessly and he purred, his starlit eyes filled with affection. "With this life, I give you devotion," he whispered. "Because you are devoted to your Clan." Then he touched her head and she felt water press around her, crushing her until she could barely breathe.

Gray Wing couldn't give her the answer she wanted. As he looked around the cave at the cats he had known all his life, he couldn't imagine abandoning them for a place that might only exist in Stoneteller's dreams.

I'm alive, aren't I? Thanks to Hollyleaf." Ivypool traced her muzzle over Hollyleaf's back. "If it hadn't been for her, Hawkfrost would have killed me. Hollyleaf gave her life for mine!" Dovewing winced at the tremor in Ivypool's voice.

Graystripe had been with Silverstream.

Kill me," he rasped at Clear Sky. "Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you won.

He could keep the love of his father or he could save his Clan. What choice was that? Was this what he'd abandoned Dovewing and his kits for?

Flourish?" Jackdaw's Cry curled his lip. "You sent Frost away to die. You trained Jagged Peak until you crippled him. You have orphan kits because you killed their mother. Do you call that 'flourishing'?