Quotes About Word

But there is a third mode of trancendence: in it language simply ceases, and the motion of spirit gives no further outward manifestation of its being. The poet enters into silence. Here the word borders not on radiance or music, but on night.

For it pleased God, after he had made all things by the word of his power, to create man after his own image.

Never let me hear that foolish word again.

A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.

We read of preaching the Word out of season, but we do not read of praying out of season, for that is never out of season.

Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long suffering and doctrine.

Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.

I never gossip, but I can give you the names of certain people who do.

But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Speech is civilization itself. The word, even the most contradictory word, preserves contact - it is silence which isolates.

A word has its use, Or, like a man, it will soon have a grave.

Every soldier in the course of time exists only in the breath of written word.

You can't play trade the victim here, Dallas.

I think it's an old stud." "Like your grandfather?" "Ha! Funny!

sure bet, the crowd hadn't packed the

He does not know what freedom is. Freedom is a word, less than a word, a noise, one of the multitude of noises I make when I open my mouth.

We are accustomed to believe that our world was created by God speaking the Word; but I ask, may it not rather be that he wrote it, wrote a Word so long we have yet to come to the end of it? May it not be that God continually writes the world, the world and all that is in it?

Lo que anhelamos, lo que todos nosotros anhelamos, es la palabra iluminada que abrirá las puertas de la prisión y nos devolverá la vida.

Tenemos hambre pero no de pan (eso nos dan de comer todos los benditos días, pan con frijoles en salsa de tomate) sino de la palabra, la palabra flamígera que nos revele por qué estamos aquí.

Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

The words are clear as in the reflection of the world on the water. Therefore write the Word at once, everywhere, from now till your hand is paralyzed, for THERE will be your work for GOD, since you can not work for God in other ways, and would not, & don't know how, or bend that way, from habit, & from talent in the use & signification & arrangement of the Word.

Have some more wine, Smith, you're not making sense.

Problemas, ya ves, son la palabra que generaliza los motivos por los que Dios existe.