Quotes About Spirituality

But it was too late. He had angered Providence by resisting too many temptations. There was nothing left but heaven, where he would meet only those who, like him, had wasted earth.

Then Nicole. Rosemary saw her suddenly in a new way and found her one of the most beautiful people she had ever known. Her face, the face of a saint, a viking Madonna, shone through the faint motes that snowed across the candlelight, drew down its flush from the wine-colored lanterns in the pine. She was still as still

I was adept at fooling the deity. I prayed immediately after all crimes until eventually prayer and crime became indistinguishable to me.

He raised his right hand and with a papal cross he blessed the beach from the high terrace.

naked souls are poor things ever

In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at least, descended upon him.

Again the word was a prayer, incense offered up to a high God through this new and unfathomable darkness

It was your little white soul I tried to keep near me- even when life was at its loudest and every intellectual idea of God seemed the sheerest mockery. - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction

We all have souls of different ages.

And like most intellectuals who don't find faith convenient," he continued coldly, "like Napoleon and Oscar Wilde and the rest of your type, you'll yell loudly for a priest on your death-bed.

I believe in God, but I don't think you have to go crazy to prove it.

I believe in God, but I don't think you have to go crazy to prove it. - Smokeys dad, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.

The Joy of a Loving God.

First, it is imperative that you create a private Sacred Space and set up an altar with a photo of yourself as a child, a candle, or anything else that speaks to you. I have a picture of the Dalai Lama and Oprah Winfrey.

I doubt my doubt, doubt itself is unsure I love, but who is it for whom I sigh? Not Muslim, yet not heathen; who am I?

How arrogant you are To think your wretched Self so singular! The disappointments of this world will die In less time than the blinking of an eye, And as the earth must pass, pass by the earth Don't even glance at it, know what it's worth; What empty foolishness it is to care For what must one day be dispersed to air!

the gods bless the lonesome through music and dance.

You don't go to church for intellectual gratification - you go because it pleases your aesthetic sensibilities.

I never had anyone I could call "Master". No Christ died for me. No Buddha showed me the right path. In the depths of my dreams no Apollo or Athena appeared to me to enlighten my soul

La música, la luz de la luna y los sueños son mis armas mágicas.

Queen, goodbye forever! Your wings were sunbeams, and my feet are clay I'll never be well if I don't get to bed I never was well unless I was stretched out across the universe.

That's why I read, as a stranger, My being as if it were pages. Not knowing what will come And forgetting what has passed, I note in the margin of my reading What I thought I felt. Rereading, I wonder: "Was that me?" God knows, because he wrote it.

The divine fact of existing shouldn't be surrendered to the satanic fact of coexisting.

However, when you're about to write something, knowing beforehand that it's sure to be imperfect, a failure, that is the most spiritually tormenting and humiliating of feelings. I not only feel that the lines I write are unsatisfactory, I know that I will find any lines I write in the future equally unsatisfactory