Quotes About Confession

Holly was staring at me. "Who were you talking to just then?" "No one! You!" "I don't believe you." "Look, does it really matter right now?" "If we're going to be working together, Lucy...." "Oh, hell! All right! I'll tell you! It's an evil haunted skull that lives in my backpack! Happy, now?

There are some things you can never say out loud, even to yourself, sins of the mind that you can only file away in the hopes of absolution at some later date.

Sono un assassino. La mia immagine agli occhi della società è la peggiore che possa esistere, ma è più facile da sopportare che i miei vent'anni di menzogne

There are some things which men confess with ease, and others with difficulty.

As ordeals and duels gave way to confession as a proof of guilt, judicial torture was actually increasing in France.

It had been Luther's idea that Christians should confess to one another instead of to a priest. Most Lutherans had thrown that baby out with the bathwater and didn't confess to anyone. Confession of any kind was considered overly Catholic, just as extemporaneous prayer was criticized as too pietistic. But Bonhoeffer successfully instituted the practice of confessing one to another.

Thus we were approaching the borderline between confession and resistance; and if we did not cross this border, our confession was going to be no better than cooperation with the criminals. And so it became clear where the problem lay for the Confessing Church: we were resisting by way of confession, but we were not confessing by way of resistance.

What is so fragile that when you say its name you break it?

Maybe it was simply that falling in love wasn't something Lori would ever be able to turn away from, regardless of just how much pain she knew would be coming down the pike. And maybe, just maybe, as long as she never actually confessed to him how she felt, that would make it okay to give in to what she felt for Grayson for one night, beneath the moon, with the smell of wild grass and the ocean all around them...

If he has confessed, one would have expected that some of the Abwehr officials closely connected to Artist and Tricycle would have ceased to carry out their normal functions"—like breathing.

in other words, his story was part boast, part confession.

None but the well-bred man knows how to confess a fault, or acknowledge himself in an error.

123. To confess a Fault, that is none, out of Fear, is indeed mean: But not to be afraid of standing in one, is Brutish.

pleases. And, lastly (I may as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I scarce ever heard or saw the introductory words, "Without vanity I may say," &c., but some vain thing immediately followed. Most people

I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.

It's a burden trying to keep a secret. It's hard. It probably takes more out of you trying to hold it and keep it than it does for you to really let it out.

Although I look really good holding a gun, I can't shoot. I can't shoot anything. I'm the worst shot.

It was a beautiful experience for her, the experience that she had that she confesses. It wasn't dirty and it wasn't horrible and wasn't shattering. It was a wonderful, liberating experience.

Everyone who keeps a secret, itches to tell it.

I have a mistress. Now is the part where I have to tell you I have a mistress and you stop liking me. If you liked me to begin with. I have a pretty, young, very young mistress, and her name is Andie.

Remember that game you always played with Mom when we were little: Would you still love me if? Would you still love me if I smacked Go? Would you still love me if I robbed a bank? Would you still love me if I killed someone?' I said nothing. My breath was coming too fast. 'I would still love you,' Go said. 'Go, do you really need me to say it?' She stayed silent. 'I did not kill Amy.' She stayed silent. 'Do you believe me?' I asked. 'I love you.

This was my eleventh lie.

I hadn't necessarily wanted to be cured. But I was out of places to write, slicing myself between my toes—bad, cry—like a junkie looking for one last vein. Vanish did it for me. I'd saved the neck, such a nice prime spot, for one final good cutting. Then I turned myself in.

It was him. The boy in 'I met a boy!