Quotes About Confession

Myron heard footsteps coming up from behind him. He closed his eyes. It was as he expected. The footsteps came closer. When they stopped, Myron did not turn around. "You killed her," Myron said. "Yes." A block of ice melted in Myron's stomach. "Do you feel better now?" The killer's tone caressed the back of Myron's neck with a cold, bloodless hand. "The question is, Myron, do you?

Right, got it." Then Sam said in a softer voice, "I saw…I mean, Paige in that video…she looked…

When I opened a book now, I was seized with desperation. I felt as if I was madly in love. It was as if I were in a confession booth and the characters in the book were on the other side telling me their most intimate secrets. When I read, I was a philosopher and it was up to me to figure out the meaning of things. Reading made me feel as if I were the center of the universe.

When I open a book now, I was seized with desperation. I felt as if I was madly in love. It was as if I were in a confession booth and the characters in the book were on the other side telling me their most intimate secrets. When I read, I was a philosopher and it was up to me to figure out the meaning of things. Reading made me feel as if I were the center of the universe.

I didn't know how he managed to keep the weight of his secret when the burden of it was crushing me.

Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Vögel sangen, Da ist meinem Herzen Die Liebe aufgegangen. Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, Als alle Knospen sprangen, Da hab' ich ihr gestanden Mein Sehnen und Verlangen. Translation: In the beautiful month of May, as all the birds were singing, love started to blossom inside of my heart. In the beautiful month of May, as all the buds were blossoming, I confessed to her my yearning and longing.

Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the holy of holies of Jewish time. It is that rarest of phenomena, a Jewish festival without food. Instead it is a day of fasting and prayer, introspection and self-judgment when, collectively and repeatedly, we confess our sins and pray to be written into God's Book of Life.

I really don't feel that any of the pieces I wrote were confessions; there are no revelations about secrets in my life, and actually I have nothing to confess and I certainly do not ask for redemption and there is no reward for confessing that I expect.

Joe Jackson was a tragic figure. He was a serene country boy who signed a confession he couldn't read. He was illiterate.

Every first Friday, my father would go to confession, and he took very seriously the faith he would someday transmit to us.

It is not a pleasant thing, to be accused of something one has not done. One ought to be able to brush the untruths aside, but somehow they take hold of the mind and cause a spectral form of guilt--like a ghost in the head, or in the conscience! Someone is certain that you have done this terrible thing, and so you start to feel as if you have, even though you know you have not. I begin to understand, Georges, why people confess to crimes of which they are innocent.

Have mercy on me, O Lady: for thou art called the Mother of Mercy. And according to thy mercy: cleanse me from all my iniquities. Pour forth thy grace upon me: and withdraw not from me thine accustomed clemency. For I will confess my sins to thee: and I will accuse myself of all my crimes before thee. Reconcile me to the Fruit of thy womb: and make peace for me with Him who has created me.

This is the fruit of my confessions of what I am, not of what I have been, to confess this, not before Thee only, in a secret exultation with trembling, and a secret sorrow with hope; but in the ears also of the believing sons of men, sharers of my joy, and partners in my mortality, my fellow-citizens, and fellow-pilgrims, who are gone before, or are to follow on, companions of my way.

Woe, woe, by what steps was I brought down to the depths of hell! toiling and turmoiling through want of Truth, since I sought after Thee, my God (to Thee I confess it, who hadst mercy on me, not as yet confessing), not according to the understanding of the mind, wherein Thou willedst that I should excel the beasts, but according to the sense of the flesh.

And I confess to Thee, O Lord, that I yet know not what time is, and again I confess unto Thee, O Lord, that I know that I speak this in time, and that having long spoken of time, that very "long" is not long, but by the pause of time. How then know I this, seeing I know not what time is? or is it perchance that I know not how to express what I know?

But, let these perplexing debatings and disputations of the philosophers go on as they may, we, in order that we may confess the most high and true God Himself, do confess His will, supreme power, and prescience.

My confession then, O my God, in Thy sight, is made silently, and not silently. For in sound, it is silent; in affection, it cries aloud.

Even the masochists tell everything when tortured. From sheer gratitude.

Being sent to bed is a terrible command to all children, because it means the most public possible humiliation in front of adults, the confession that they bear the stigma of childhood, of being small and having a child's need for sleep.

But love truly becomes love only when, no longer an embryo developing painfully in the darkness of the body, it ventures to confess itself with lips and breath. However hard it tries to remain a chrysalis, a time comes when the intricate tissue of the cocoon tears, and out it falls, dropping from the heights to the farthest depths, falling with redoubled force into the startled heart.

Y eso era justamente lo que pretendían, que me intoxicara cada vez más con mis propios pensamientos, hasta que ya no pudiera más y los tuviera que escupir, que vomitar, y tuviese que confesar

I saw something nasty in the woodshed.' Flora

A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself a liar.

Dishonest people conceal their faults from themselves as well as others, honest people know and confess them.