Quotes About Confession

I hate you,¨ I whisper before he can speak. He tilts my face to his. ¨Say it again,¨ he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head. His voice is low. The words are for me alone. I pull out of his grip, but not before I see his expression. He looks as he did when he was forced to answer my questions, when he admitted his desire for me. He looks as though he´s confessing. page 104-105

I cannot lie. I cannot deny you. Page 305

Oooooooh,' says Jack, correctly interpreting my silence for a confession. 'Is he your lover? Is this a ballad we're in?' 'A murder ballad maybe,' I growl. 'No doubt, by the end,' he says. 'I wonder who will survive to compose it.

So did you murder Balekin?' Nihuar asks me, clearly able to put off her curiosity no longer. 'Yes,' I say. 'After he poisoned the High King.' 'Poisoned?' she echoes in astonishment, looking at Cardan. He shrugs, lounging in a chair, looking bored as ever. 'You can hardly expect me to mention every little thing.

Dime otra vez lo que dijiste en la fiesta- dice. -¿Qué?- Apenas puedo pensar. -Que me odias, -dice con voz ronca- dime que me odias.

I hate you," I whisper before he can speak. He tilts my face to his. "Say it again," he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head. His voice is low. The words are for me alone. I pull out of his grip, but not before I see his expression. He looks as he did when he was forced to answer my questions, when he admitted his desire for me. He looks as though he's confessing.

Taryn takes a breath, as if steeling herself. "He's dead because I killed him.

And yet, what she longed for was for him to slide into bed and put his hand on her shoulder, to tell her he knew she was awake. To say that he loved her desperately and wanted to confess all the things he'd kept from her, and all the reasons for them. It was a childish desire, a wish for the world to not be as it was, for people to act in ways they just didn't. It was the wish of a sucker, ready to be fleeced for everything she had.

His smile dimmed, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. 'This is a real secret. You can't tell anyone. When I was little, I glamoured my mortal sister. I made her hit herself, a lot of times, over and over, and I laughed while she did. It was awful of me, and I never told her that I regretted it. I am afraid of making her remember. She might get really mad.

The lost are never saved by confessing and the saved are never restored by believing.

A man only goes and confesses his faults to the world when his self will not acknowledge or listen to them.

She would never again lie in bed on a Good Friday morning and relax in the blissful knowledge that there was nothing to do and nowhere to be, because for the rest of her life, there would always, always be something left undone. An unmade confession. An ugly secret.

Seven minutes. Her mistake could be measured in minutes. Marla was the only person who knew. Ed never knew.

You know I have always tried to be honest with you and open about my life, so I need to tell you that part of what you have heard and read is correct. I am addicted to prescription pain medication.

I'm a public sinner with a ton of money. Any church would want me.

The sinner will not confess, nor will the priest receive his confession, if the veil of secrecy is removed.

Talk to me, I whispered to the Dark Passenger. Tell me what you have done.

Debs stood in the rain and watched him go, which I am sure she intended to make Wilkins nervous enough to leap from the car and confess, but considering the weather it struck me as excessive zeal. I got into the car and waited for her.

Deborah led me away from it and over to the far end of the room. "Dexter," she said, "promise me you didn't kill this guy.

The real question at this point, and it was an awkward one, was how to tell Deborah that all this was happening because somebody had seen me in flagrante delicto.

Or perhaps Anderson himself, overcome with shame, will perform a public mea culpa and set me free in person. Of

Where else would she feel more comfortable than in this subterranean realm where people wrote down what they couldn't say, where they gave voice to their most shameful longings and knowledge?

But it rained all the time, fog covered the fields, and by then he was reading Tolstoy. There were some books that reached through the noise of life to grab you by the collar and speak only of the truest things. A Confession was a book like that.

In the deceitfulness of our hearts, we sometimes play with temptation by entertaining the thought that we can always confess and later ask forgiveness. Such thinking is exceedingly dangerous. God's judgement is without partiality. He never overlooks our sin. He never decides not to bother, since the sin is only a small one. No, God hates sin intensely whenever and wherever He finds it.