Quotes About Soul

One has a soul, and one is a Spirit.

Something was afoot. Some one was afoot, for she knew she was not alone. And this had nothing to do with the fearful creatures created by Miss Fionna Josephine Hawkes. Ah, yes, Fionna was a teller of tales, tales of the dark side of the soul, of supernatural beings that transcended belief. Without question, she possessed an imagination most vivid.

Somehow he held himself in check, willing away the tension strung throughout his form. Releasing a sigh, he kissed her knuckles, then rested his chin against her temple, inhaling the beguiling scent of lilies, aware of the silky little tendrils of hair that brushed his mouth. It brought a surprising peace to his soul.

In every living soul, a spirit cries for expression—perhaps this plaintive, wailing song of Jazz is, after all, the misunderstood utterance of a prayer.

My soul is dark with stormy riot, Directly traceable to diet.

My soul is dark with stormy riot: directly traced over to diet.

Promise, large promise, is the soul of an advertisement.

In a man's letters you know, Madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirror of his breast, whatever passes within him is shown undisguised in its natural process. Nothing is inverted, nothing distorted, you see systems in their elements, you discover actions in their motives.

Sorrow is the mere rust of the soul. Activity will cleanse and brighten it.

Musick is the thing of the world that I love most.

S]how yourself a Christian, by suffering without murmuring; - in patience possess your soul: they lose nothing who gain Christ.

Christ is a well of life, but who knoweth how deep it is to the bottom? This soul of ours hath love, and cannot but love some fair one; and O, what a fair One, what an only One, what an excellent, lovely, ravishing One is Jesus.

When the sun riseth first, the beams over-gild the tops of green mountains that look toward the east, and the world cannot hinder the sun to rise: some are so near heaven, that the everlasting Sun hath begun to make an everlasting day of glory on them; the rays that come from his face that sits on the throne, so over-goldeth the soul, that there is no possibility of clouding peace, or of hindering daylight in the souls of such.

Now I will bless the Lord that ever there was such a thing as the free grace of God, and a free ransom given for sold souls; only, alas! guiltiness maketh me ashamed to apply to Christ, and to think it pride in me to put out my unclean and withered hand to such a Saviour! But it is neither shame nor pride for a drowning man to swim to a rock, nor for a ship-broken soul to run himself ashore upon Christ. We

Alas, that we should love by measure and weight, and not rather have floods and feasts of Christ's love! O, that Christ would break down the old narrow vessels of these narrow and ebb souls, and make fair, deep, wide, and broad souls, to hold a sea and a full tide, flowing over all its banks of Christ's love.

Let Christ's love bear most court in your soul, and that court will bear down the love of other things. Christ chargeth me to believe His daylight at midnight.

Go where ye will, your soul shall not sleep sound but in Christ's bosom.

The poet, described in ideal perfection, brings the whole soul of man into activity, with the subordination of its faculties to each other, according to their relative worth and dignity. He diffuses a tone and spirit of unity, that blends, and (as it were) fuses, each into each, by that synthetic and magical power… imagination.

And what if all of animated natureBe but organic harps diversely fram'd,That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweepsPlastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

O the one life within us and abroad,Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere—Methinks, it should have been impossibleNot to love all things in a world so filled.

O Wedding Guest! This soul hath beenAlone on a wide wide sea:So lonely 'twas, that God himselfScarce seemèd there to be.

If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awoke—Ay!—and what then?

The path to perceiving his disorder in all its destruction is littered with the remains of her mind and soul.

Love where there is no reason to love