Quotes
Quotes about Sin
Death does determine life. Once life is finished it acquires a sense; up to that point it has not got a sense; its sense is suspended and therefore ambiguous. However, to be sincere I must add that for me death is important only if it is not justified and rationalized by reason. For me death is the maximum of epicness and death.
People of substance may sin without being exposed for their stolen pleasure; but servants and the poorer sort of women have seldom an opportunity of concealing a big belly, or at least the consequences of it.
I'm not a combative person. My long experience has taught me to resolve conflict by raising the issues before I or others burn their boats.
Christ didn't waste his time trying to change the social order. Christ spent all his time fighting sin. Therefore it behooves the witnesses of Christ to say that we do not have to abolish capitalism and establish socialism or communism, that sin can flourish under those systems as well. Christianity is not opposed to any social order, but to sin.
SIN: Self-Inflicted Nonsense.
Sin in this country has been always said to be rather calculating than impulsive.
Sin brought death, and death will disappear with the disappearance of sin.
For God's sake, if you sin, take pleasure in it, and do it for the pleasure...
Depression moods lead, almost invariably, to accidents. But, when they occur, our mood changes again, since the accident shows we can draw the world in our wake, and that we still retain some degree of power even when our spirits are low. A series of accidents creates a positively light-hearted state, out of consideration for this strange power.
Most fear stems from sin; to limit one's sins, one must assuredly limit one's fear, thereby bringing more peace to one's spirit.
Be angry, and yet do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger. [Ephesians 4:26].
But if you will not do so, behold, you have sinned against the Lord, and be sure your sin will find you out. [Numb!2:23].
God does not treat us as our sins deserve, man treats us as our sins deserve.
Losing doesn't eat at me the way it used to. I just get ready for the next play, the next game, the next season.
The art of losing isn't hard to masters; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
If you are planning on doing business with someone again, don't be too tough in the negotiations. If you're going to skin a cat, don't keep it as a house cat.
"If you don't mind me asking," came the bell-like tones of the Golden Diana, "I'd like to know where you got that City Hall brogue. I did not know that Liberty was necessarily Irish." "If ye'd studied the history of art in its foreign complications, ye'd not need ask," replied Mrs. Liberty, "If ye wasn't so light and giddy ye'd know that I was made by a Dago and presented to the American people on behalf of the French Government for the purpose of welcomin' Irish immigrants into the Dutch city of New York. 'Tis that I've been doing night and day since I was erected."
If there ever was an aviary overstocked with jays it is that Yaptown-on-the-Hudson, call New York. Cosmopolitan they call it, you bet. So's a piece of fly-paper. You listen close when they're buzzing and trying to pull their feet out of the sticky stuff. "Little old New York's good enough for us"--that's what they sing.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office, and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.
But we that have but span-long life, The thicker must lay on the pleasure; And since time will not stay, We'll add night to the day, Thus, thus we'll fill the measure.
The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with the sense of the triumphing night,-- Night with train of stars And her great gift of sleep.
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Of winter's past or coming void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers.
Like a wedding-song all-melting Sings the nightingale, the dear one.
Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.
