Inspirational quotes with mary.
Because," explained Mary Rommely simply, "the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out by believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. I, myself, even in this day and at my age, have great need of recalling the miraculous lives of the Saints and the great miracles that have come to pass on earth. Only by having these things in my mind can I live beyond what I have to live for.
When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,speaking words of wisdom, let it be.And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,speaking words of wisdom, let it be.Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,there will be an answer, let it be.For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,there will be an answer. let it be.Let it be, let it be, .....And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,shine until tomorrow, let it be.I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,speaking words of wisdom, let it be.Let it be, let it be, .....
Mary-Lynnette: "You have not read 'Pride and Prejudice'."Ash: "Why not?"Mary-Lynnette: "Because Jane Austen was a human."Ash: "How do you know?"Mary-Lynnette: "Well Jane Austen was a woman, and you're a chauvinist pig."Ash: "Yes, well, that I can't argue.
Mary had a little lamb, its fleece electrostatic / And everywhere Mary went, the lights became erratic.
We need to gather everyone we can.Damien scoffed. Uh, boss, hate to be a pall, but I think everyone we can gather is currently in this room.Sin paused to look at Simi, Xirena, Damien, Kat, Kish, and Xypher. It was a pitiful number of defenders. But it was all the world had. In that case, we need to seriously arm ourselves.Damien crossed himself. Hail Mary, full of grace-What are you doing? Kish asked. You're not Catholic.Yeah but I'm feeling really religious all of a sudden and it seemed like a good idea.
You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination.”“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”“You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right.
He said focus. The word focus. I hear angels singing. Everything goes dark except for a light that beams down on Sean. It is a God-given sign- like when people see the Virgin Mary in their grilled cheese, except this isn't religious and I'm actually not a big fan of dairy. I stare at the back of his head. His HEAD. Something I see every day but never really see because it's been there forever. Since the first day of third grade.I crumple up my web. I don't need it. Praise be, the Focus Gods have spoken.I am going to write about Sean Griswold's Head.
The nativity mystery “conceived from the Holy Spirit and born from the Virgin Mary”, means, that God became human, truly human out of his own grace. The miracle of the existence of Jesus , his “climbing down of God” is: Holy Spirit and Virgin Mary! Here is a human being, the Virgin Mary, and as he comes from God, Jesus comes also from this human being. Born of the Virgin Mary means a human origin for God. Jesus Christ is not only truly God, he is human like every one of us. He is human without limitation. He is not only similar to us, he is like us.
Her (Mary's) Son first had to be the Child of the Father in order then to become man and be capable of taking up on his shoulders the burden of a guilty world.
Mary thus learns that the Most High has ever borne a Son in his bosom, and that this Son has now chosen her bosom as dwelling-place.
Never get into a pissin' contest with a skunk." Mary Jo R.
I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this wanderlust, and I’m content with dedicating my life to failing to sate it... He’s never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
Mary approaches her before she is able to reach her station. "Hello Lily. Get anything special for Christmas?""Just the usual." She answers. "Shattered dreams.
I don't know who he was," Kavita flat-out states, "but whoever he was he sure did a number on you, didn't he?"Mary leans forward to ensure he would see her deviant stare. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I did a number on him?"Kavita leans in closer as well, and with that same deviant expression, "Yes. I have.
The white lily stands for purity. Artists for centuries have pictured the angel Gabriel coming to the virgin Mary with a spray of lillies in his hand, to announce that she is to be the mother of the Turks.
For a long moment, he held her gaze without speaking, simply letting the impact of words sink in, before adding rapidly, as though he wished to get it over with as quickly as possible, "I won't deny that you're beautiful. No mirror could tell you otherwise. But there are beautiful women for the buying in any brothel in London. Oh yes, and the ballrooms, too, if one has the proper price. It wasn't your appearance that caught me. It was the way you put me down in the gallery at Sibley Court." Vaughn's lips curved in a reminiscent smile. "And the way you tried to bargain with me after." bargained," Mary corrected."That," replied Lord Vaughn, "is exactly what I mean. Has anyone ever told you that you haggle divinely? That the simple beauty of your self-interest is enough to bring a man to his knees?"Mary couldn't in honesty say that anyone had.Vaughn's eyes were as hard and bright as silver coins. "Those are the reasons I want you. I want you for your cunning mind and your hard heart, for your indomitable spirit and your scheming soul, for they're more honest by far than any of the so-called virtues.""The truest poetry is the most feigning?" Mary quoted back his own words to him."And the most feigning is the most true.
It is possible,” said Miss Marling stiffly, “that Frederick and not Mary will have the ordering of thejourney.”Vidal chuckled. “Not if I know my Mary,” he replied
Then, in spite of everything, he began to smile. So much of his existence in Everlost had been full of despair. Despair, and a fear of losing what he had. But Allie was not lost, she was just there across the river, waiting for him to find her. Nick was not lost either--not entirely.It was then that Mikey McGill realized something. It must have been his sister who first called this place Everlost, because by naming it so, it stripped away all hope except for a faith in her, and the "safety" she could provide. Well, Mary was wrong on all counts, because nothing in Everlost was lost forever, if one had the courage to search for it.Mikey held tightly on to this shining truth as he and the golem sunk into the earth. Then with all the force of his heart, his mind, and his soul, Mikey McGill began to dig.
We must look to Mary's example to know how to deal with the glorious impossibilities of God. Look how she turned the world upside down by making one simple statement ...
Paul gives us an astonishing understanding of waiting in the New Testament book of Romans, as rendered by Eugene Peterson, 'Waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don't see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.' With such motivation, we can wait as we sense God is indeed with us, and at work within us, as he was with Mary as the child within her grew.
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die..
Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,I had not thought death had undone so many.Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stock of nine.There I saw one I knew, and stopped him crying: 'Stetson!You, who were with me in the ships at Mylae!That corpse you planted last year in your garden,Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frere!
It came to Mary now that her mother had been right, after all; Mary had been born for this. In sixteen years she'd shot along the shortest route she could find between life and death, as the crow flew.
If you read Scarlett Avery, you know it's an awesome read! - Mary Johnston
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.Tell me why you loved them,then tell me why they loved you.Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.Tell me what the word home means to youand tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s namejust by the way you describe your bedroomwhen you were eight.See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.Do you prefer to play in puddles of rainor bounce in the bellies of snow?And if you were to build a snowman,would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman armsor would leave your snowman armlessfor the sake of being harmless to the tree?And if you would,would you notice how that tree weeps for youbecause your snowman has no arms to hug youevery time you kiss him on the cheek?Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?Do you sleep beside them when they’re sadeven if it makes your lover mad?Do you think that anger is a sincere emotionor just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joywhen she spoke it for the very first time.I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years oldbeating up little boys at school.If you were walking by a chemical plantwhere smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black cloudswould you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loudor would you whisper“That cloud looks like a fish,and that cloud looks like a fairy!”Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?See, I wanna know if you believe in any godor if you believe in many godsor better yetwhat gods believe in you.And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,have the prayers you asked come true?And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?And if you felt denied,denied by who?I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirroron a day you’re feeling good.I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirroron a day you’re feeling bad.I wanna know the first person who taught you your beautycould ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.If you ever reach enlightenmentwill you remember how to laugh?Have you ever been a song?Would you think less of meif I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetryI just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around mewho have learned the wisdom of silence.Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?And if you do —I want you to tell me of a meadowwhere my skateboard will soar.See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.I wanna know if you bleed sometimesfrom other people’s wounds,and if you dream sometimesthat this life is just a balloon —that if you wanted to, you could pop,but you never would‘cause you’d never want it to stop.If a tree fell in the forestand you were the only one there to hear —if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?And lastly, let me ask you this:If you and I went for a walkand the entire walk, we didn’t talk —do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?No, wait.That’s asking too much —after all,this is only our first date.
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