God did not call the qualified to serve Him: instead He qualified the called.
inspirational serve call god christian
Nobody can understand the greatness of the thirteenth century, who does not realize that it was a great growth of new things produced by a living thing. In that sense it was really bolder and freer than what we call the renaissance, which was a resurrection of old things discovered in a dead thing.. And the Gospel according to St. Thomas.. Was a new thrust like the titanic thrust of Gothic engineering; and its strength was in a God that makes all things new.
architecture culture strength growth greatness history sense resurrection gospel living civilization europe gothic understand dead things call renaissance great titanic realize engineering god thing thomas
In some cases, I am able to respect what so many call bigots. Such people have a more solid foundation for drawing their lines when it comes to the security of their ways and quite possibly the security of mankind. They rely on something that has worked to get man this far without placing ideals blindly driven by emotion first; they have a sure line and they say, 'No.' That, in a sense, is something I find to be highly respectable.
culture belief emotions philosophy man people honesty sense security conviction respect mankind intolerance tolerance drawing find emotion bigotry honest call certainty foundation ideals
You can't have living without dying. So you can't call it living, what we got. We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road.
life death living road call dying
I know, too, that death is the only god who comes when you call.
mythology death gods suicide call god
Death is nothing at all,I have only slipped into the next roomI am I and you are youWhatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, Speak to me in the easy way which you always usedPut no difference in your tone, Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrowLaugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household world that it always was, Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, Just around the corner. All is well.
life mind death world smile pray difference play shadow jokes waiting speak air call easy effect sight solemnity
Oh, the torment bred in the race, the grinding scream of deathand the stroke that hits the vein, the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief, the curse no man can bear. But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth. Now hear, you blissful powers underground --answer the call, send help. Bless the children, give them triumph now.
race man death children earth dark gods grief triumph call sing curse hear torment cure house scream give bear
It was the nature of his profession that his experience with death should be greater than for most and he said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift.
extinction nature death time memory names true experience sorrow gift bereavement speak place die call voices faces profession greater
If you want to call it that. But it is a very specific sort of magic. There's a magic you take from death. Something leaves the world, something else comes into it.
magic death world call
Call no man happy, said Shadow, until he is dead
man death happiness happy shadow dead call american-gods
Ten years, she's dead, and I still find myself some mornings reaching for the phone to call her. She could no more be gone than gravity or the moon.
death loss moon grief find dead call phone mornings gravity
I used to love youI still doSo SelfishI love the old youThe you that didnt shoot drugs.. The you that didnt get beat on by menYou laugh in my face and call me a foolBut its trueI still love youSometimes,I can see the old youWhen your eyes flashWhen you almost look alive
death drugs eyes laugh face alive call beat love
My peak? Would I even have one? I hardly had had anything you could call a life. A few ripples. Some rises and falls. But that's it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I'd loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly plain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.
life death game falling call born certainty rising nothing landscape video-games
And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. Like certain ancient frescoes entombed for centuries suddenly exposed to the day.
dreams death color ancient dawn day call waking cold rich ash
Dying is an art. Like everything else,I do it exceptionally well.I do it so it feels like hell.I do it so it feels real.I guess you could say I have a call.
death art real hell call dying
Death, my son, is a good thing for all men; it is the night for this worried day that we call life. It is in the sleep of death that finds rest for eternity the sickness, pain, desperation, and the fears that agitate, without end, we unhappy living souls.
sleep pain life pessimism men death rest living eternity good fears night end day sickness son call desperation unhappy souls thing
Now every mortal has painand sweat is constant, but if there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me. We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing(whatever it is) that glitters on the earth--we call it life. We know no other. The underworld's a blankand all the rest just fantasy.
life death rest fantasy humans living dark mortality alive call love thing sweat
Birth and death - what could be more monstrous than that? We like to deceive ourselves and call it wondrous and beautiful and majestic, but it's freakish, let's face it.
birth death beautiful face call
Embryos think with each stage of their development that they have now reached the only condition that really suits them. This, they say, must certainly be their last, inasmuch as its close will be so great a shock that nothing can survive it. Every change is a shock; every shock is a pro tanto death. What we call death is only a shock great enough to destroy our power to recognize a past and a present as resembling one another.
change power death past present development survive shock call stage great close destroy
There are moments of despair that come sometimes, when night sets in and a white fog presses against the windows. Then our house changes its shape, rears up and becomes a place of despair. Then fear and rage run simply--and the thought of Death as a friend. This is the simplest of thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god.
death thought fear rage thoughts moments night despair friend place call run white house god windows
When God issues a call to us, it is always a holy call. The vocation of dying is a sacred vocation. To understand that is one of the most important lessons a Christian can ever learn. When the summons comes, we can respond in many ways. We can become angry, bitter or terrified. But if we see it as a call from God and not a threat from Satan, we are far more prepared to cope with its difficulties.
difficulties death gospel fear angry lessons learn tragedy vocation bitter satan understand issues call sacred dying important providence threat holy god christian
Please, please, help me grow to be like them, the ones'll soon be here, who never grow old, can't die, that's what they say, can't die, no matter what, or maybe they died a long time ago but Cecy calls, and Mother and Father call, and Grandmere who only whispers, and now they're coming and I'm nothing, not like them who pass through walls and live in trees or live underneath until seventeen-year rains flood them up and out, and the ones who run in packs, let me be the one! If they live forever, why not me?
death time live mother autumn trees grow forever matter die call father run flood walls halloween
The universal pervasion of ugliness, hideous landscapes, vile noises, foul language.. Everything. Unnatural, broken, blasted; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth. In poetry we call them the most glorious.
poetry death war language earth night day broken distortion bodies dead call universal ugliness horror
How wicked it would be, if we could, to call the dead back! She said not to me but to the chaplain, 'I am at peace with God.' She smiled, but not at me. Poi si torno all' eterna fontana.
peace death heaven loved-ones dead call wicked god
There comes a time in a man's life when he hears the call of the sea. If the man has a brain in his head, he will hang up the phone immediately.
funny humor life men pirates brain call phone sea
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