Saints Quotes

Quotes tagged as "saints" Showing 1-30 of 204
Aphra Behn
“There is no sinner like a young saint.”
Aphra Behn

Nelson Mandela
“I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying.”
Nelson Mandela

Criss Jami
“Telling an introvert to go to a party is like telling a saint to go to Hell.”
Criss Jami, Killosophy

Ayn Rand
“Don't fool yourself, my dear. You're much worse than a bitch. You're a saint. Which shows why saints are dangerous and undesirable.”
Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

Søren Kierkegaard
“God creates out of nothing. Wonderful you say. Yes, to be sure, but he does what is still more wonderful: he makes saints out of sinners.”
Soren Kierkegaard, The Journals of Kierkegaard

Leigh Bardugo
“You know the problem with heroes and saints, Nikolai?” I asked as I closed the book’s cover and headed for the door. “They always end up dead.”
Leigh Bardugo, Siege and Storm

Billy Joel
“I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.”
Billy Joel

Elizabeth Gilbert
“[Saint Anthony] said, in his solitude, he sometimes encountered devils who looked like angels, and other times he found angels who looked like devils. When asked how he could tell the difference, the saint said that you can only tell which is which by the way you feel after the creature has left your company.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Anne Sexton
“Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.”
Anne Sexton

Marie Lu
“None of us are saints. We can all do better.”
Marie Lu, The Midnight Star

Francis of Assisi
“Sanctify yourself and you will sanctify society.”
Francis Of Assisi

J.R.R. Tolkien
“the most improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien

Rachel Vincent
“...the dead have a way of becoming saints in the eyes of their survivors...”
Rachel Vincent, My Soul to Take

Leigh Bardugo
“He made himself refocus on Inej's feet. "Saints," he said.
Inej grimaced. "That bad?"
"No, you just have really ugly feet."
"Ugly feet that got you on this roof.”
Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows

Diana Gabaldon
“What's that you're doing, Sassenach?"

"Making out little Gizmo's birth certificate--so far as I can," I added.

"Gizmo?" he said doubtfully. "That will be a saint's name?"

"I shouldn't think so, though you never know, what with people named Pantaleon and Onuphrius. Or Ferreolus."

"Ferreolus? I dinna think I ken that one." He leaned back, hands linked over his knee.

"One of my favorites," I told him, carefully filling in the birthdate and time of birth--even that was an estimate, poor thing. There were precisely two bits of unequivocal information on this birth certificate--the date and the name of the doctor who's delivered him.

"Ferreolus," I went on with some new enjoyment, "is the patron saint of sick poultry. Christian martyr. He was a Roman tribune and a secret Christian. Having been found out, he was chained up in the prison cesspool to await trial--I suppose the cells must have been full. Sounds rather daredevil; he slipped his chains and escaped through the sewer. They caught up with him, though, dragged him back and beheaded him."

Jamie looked blank.

"What has that got to do wi' chickens?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. Take it up with the Vatican," I advised him.

"Mmphm. Aye, well, I've always been fond of Saint Guignole, myself." I could see the glint in his eye, but couldn't resist.

"And what's he the patron of?"

"He's involved against impotence." The glint got stronger. "I saw a statue of him in Brest once; they did say it had been there for a thousand years. 'Twas a miraculous statue--it had a cock like a gun muzzle, and--"

"A what?"

"Well, the size wasna the miraculous bit," he said, waving me to silence. "Or not quite. The townsfolk say that for a thousand years, folk have whittled away bits of it as holy relics, and yet the cock is still as big as ever." He grinned at me. "They do say that a man w' a bit of St. Guignole in his pocket can last a night and a day without tiring."

"Not with the same woman, I don't imagine," I said dryly. "It does rather make you wonder what he did to merit sainthood, though, doesn't it?"

He laughed.

"Any man who's had his prayer answered could tell yet that, Sassenach."
(PP. 841-842)”
Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn

George Eliot
“Saints and martyrs had never interested Maggie so much as sages and poets.”
George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss

Augustine of Hippo
“The peace of the celestial city is the perfectly ordered and harmonious enjoyment of God, and of one another in God. (City of God, Book 19)”
St. Augustine of Hippo

Elbert Hubbard
“Every saint has a bee in his halo.”
Elbert Hubbard

Karl Marx
“It is well known how the monks wrote silly lives of Catholic Saints over the manuscripts on which the classical works of ancient heathendom had been written.”
Karl Marx

Peter Kreeft
“The saints, too, had wandering minds. The saints, too, had constantly to recall their constantly wandering mind-child home. They became saints because they continued to go after the little wanderer, like the Good Shepherd.”
Peter Kreeft, Prayer For Beginners

George Orwell
“Many people genuinely do not wish to be saints, and it is possible that some who achieve or aspire to sainthood have never had much temptation to be human beings.”
George Orwell

Sorin Cerin
“Saints are those who managed to love more than we did.”
Sorin Cerin, Wisdom Collection: The Book of Wisdom

W. Somerset Maugham
“Only the poet or the saint can water an asphalt pavement in the confident anticipation that lilies will reward his labour.”
Somerset maugham, The Moon And Sixpence

Emil M. Cioran
“It is no sign of benediction to have been obsessed with the lives of saints, for it is an obsession intertwined with a taste for maladies and hunger for depravities. One only troubles oneself with saints because one has been disappointed by the paradoxes of earthly life; one therefore searches out other paradoxes, more outlandish in guise, redolent of unknown truths, unknown perfumes...”
Emil Cioran

China Miéville
“We would never call inexplicable little insights 'hunches,' for fear of drawing the universe's attention. But they happened, and you knew you had been in the proximity of one that had come through if you saw a detective kiss his or her fingers and touch his or her chest where a pendant to Warsha, patron saint of inexplicable inspirations, would, theoretically, hang.”
China Miéville, The City & the City

“There is a bench in the back of my garden shaded by Virginia creeper, climbing roses, and a white pine where I sit early in the morning and watch the action. Light blue bells of a dwarf campanula drift over the rock garden just before my eyes. Behind it, a three-foot stand of aconite is flowering now, each dark blue cowl-like corolla bowed for worship or intrigue: thus its common name, monkshood. Next to the aconite, black madonna lilies with their seductive Easter scent are just coming into bloom. At the back of the garden, a hollow log, used in its glory days for a base to split kindling, now spills white cascade petunias and lobelia.

I can't get enough of watching the bees and trying to imagine how they experience the abundance of, say, a blue campanula blosssom, the dizzy light pulsing, every fiber of being immersed in the flower. ...

Last night, after a day in the garden, I asked Robin to explain (again) photosynthesis to me. I can't take in this business of _eating light_ and turning it into stem and thorn and flower...

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden. Maybe I would call it eating light. Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice: _apophatic mysticism_, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and _kataphatic mysticism_, less well defined: an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation. Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole, a kataphatic mystic, as was Thérèse of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts: but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles. Francis and Thérèse were made, really made, any mother superior will let you know, in the dark nights of their lives: no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms.

When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period, my grandmother took me aside and said, 'Now your childhood is over. You will never really be happy again.' That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.”
Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd

Mario Puzo
“We hope someday to be saints, but not martyrs”
Mario Puzo, The Last Don

Sai Marie Johnson
“Try your best to be a saint and see how far you'll fall.”
Sai Marie Johnson

Carolina Maria de Jesus
“Why is it that the saints of June are honored with fire?”
Carolina Maria de Jesus, Child of the Dark: The Diary of Carolina Maria de Jesus
tags: saints

Rashad Harrison
“I used to wonder how a man working for the saintly organization of the saintly Dr. King could find himself in such a sinful place. But I'm no saint although I'm a good Christian, and even the best Christians are more familiar with sinners than saints.”
Rashad Harrison, Our Man in the Dark: A Novel

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