Pierces Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
the-tongue-pierces-deeper-than-the-spear
even-in-depths-darkest-oceans-some-light-always-pierces-through-myself
night-pierces-my-bones-my-gnawing-pains-never-rest-job-3017
the-censors-sword-pierces-deeply-into-heart-free-expression-earl-warren
fear-is-needle-that-pierces-us-that-it-may-carry-thread-to-bind-us-to-heaven-james-hastings
though-he-flees-from-iron-weapon-bronzetipped-arrow-pierces-him-job-2024
ingratitude-never-thoroughly-pierces-human-breast-as-when-it-proceeds-from-those-in-whose-behalf-we-have-been-guilty-transgressions-henry-fielding
his-archers-surround-me-without-pity-he-pierces-my-kidneys-spills-my-gall-on-ground-job-1613
the-nerve-which-controls-pen-winds-itself-about-every-fibre-our-being-threads-heart-pierces-liver-virginia-woolf
till-arrow-pierces-his-liver-like-bird-darting-into-snare-little-knowing-it-will-cost-him-his-life-proverbs-723
do-not-keep-company-with-fool-for-as-we-can-see-he-is-twolegged-beast-like-unseen-thorn-he-pierces-heart-with-his-sharp-words-chanakya
no-education-deserves-name-unless-it-develops-thought-unless-it-pierces-down-to-mysterious-spiritual-principle-mind-starts-that-into-activity-edwin-percy-whipple
the-greatest-gift-you-can-give-to-those-around-you-is-honesty-sometimes-honest-words-may-sting-the-heart-but-dishonesty-pierces-deep-into-the-soul
a-violent-act-pierces-atmosphere-leaving-hole-through-which-cold-damp-draft-its-memory-blows-forever-jane-stanton-hitchcock
there-is-phantom-that-flies-with-banshees-it-strangles-throat-pierces-heart-consumes-body-with-pain-that-only-time-tears-can-expel-susan-denning
for-it-would-seem-her-case-proved-it-that-we-write-not-with-fingers-but-with-whole-person-the-nerve-which-controls-pen-winds-itself-about-every-fibre-our-being-threads-heart-pier
shaman-is-spiritual-shuttle-between-three-realms-existence-heaven-mankind-earth-he-pierces-through-interdimensional-veils-in-order-to-heal-parts-unite-whole-lada-ray
death-never-pierces-heart-much-as-when-it-takes-someone-we-love-cleaving-heart-they-held-with-their-passing-brandon-m-herbert
the-common-eye-sees-only-outside-things-judges-by-that-but-seeing-eye-pierces-through-reads-heart-soul-mark-twain
when-arrow-sadness-pierces-your-heartdont-be-worried-istead-be-happy-that-arrow-is-not-poisoned-prabha
the-common-eye-sees-only-the-outside-of-things-and-sadly-judges-by-that-but-the-loving-eye-pierces-through-and-reads-the-heart-and-the-soul
look-now-you-are-depending-on-egypt-that-splintered-reed-staff-which-pierces-mans-hand-wounds-him-if-he-leans-on-it-such-is-pharaoh-king-egypt-to-isaiah-366
we-are-not-saved-by-feelings-sorrow-over-jesus-death-we-are-saved-when-word-god-pierces-our-hearts-hebrews-412-when-we-are-convicted-our-sins-r-l-hymers
the-passing-time-is-painful-i-have-lost-art-moving-simply-naturally-within-it-i-am-swept-back-against-its-flow-angry-vindictive-it-pierces-me-all-time-all-time-with-its-spikes-da
swag-defines-artist-period-lil-wayne-has-his-supertattooed-pierces-dreads-swag-jayz-has-his-new-york-grown-man-beyonce-4040-club-swag-soulja-boy
prayer-as-it-comes-from-saint-is-weak-languid-but-when-arrow-saints-prayer-is-put-into-bow-christs-intercession-it-pierces-throne-grace-thomas-watson
fate-is-woman-i-said-to-them-in-fact-she-is-three-women-young-like-us-that-they-will-have-courage-to-be-cruel-having-no-weight-memory-to-teach-temperance-young-but-old-older-than
Uexke¼ll begins by carefully distinguishing the Umgebung, the objective space in which we see a living being moving, from the Umwelt, the environment-world that is constituted by a more or less broad series of elements that he calls 'carriers of significance' (Bedeutungstre¤ger) or of 'marks' (Merkmaltre¤ger), which are the only things that interest the animal. In reality, the Umgebung is our own Umwelt, to which Uexke¼ll does not attribute any particular privilege and which, as such, can also vary according to the point of view from which we observe it. There does not exist a forest as an objectively fixed environment: there exists a forest-forthe-park-ranger, a forest-for-the-hunter, a forest-for-the-botanist, a forest-for-the-wayfarer, a forest-for-the-nature-lover, a forest-forthe-carpenter, and finally a fable forest in which Little Red Riding Hood loses her way. Even a minimal detail-for example, the stem of a wildflower-when considered as a carrier of significance, constitutes a different element each time it is in a different environment, depending on whether, for example, it is observed in the environment of a girl picking flowers for a bouquet to pin to her corset, in that of an ant for whom it is an ideal way to reach its nourishment in the flower's calyx, in that of the larva of a cicada who pierces its medullary canal and uses it as a pump to construct the fluid parts of its elevated cocoon, or finally in that of the cow who simply chews and swallows it as food.

Giorgio Agamben
uexkell-begins-by-carefully-distinguishing-umgebung-objective-space-in-which-we-see-living-being-moving-from-umwelt-environmentworld-that-is-constituted-by-more-less-broad-series
I'd like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel. A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, 'God... help me!' The next thing she remembers-just as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness-was a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant's lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God's angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. 'You probably shouldn't be walking through here this late at night, ' was all he said as he turned away. 'Wait! What's your name?' she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground. All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, 'Bob's as good as any... ' An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple 'no' on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God.

Michael Brent Jones
id-like-to-share-with-you-parable-parable-bob-angel-a-girl-was-walking-down-darkly-lit-city-street-late-at-night-a-man-jumped-out-from-shadows-attacked-her-suddenly-she-was-suffo
LITTLE BOY WAR He stands alone On a vacant road, Hands shaking from the cold. His heart is aching from the untold. Under his right arm Is a tattered bag, Which he holds tightly As if it were filled with gold. He's just six, Going on seven. And it's past ten, Going on eleven. He takes another toke From his cowboy smoke, And wishes he too Could have died with his brother And taken the ride to Heaven. His tummy rumbles and grumbles. He feels faint and tries hard not to stumble. His eyes scream with muted cries, Too loud for his tired soul to conjure enough energy To even mumble. Little kid scared, Alone in the middle of a war zone somewhere, Past curfew and without a clue As to what to do or to go where. He is just standing there with A shark's glazed and Lifeless stare. And yet, His eyes reveal a whirlpool of disaster, Just another tragic kid Who can't help growing up any faster. The streets are dark and it's just him, Standing in the shadow of a blinking ATM. He now thinks of his worn mother, And how she once took his torn shirt And lovingly sewn its hem back together. He never understood Why she had always told him: 'Buckle your sandals!' She used to call, 'Buckle them good So you walk right and Stand taller than them all!' So why did he feel so small? And why does he feel like he's about to fall? He kicks his little sandals At the sand Trying to understand What Uncle Sam And his freedom plan Had done to his once beautiful land. Babylon is crashing. In front of him, memories are flashing - Rubble, ash, blood, and dust, An empire once fueled with beauty and gust Now buried under artillery, bones, and rust. In the corner of his eye, He sees a tank suddenly appear He tries to focus on its lights Like a lost and rampant deer Then that chilling electric sound Cuts and pierces through his ears The tank stops. A lady emerges from its top, And examines the boy and sneers. She asks him what he is doing outside by himself And warns him that there are now new rules That all must adhere. But Little Boy War Glares without A drip of fear. He swings his precious bag high up in the air And cries: 'I'm not alone! Look! My mother is in here!' I watched from a distance Then turn away to disappear My heart felt like a cold rock And I couldn't control my tears. Behind my back And in my mind The little boy's Words echo forever So loud And clear: 'In here and always near. Her hands and heart are right here!

Suzy Kassem
little-boy-war-he-stands-alone-on-vacant-road-hands-shaking-from-cold-his-heart-is-aching-from-untold-under-his-right-arm-is-tattered-bag-which-he-holds-tightly-as-if-it-were-fil
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