I know about sureness, ' said Didactylos. 'I remember, before I was blind, I went to Omnia once. And in your Citadel I saw a crowd stoning a man to death in a pit. Ever seen that?' 'It has to be done, ' Brutha mumbled. 'So the soul can be shriven and-' 'Don't know about the soul. Never been that kind of philosopher, ' said Didactylos. 'All I know is, it was a horrible sight.' 'The state of the body is not-' 'Oh, I'm not talking about the poor bugger in the pit, ' said the philosopher. 'I'm talking about the people throwing the stones. They were sure all right. They were sure it wasn't them in the pit. You could see it in their faces. So glad it wan't them in the pit that they were throwing just as hard as they could.
It is our wisest and our safest course to stand at the farthest distance from sin; not to go near the house of the harlot, but to fly from all appearance of evil (Prov. 5:8, I Thess. 5:22). The best course to prevent falling into the pit is to keep at the greatest distance; he that will be so bold as to attempt to dance upon the brink of the pit, may find by woeful experience that it is a righteous thing with God that he should fall into the pit.
All dogs can become aggressive, but the difference between an aggressive Chihuahua and an aggressive pit bull is that the pit bull can do more damage. That's why it's important to make sure you are a hundred percent ready for the responsibility if you own a 'power' breed, like a pit bull, German shepherd, or Rottweiler.
You should feel good about yourself. Don't get down in a pit all about yourself, and how much you suck. 'Cause that rubbish ain't true. There's a reason you're the way you are, and who knows, anything can happen to anybody, so, never go down in the pit, and, if you do, you better get yourself poor self out of there, RIGHT AWAY.
And what is hell? Can you tell me that?' 'A pit full of fire.' 'And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?' 'No, sir.' 'What must you do to avoid it?' I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: 'I must keep in good health, and not die.
You never hear about a pit bull doing anything good in the media. And they have a stigma to them... and, in many ways, pit bulls are like young African-American males. Whenever you see us in the news, it's for getting shot and killed or shooting and killing somebody - for being a stereotype.
And while one is brought up with luxury and caresses, and is thrown bewildered and despairing into a dark pit, another is lifted from the pit and raised to a throne where a jeweled crown is placed on his head. The world has no shame in doing this; it is prompt to hand out both pleasure and pain and has no need of us an our doings.
And if she liked and trusted the person who asked, she would add that yes, it was kind of a lot to deal with: her outward affect was bright and capable, and that was no illusion, but equally real was the yawning pit of exhaustion inside her. She just felt so tired sometimes. And because of everything her parents asked of her, she was ashamed of being tired. She could not, would not let the pit swallow her up, as much as she sometimes wanted it to.
How can I explain this? Why is it you can never hope to describe the emotion Africa creates? You are lifted. Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and you see it all from above. Your pit, your ties, your fear. you are lifted, you slowly rise like a hot-air balloon, and all you see is the space and the endless possibilities for losing yourself in it.
It is false to speak of realisation. What is there to realise? The real is as it is always. We are not creating anything new or achieving something which we did not have before. The illustration given in books is this. We dig a well and create a huge pit. The space in the pit or well has not been created by us. We have just removed the earth which was filling the space there. The space was there then and is also there now. Similarly we have simply to throw out all the age-long samskaras [innate tendencies] which are inside us. When all of them have been given up, the Self will shine alone.
No sight so sad as that of a naughty child, " he began, "especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?" "They go to hell, " was my ready and orthodox answer. "And what is hell? Can you tell me that?" "A pit full of fire." "And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?" "No, sir." "What must you do to avoid it?" I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come was objectionable: "I must keep in good health and not die.
The pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive the wicked: the flames do now rage and glow. The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much in the same way as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect, abhors you and is dreadfully provoked...He will trample them beneath His feet with inexpressible fierceness; He will crush their blood out, and will make it fly, so that it will sprinkle His garment and stain all His raiment.
LITTLE BROTHER PLAYS IN THE FRONT YARD GYM HE ONLY THINKS, JIM'S TOO QUICK HE STANDS 5 FOOT 2, NICKNAME SLIM MOTHERFUCKER THINKS HE'S 6 FOOT 10 NEVER SEEN A YOUNG MAN ACT SO TOUGH NEVER SEE A FROWN DROWN PUT ANOTHER PIT BACK IN HIS CUP YOU KNOW IT'S A FUCKING PARTY WHEN THEY COASTER DOWN I KNOW A LITTLE SOMETHING ABOUT GETTING HIGH I KNOW A LITTLE SOMETHING ABOUT GETTING DRUNK YOU FUCK WITH THE WOLFPACK AND EVERYBODY CRIES SO GO JUMP IN THE PIT IF YOU'RE FEELING LUCKY PUNK
Yelawolf & Travis Barker
How would it be, ' said Pooh slowly, 'if, as soon as we're out of sight of this Pit, we try to find it again?' 'What's the good of that?' said Rabbit. 'Well, ' said Pooh, 'we keep looking for Home and not finding it, so I thought that if we looked for this Pit, we'd be sure not to find it, which would be a Good Thing, because then we might find something that we weren't looking for, which might be just what we were looking for, really.' 'I don't see much sense in that, ' said Rabbit. 'No, ' said Pooh humbly, 'there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it on the way.
Remember when you fell out of that tree on the farm when you were ten, and broke your arm? Remember how he made them let him ride with you in the ambulance on the way to the hospital? He kicked and yelled till they gave in." "You laughed," said Clary, remembering, "and my mom hit you in the shoulder." "It was hard not to laugh. Determination like that in a 10-year-old is something to see. He was like a pit bull." "If pit bulls wore glasses and were allergic to ragweed." -Luke and Clary talking about Simon, pg.211-
Thy designs are a bottomless pit. How can I descend into this pit to examine it? Thou lookest thousands of years into the future and then Thou judgest. What today seems an injustice to man's minute brain becomes, thousands of years hence, the mother of man's salvation. If what today we term injustice did not exist, perhaps true justice would never come to mankind.
The place of horror turns out to be no more than a green scoop, sometimes shadowed, sometimes shining with the bilberries and grass within it, as if a mouth had opened from which streamed a beam of light. So my uncle Robert's death, which had looked from a distance to be an all-consuming tragedy was, close-up, the story of a man finding release from his pain and how his brother had showed such defiant love. The past was a grave, a trap - and yet, also neither of these. Just light, coming and going. At the wolf pit you imagine you will stare into a hole littered with bones, but what draws you to that place is not what you take from it. The wolf pit seems a delicate illusion. You walk towards it; there is nothing, just a curve of the moor; then it is a soft green light, and then it is nothing again.
In later life I have been sometimes praised, sometimes mocked, for my way of pointing out the mythical elements that seem to me to underlie our apparently ordinary lives. Certainly that cast of mind had some of its origin in our pit, which had much the character of a Protestant Hell. I was probably the most entranced listener to a sermon the Reverend Andrew Bowyer preached about Gehenna, the hateful valley outside the walls of Jerusalem, where outcasts lived, and where their flickering fires, seen from the city walls, may have given rise to the idea of a hell of perpetual burning. He liked to make his hearers jump, now and then, and he said that our gravel pit was much the same sort of place as Gehenna. My elders thought this far-fetched, but I saw no reason then why hell should not have, so to speak, visible branch establishments throughout the earth, and I have visited quite a few of them since.