He regards it as the highest insult for the wicked to boast of His covenant while profaning His sacred Name by their whole lives.
Christ's humanity is presentation, His words & works are the substance encapsulating his Divinity". ~R. Alan Woods [2013]
The lad, like many another, owed nothing to his father but his mere existence—Heaven knows whether that gift is oftenest a curse or a boon.
God gives gifts to and also of men/women for His purposes in promoting the cause of Christ and His Kingdom". ~R. Alan Woods [2012]
The rich fop Francis of Assisi was bored all his life―until he fell in love with Christ and gave all his stuff away and became the troubadour of Lady Poverty.
Conscious minds can, at the most, comprehend that the whole idea of a 'God' is his superiority, his omnipotence, omnipresence, and omniscience; and therefore, at the least, desire him, someone far greater than themselves.
Emotion is always multiplied in the art of a person who doesn't really show much emotion. It once expanded deep within his hidden soul, and following the downplay his audience is blown away.
After a kiss like that, he should know I’m the one. He should be down on his knees begging me to marry him and have his little Hottie babies.
His (Washington's) apparent paralysis was the result of balancing two imperatives: his reputation against the survival of the Continental Army.
He sank to his knees, absolutely full of despair and sadness. For a long time, droplets of blood continued to fall into his lap.
I put my forehead on his collarbone, place one hand on his chest. Its rhythm reassures me: He is real, and he is now.
The terror is trapped inside of him and paralyzes him. He closes his eyes again and tries to drown out the scream - but it keeps ringing and ringing and ringing in his ears.
Although this man spoke pure fluent ghetto, she liked his spirit. She could tell he was attracted to her, and that he was being ever careful with his words.
Finally, the water level topped off, leaving him with no more air to breathe. He drew his last breath and slipped down deep into the darkness that claimed his soul.
The embrace at the airport and stolen glances of Poe wasn't enough for him. Oliver needed to be closer to her again--emotionally and physically. His stomach clenched. Why couldn't Poe be his?
He didn't just want her now. He needed her. He needed to feel his rhythm in her body, to see if his soul was still there in her pleasure.
Baby, sometimes what I’m thinking doesn’t translate into words. You’re going to have to badger them out of me until I get better at this, okay?
Every gay man out there has at least one man-crush in his past that totally shriveled his nads into raisins and sent him screaming off into the night.
History will be kind to me for I have written it. Winston Churchill
She fantasized sometimes too about killing him a little: a little poison in his pudding, a little flick-flick-flick with a fillet knife at his throat.
He who has truth at his heart need never fear the want of persuasion on his tongue.
