Mortals are odd creatures in that sense—flawed yet hopeful. One can study them through millennia and still get nowhere near full understanding of their nature.
Poetry, plays, novels, music, they are the cry of the human spirit trying to understand itself and make sense of our world.
When God saw fit to bestow such a gift, a man with any sense didn’t ask questions.
I grin at the fierce burn in my legs, in my chest.Using pain to relieve pain. It doesn't make much sense.
The innocent supposition, entertained by most people, that even if they are not brilliant, they are not dumb, is correct only in a very relative sense.
Everyone claims to be okay with freedom of religion, but the moment you mention God there is a strange tension that fills the air. If there was a 6th sense, that would be it.
There exists in man a mass of sense lying in a dormant state, and which, unless something excites it to action, will descend with him, in that condition,to the grave.
A sharp decline in actual deprivation may, paradoxically, have been accompanied by an ongoing and even escalating sense of fear of deprivation.
To Him who has sense, a sign is enough For the heedless, however, a thousand expositions are not enough.
So little I know in my innocence. Ideals, like pebbles in a stream wash away, wash away. Life makes no sense.
the bible gives me a deep comforting sense that (things seen are temporal,and things unseen are eternal.
By the standards of magical society they’d fallen at the first hurdle: they hadn’t had the basic good sense to keep their shit to themselves.
The letters released something, maybe a sense that he was not alone, that the world was a place where travelers in language could know the same things.
But what I did sense was an emptiness like a black hole inside of him, and there was no predicting what might emerge from a place like that.
His progress through life was hampered by his tremendous sense of his own ignorance, a disability which affects all too few.
I have a chip on my shoulder. It's a nacho, not a sense of bitterness.
He [Muffat] experienced a sense of pleasure mingled with remorse, the sort of pleasure peculiar to those Catholics whom the fear of hell spurs on to commit sin.
It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.
When night comes on in a room lit by kerosene, any flicker of the flame can give the sense that darkness is about to triumph.
All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.
