Unchanging Hand Quotes & Sayings

The pursuit of truth is not important. The pursuit of that truth is important which helps you in reaching your goal that is provided you have one. — Ayn Rand

Scripture trains us to listen to and learn from stories of all kinds, inside the sacred text and outside, and to discern patterns and meanings within them. Stories of all sorts form and shape the character of those who read them. We live within the narrative as creatures in search of an ending, in search of happiness. — N. T. Wright

This is the time to rise up and design(customize) your life. — Bernard Kelvin Clive

We need laws that protect everyone - men and women, straights and gays, regardless of sexual perversion ... ah, persuasion. — Bella Abzug

If the stories of our faith are such that you're too young to remember them, then you are not old enough to preach. — Fred B. Craddock

Ursula, we have to talk ... ' he said, almost blurting. He couldn't believe he was in the "we have to talk" position. It was so unnerving. 'I have to ask you ... Let's be each other's emergency contact numbers.' This was his first concession towards commitment. — Sharon Weil

Does it help?" he asks. "The e-mailing."
She nods. "A tiny bit. It's strange. You're writing a letter to someone who's never going to read it, so it kind of frees you up a bit. — Melina Marchetta

I recall when this place was a good 'n honest community hall with a great sense of place and pride but now it's just a hall and fuck the community. — Jonathan Dunne

The written word has taught me to listen to the human voice, much as the great unchanging statues have taught me to appreciate bodily motions. On the other hand, but more slowly, life has thrown light for me on the meaning of books. — Marguerite Yourcenar

Keep doing what you've been doing and you will keep getting what you've been getting! — Jackie Cooper

Don't come yet, boy! You betta hold onto God's unchanging hand! You betta hold yo mule while you shout! — Quan Millz

The Happy Trinity is her home: nothing can trouble her joy.
She is the bird that evades every net: the wild deer that leaps every pitfall.
Like the mother bird to its chickens or a shield to the armed knight: so is the Lord to her mind, in His unchanging lucidity.
Bogies will not scare her in the dark: bullets will not frighten her in the day.
Falsehoods tricked out as truths assail her in vain: she sees through the lie as if it were glass.
The invisible germ will not harm her: nor yet the glittering sunstroke.
A thousand fail to solve the problem, ten thousand choose the wrong turning: but she passes safely through.
He details immortal gods to attend her: upon every road where she must travel.
They take her hand at hard places: she will not stub her toes in the dark.
She may walk among lions and rattlesnakes: among dinosaurs and nurseries of lionettes.
He fills her brim full with immensity of life: he leads her to see the world's desire. — C.S. Lewis

Putting people in a room and strapping wires to their wrist to find out if I make them tingle when I'm telling them about Beirut is a long way from Edward R. Murrow. — Linda Ellerbee

Here, her hand in mine was the one reality that severed us from the cold click-clack of Hell. I rubbed her hand and she sighed; wasn't that meaning? Wasn't that something we could cling to? I could be with this other. I could form no other relation, but maybe her hand in mine was enough, both sufficient and necessary. In Hell there was no sense of place, because all places were the same. Uniform monotony. A place without place. A place without context. But, here, now, I could rub her hand and she would sigh. She was a difference. Perhaps each person was the only difference in all these halls of unchanging ranks of books, kiosks, clocks, and carpet, and that, and that, at least, we had to hold to. — Steven L. Peck

America is old tobacco: gold and green. It's lush and literally feels like wealth, like optimism, turn of the century America where everything was blooming. — Guillermo Del Toro

It seems like it's all just remembering and forgetting. Things happen so fast, and then they're gone before you notice them. Events ambush you from out of nowhere, blindside you, and then you have to spend the time afterward trying to remember or forget what the hell it all was to begin with. The more you think about it, the more the events crumble, crack, breakdown, or refuse to change at all. They're either pieces of ice in your hand, changing shape and melting away until they're nothing like what they were to begin with, or pieces of glass. Sharp and irritating, unchanging reminders of pain and unpleasantness - or happiness. — Gregory Galloway