A Quote by Albert E. Brumley

This world is not my home, I'm just a passing through. — © Albert E. Brumley
This world is not my home, I'm just a passing through.
This is my temporary home It's not where I belong Windows and rooms that I'm passing through This is just a stop, on the way to where I'm going I'm not afraid because I know this is my Temporary home
This world is not my home, I'm just a passing thro', My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue; the angels beckon me from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world any more. 0 Lord, you know, I have no friend like you, if heaven's not my home then Lord what will I do; the angels beckon me from heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
Generally, we use light to illuminate other things. I like the thingness, the materiality of light itself. So it feels like it's occupying the space, making a plane, being something that was there, not just passing through. Because light is just passing through. I make these spaces that seem to arrest it for our perception.
Perhaps passing through the gates of death is like passing quietly through the gate in a pasture fence. On the other side, you keep walking, without the need to look back. No shock, no drama, just the lifting of a plank or two in a simple wooden gate in a clearing. Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices, but just the silent crossing of a meadow.
Life does not end when we die. Death is a rebirth into a spirit world of light and love, a transition from the physical to the spiritual that is no more frightening or painful than passing between rooms through an open doorway. It is a joyful homecoming to our natural home, . . .
I don't think you ever know in yourself whether you have gone mad. You exist in a bubble. There comes a point where you suddenly feel not really a part of the world, you're just passing through.
the earth is not my home, I'm just passing by
It is a grave misconception to regard the mystical progress as passing mostly through ecstasies and raptures. On the contrary, it passes just as much through broken hearts and bruised emotions, through painful sacrifices and melancholy renunciations.
My home is in Heaven. I'm just traveling through this world.
You are Life passing through your body, passing through your mind, passing through your soul. Once you find that out, not with logic, not with the intellect, but because you can feel that Life-you find out that you are the force that makes the flowers open and close, that makes the hummingbird fly from flower to flower. You find out that you are in every tree, and you are in every animal, vegetable, and rock. You are that force that moves the wind and breathes through your body. The whole universe is a living being that is moved by that force, and that is what you are. You are Life.
Religion is one of the phases of thought through which the world is passing.
The environment is not just around you, it's passing through you.
Sitting at home the way I do, I'd just love the hear from people. It'd be a great help in passing the time.
I am the life just passing through. I'm what remains and so are you.
Poor is a state of mind. Broke is, 'I'm just passing through.'
I'm trying not to move, it's just your ghost passing through
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