A Quote by Alexander Blok

What message, years of conflagration, have you: madness or hope? On thin cheeks strained by war and liberation bloody reflections still remain. — © Alexander Blok
What message, years of conflagration, have you: madness or hope? On thin cheeks strained by war and liberation bloody reflections still remain.
From my earliest years I had always wanted to be a writer. It was not that I had any particular message for humanity. I am still plugging away and not the ghost of one so far, so it begins to look as though, unless I suddenly hit mid-season form in my eighties, humanity will remain a message short.
Bacon's portraits are an interrogation on the limits of the self. Up to what degree of distortion does an individual still remain himself? To what degree of distortion does a beloved person still remain a beloved person? For how long does a cherished face growing remote through illness, through madness, through hatred, through death still remain recognizable? Where is the border beyond which a self ceases to be a self?
The Christmas message is that there is hope for a ruined humanity--hope of pardon, hope of peace with God, hope of glory--because at the Father's will Jesus became poor, and was born in a stable so that thirty years later He might hang on a cross.
Me, I want to bloody kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more bloody important than being right.
I heard a political message in rock music. A liberation message. A message of freedom. I heard it in Elvis' voice.
I still have a lot to learn about what the love of Christ is like - that it's not just knowledge... but it's allowing the truth to change you - allowing Christ's message of grace and hope and love through the cross, that that message is the message that changes the way we look at everything in our lives.
War is an unpredictable beast. Once unleashed, it runs like a rabid dog, ravening friend or foe alike. It can drag on for years, a slow attrition of nerve and fortitude, or be over in one brilliant flash, an extravagant conflagration of flame and blood and waste.
I always tried, in the books I wrote, to make it clear: Thin is not the goal. But I was thin. So no matter what I said, the subliminal message was, "You have to look a certain way." And I'm not happy about playing into that.
War is always the same. It is young men dying in the fullness of their promise. It is trying to kill a man that you do not even know well enough to hate. Therefore, to know war is to know that there is still madness in the world.
The madness of demons is rage - the madness of angels - hope.
The greatest book is not the one whose message engraves itself on the brain, as a telegraphic message engraves itself on the ticker-tape, but the one whose vital impact opens up other viewpoints, and from writer to reader spreads the fire that is fed by the various essences, until it becomes a vast conflagration leaping from forest to forest.
The Gospel is called the good news. My message is a message of hope, that's God's [message] for you.
Oh, there's a lot of breaks in our sport. Strained muscles, breaks, tears. I've seen teeth fly out before mouth guards were compulsory. Feet fractures are quite common, cheeks, faces, jaws, legs.
It was a time of madness, the sort of mad-hysteria that always presages war. There seems to be nothing left but war--when any population in any sort of a nation gets violently angry, civilization falls down and religion forsakes its hold on the consciences of human kind in such times of public madness.
If he is thin, I will probably dine poorly. If he is both thin and sad, the only hope is in flight.
The First World War not only destroyed European civilisation and the empires at its heart; its aftermath led to a second conflagration, the Second World War, which divided the continent until the end of the century.
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