A Quote by Denis Diderot

And his hands would plait the priest's entrails,
For want of a rope, to strangle kings. — © Denis Diderot
And his hands would plait the priest's entrails, For want of a rope, to strangle kings.
His hands would plait the priest's guts, if he had no rope, to strangle kings.
Religion has been a powerful weapon in the hands of governments, in the hands of priests, in the hands of kings who have used it as a weapon to keep down the populace. It is a wonderful way of disciplining people and making them do what you want, to tell them that if they don't do what you want they will, for example, go to Hell.
There are slavish souls who carry their appreciation for favors done them so far that they strangle themselves with the rope of gratitude.
If your little savage were left to himself and be allowed to retain all his ignorance, he would in time join the infant's reasoning to the grown man's passion, he would strangle his father and sleep with his mother.
I will not be quoting Hemingway anytime soon, nor will I ever read another one of his books. And if he were still alive, I would write him a letter right now and threaten to strangle him dead with my bare hands just for being so glum. No wonder he put a gun to his head, like it says in the introductory essay.
Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.
I would like the last of the kings to be strangled by the guts of the last priest.
So would you like to join me for something to eat? (Jericho) As long as it doesn’t involve the entrails of demons, I might be persuaded. (Delphine) Demon entrails have no appeal for me, either. Zeus’s are another matter. (Jericho)
Age was respected among his people, but achievement was revered. As the elders said, if a child washed his hands he could eat with kings.
If a child washed his hands, he could eat with kings.
Prayer pulls the rope below and the great bell rings above in the ears of God. Some scarcely stir the bell, for they pray so languidly. Others give but an occasional pluck at the rope. But he who wins with heaven is the man who grasps the rope boldly and pulls continuously, with all his might.
So it was the hand that started it all . . . His hands had been infected, and soon it would be his arms . . . His hands were ravenous.
When a miner looks at the rope that is to lower him into the deep mine, he may coolly say, "I have faith in that rope as well made and strong." But when he lays hold of it, and swings down by it into the tremendous chasm, then he is believing on the rope. Then he is trusting himself to the rope. It is not a mere opinion - it is an act. The miner lets go of every thing else, and bears his whole weight on those well braided strands of hemp. Now that is faith.
I could see myself in a relationship with a girl - Olivia Wilde is so sexy she makes me want to strangle a mountain ox with my bare hands. She’s mesmerizing.
A primary flaw in my psychology is that I'll give people a hundred yards' worth of rope with which to hang themselves, but once they reach that hundred-yard line, I strangle them to death with it.
Did you hear the one about the elderly Jew on his deathbed who sent for a priest, after declaring to his astonished relatives that 'I want to convert.' Asked why he would become a Catholic, after living all his life as a Jew, he answered: 'Better one of them should die than one of us.'
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