A Quote by Haruki Murakami

At the entrance to the original tower, there is a stone into which Jung carved some words with his own hand: 'Cold or not, God is present. — © Haruki Murakami
At the entrance to the original tower, there is a stone into which Jung carved some words with his own hand: 'Cold or not, God is present.
A loving God who has no wrath is no God. He is an idol of our own making as much as if we carved Him out of stone.
When you find your definitions in God, you find the very purpose for which you were created. Put your hand into God's hand, know His absolutes, demonstrate His love, present His truth, and the message of redemption and transformation will take hold.
Three hundred years ago a prisoner condemned to the Tower of London carved on the wall of his cell this sentiment to keep up his spirits during his long imprisonment: 'It is not adversity that kills, but the impatience with which we bear adversity.'
Three hundred years ago a prisoner condemned to the Tower of London carved on the wall of his cell this sentiment to keep up his spirits during his long imprisonment: 'It is not adversity that kills, but the impatience with which we bear adversity.
The greatest judgment which God himself can, in the present life, inflict upon a man is to leave him in the hand of his own boasted 'free'-will.
I always really enjoyed Edge's entrance theme. Also Stone Cold. WWE once asked me in an interview, if I had to change my entrance music, whose would I choose, and I said Edge. So they created a video of me using that song, and I was like, 'I'm in love.'
Check this out,” Nine says. He holds up a small purple stone and then places it on the back of his hand. The stone slides into his hand—through it. Nine turns his hand over just as the stone pops out in his palm. “Pretty cool, right?” he asks me, waggling his eyebrows. “Uh, but what is it supposed to do?” Eight asks, looking up from his own Chest. “I dunno. Impress girls?” Nine looks over at me. “Did it work?” “Um . . .” I hesitate, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. “Not really. But, I’ve seen guys teleport so I’m kind of hard to impress.” “Tough crowd.
I used to imitate Stone Cold Steve Austin. Identical. I literally made my own waistcoat like Stone Cold, put a little '3:16' I cut out of newspapers for it.
Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone: never more to wake on stony bed, never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead. In the black wind the stars shall die, and still on gold here let them lie, till the dark lord lifts his hand over dead sea and withered land.
The whole of God is present at every point in space at the same time. Take time to meditate on this great idea. In other words, God doesn't come and go. God doesn't capriciously move substance from God's supply "up there" to fill your needs "down here." Nor does God answer prayer in some kind of coming forth. God is always present, totally present - as a Presence.
The original lists were probably carved in stone and represented longer periods of time. They contained things like 'Get More Clay. Make Better Oven.'
Our past is not, as some fear, a series of events carved in stone that we must carry around for the rest of our lives... but a kaleidoscope of experiences that, when viewed through different lenses, can 'color' (change) how we see our present and future.
But we had with us, to keep and to care for, more than five hundred bruised bodies of men- men made in the image of God, marred by the hand of man and must we say in the name of God? And where is the reckoning for such things? And who is answerable? One might almost shrink from the sound of his own voice, which had launched into the palpitating air words of order- do we call it? - fraught with such ruin. Was it God's command we heard or His forgiveness we must forever implore?
But all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity, was again lost at the tower of Babel , when by the hand of God, every man was stricken for his rebellion, with an oblivion of his former language.
I want you to have this.” He extended his hand. On his palm sat the beautiful butterfly he had carved. Silver spots on the wings glinted in the sunlight, and a silver chain hung from a small hole drilled into its body. Valek looped the necklace around my neck. “When I carved this statue, I was thinking about you. Delicate in appearance, but with a strength unnoticed at first glance.” His eyes met mine.
On the stone that remains carved next to his name, his epitaph plain, only a pawn in their game.
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