Darkest Dungeons Quotes

You can handcuff my wrists, and Shackle my feet. You can bind me in chains, throw me in your deepest darkest dungeon...but you can't enslave my thinking...for it is free like the wind.

The deepest and darkest dungeons that we are ever flung into are the dungeons of the mind

Because I clearly measured in dungeon cells now, I’d have to say there were at least six cells worth of free space.

In fact, a “Pa” and/or a “Mister” are likely to turn up in anybody’s life. They might be wearing the mask of war, the mask of famine, the mask of physical affliction. The mask of caste, race, class, sex, mental illness, or disease. Their meaning to us, often, is that they are simply an offering, a challenge, provided by “God” i.e., the All Present and All Magical, that requires us to grow. And though we may be confused, even traumatized, as Celie is, by their historical, social, and psychological configuration, if we persevere we may, like her, eventually settle into amazement: that by some unfathomable kindness we have received just the right keys we need to unlock the deepest, darkest dungeons of our emotional and spiritual bondage, and to experience our much longed for liberation and peace.

There is a huge difference between giving out of love and giving out of guilt. Giving out of love is a genuine giving, it comes from the deepest place of honesty and compassion and it has no strings attached. On other hand giving out of guilt is untruthful giving that comes from the darkest dungeon of manipulation, hoping the guilt will go away. The person who gives out of guilt always reminds others about her giving and she/he demands a public appreciation. Gratitude comes from the pure thankful heart, people should not be forced to do it, let them voice it out on their own time.

Think of “Pa” as Celie’s Tsunami, I said, and “Mister” as her hurricane. In fact, a “Pa” and/ or a “Mister” are likely to turn up in anybody’s life. They might be wearing the mask of war, the mask of famine, the mask of physical affliction. The mask of caste, race, class, sex, mental illness, or disease. Their meaning to us, often, is that they are simply an offering, a challenge, provided by “God” i.e., the All Present and All Magical, that requires us to grow. And though we may be confused, even traumatized, as Celie is, by their historical, social, and psychological configuration, if we persevere we may, like her, eventually settle into amazement: that by some unfathomable kindness we have received just the right keys we need to unlock the deepest, darkest dungeons of our emotional and spiritual bondage, and to experience our much longed for liberation and peace.

should’ve been terrified, but the air, much like his persuasion-breath, only warmed me, making me relaxed and a little sleepy. He pushed me toward the doors with his snout, and I batted him with my open hand. You need a bath, he spoke in my mind. Talking animals were too much for me right now. “I’m tired,” I slurred. “Why can’t I just sleep?” He snorted and turned his head away. I knew what the Drae was saying without him voicing the words. I stank. I’d sweated in the dirt all day. Of course I stank. My stink just didn’t bother me. In fact, I felt reasonably clean compared to the dungeons, like I was an aired-out rug. Clearly, there was no reasoning with an eighteen-foot Drae. “Fine, but then I’m going to sleep.” He snorted again.

Jesus is worthy of our devotion and our thanks. Your Jesus is the One who rode into the depths of the darkest, most dangerous dungeon to rescue his true love. He is the One who will ride again on a white steed with fire in his eyes and a flaming sword in his hand. He has inscribed you into the palm of his nail-pierced hand. He knows your every thought, numbers your every hair, and cherishes your every tear. Jesus weeps for you and with you, longs for you, hopes for you, dreams of you, and rejoices over you with singing. He is the One who has battled all the forces of hell to free you and who battles still. Jesus is your knight in shining armor. He is the love you have been longing for. He is your dream come true. He is your hero. He is Aslan, the Lion of Judah, and the Lamb of God. He is the Prince of Peace, the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, the Mighty One. His name is like a kiss and an earthquake. His gaze is on you. He has pledged his love to you and betrothed you to him forever. He is unchangeable, and his love will never fail you.

Summer spirit, now she closes book’s end, Days of youth spent, carefree with friends. Kari plays now to that what she does not wish, Lost summers days and angelic youth a’ missed. Seasons do change and children grow up, Passing through lives, life never stops. Endless years, bleak they the mind, Adventures of youth, throttle in time. Desires entwine, one grows old, Love loses her grasp, love slips from her hold. Bygone dreams, sleep they soundly by, Hopes for another child, not her soul-self I. Grasped for never, dreams never learn to fly (Within one’s dungeon, the darkest place to die). And Winter’s chill, lays she to rest, Dreams unobtained, fallen in the quest. Kari knew she was but a dream, solo in its flight, Ne’er taking wing again to caress innocence’s light. And to live and live as she once is and now, Stands she forever, stranded on time’s fallowed ground. The love she lost she can never now have, Graspless eternity plucked burning from her hands. Love forsaken, the summer, silent and high, Tears shed for what was once and not now, I. Dreamless hopes far long spent, Lie shallow within, deep strength relents. A hollow traverse of endless life, Lives she the knowing of eternalness light. Aye, silent dreams slip they the day’s long night, To tell of loves once beholden now lost in her sight. In love’s abandonment, Kari, spills she away, To dream upon those clouds again on some somber, summer day. Thus, before evening rusts corrode the golden days, Before innocence is raped and youth spirited away, Before night blossoms forth, and day forgets day, Summer’s love requests of us that we all do stay– To hear a tale one has long since heard before, To tell our souls twice over now and forevermore– Graves are full of those who never lived but could, Heaven and Hell are packed with those who knew they should, And eternity, relentless eternity, brims with those that would. --Garden of the Dragons c h. 23

It had been a wonderful life. Not a life full of wonderful event. No, not by a long shot. But a wonderful life in its own way. She’d seen in this war the very worst one human could do to another. But she’d also seen the very best. Perhaps only the people who see the very worst get to see the very best. Or maybe it was just that because she’d seen the worst, she’d been able to recognize the best. That was its own kind of wonderful. Hope, she was discovering, could do that. It could let a person see the glorious light of the sun from even the darkest corner of a dungeon—even if wishing the dungeon there was no way out. Even if the dungeon was the last place you’d see this side of heaven.

As long as you're the Light, nevermind the Night! Walking through the narrow alleys of Life fuming with untold stories and blurry horizons, somewhere knowing in my heart that sunsets and sunrises are not just about the Sun but also about the sky that holds a canopy of stars to unleash once the sun is set all while hiding them beautifully tucked in the bosom of a blue sky when the Majestic Sun walks around in the crown of Sunshine. But then, and always the Stars Shine the brightest in the Darkest of Night, because no matter what the Light is always there, always leading the way, always finding its Smile in the dungeons of camouflaged blackness.

Oh, and get this. Gideon married Scarlet, the keeper of Nightmares.” “You’re kidding.” Fickle Gideon? Married? Scarlet was gorgeous, yeah, and feisty as hell. Powerful, too. And Gideon had been a tad bit obsessed with her when she’d been locked in their dungeon. But marriage? Everyone in the fortress had lost IQ points, it seemed. “He couldn’t have waited until I got back to sign on for double occupancy?” Strider mumbled. “What a great friend.” “No one was invited to the ceremony, if you catch my meaning.” “Well, the decision to get hitched is gonna give him nightmares.” Strider snickered. “Get it? Nightmares?” “Har, har. You’re a borderline fucktard, you know that?” “Hey,

He trailed off, and I sat in my dungeon cell, unreasonably happy to be there talking to a friend. “I’ve missed you, Ty.” “Ditto. I can just see you out there singing to the plants and playing in the dirt. Mud lady.” I did not want that to catch on. “I’m not a mud lady.

My mother used to bear the brunt of his abuse. But after she died, it focused almost entirely on me. Now I feel like I’m bound in chains in the darkest of dungeons. Sebastian is offering me a key—a way to get out. But I’m so goddamned terrified that I don’t know if I even have the strength to try the locks. Because my father is always watching.