Demi God Quotes

There are powers far beyond us, plans far beyond what we could have ever thought of, visions far more vast than what we can ever see on our own with our own eyes, there are horizons long gone beyond our own horizons. This is courage- to throw away what is our own that is limited and to thrust ourselves into the hands of these higher powers- God and Destiny.To do this is to abide in the realm of the eternal, to walk in the path of the everlasting to follow in the footprints of God and demi-gods. The hardest part for man is the letting go. For some reason, he thinks himself big enough to know and to see what's good for him. But in the letting go........is found freedom. In the letting go........ is found the flight!

Nobody can build the bridge for you to walk across the river of life, no one but you yourself alone. There are, to be sure, countless paths and bridges and demi-gods which would carry you across this river; but only at the cost of yourself; you would pawn yourself and lose. There is in the world only one way, on which nobody can go, except you: where does it lead? Do not ask, go along with it.

Sirius was a demi-god, and Remus was helpless to do anything but worship him.

Even if you don't believe in God and you're praying to the Universe, you're being honest with yourself. Putting your energy into the world shows that you are open to change, to learn, and to receive help.

Writers are in many ways like demi-gods. With one stroke of a pen they can give life to a character, or strike them from existence, with nary a twinge of grief at their passing.

I desired that the Senate of Rome might appear before me in one large chamber, and a modern representative, in counterview, in another. The first seemed to be an assembly of heroes and demi-gods; the other, a knot of pedlars, pick-pockets, highwaymen, and bullies.

For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi-god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.

a spider and a fly i heard a spider and a fly arguing wait said the fly do not eat me i serve a great purpose in the world you will have to show me said the spider i scurry around gutters and sewers and garbage cans said the fly and gather up the germs of typhoid influenza and pneumonia on my feet and wings then i carry these germs into households of men and give them diseases all the people who have lived the right sort of life recover from the diseases and the old soaks who have weakened their systems with liquor and iniquity succumb it is my mission to help rid the world of these wicked persons i am a vessel of righteousness scattering seeds of justice and serving the noblest uses it is true said the spider that you are more useful in a plodding material sort of way than i am but i do not serve the utilitarian deities i serve the gods of beauty look at the gossamer webs i weave they float in the sun like filaments of song if you get what i mean i do not work at anything i play all the time i am busy with the stuff of enchantment and the materials of fairyland my works transcend utility i am the artist a creator and demi god it is ridiculous to suppose that i should be denied the food i need in order to continue to create beauty i tell you plainly mister fly it is all damned nonsense for that food to rear up on its hind legs and say it should not be eaten you have convinced me said the fly say no more and shutting all his eyes he prepared himself for dinner and yet he said i could have made out a case for myself too if i had had a better line of talk of course you could said the spider clutching a sirloin from him but the end would have been just the same if neither of us had spoken at all boss i am afraid that what the spider said is true and it gives me to think furiously upon the futility of literature archy

What happened to her?’ ‘You got her pregnant.’ ‘Marvellous. Will I have a new demi-god roaming the earth?’ ‘You already do.’ ‘That’s wonderful.’ ‘He’s about to drown.’ ‘Oh. Let me—

don't know what demi means but i'm not feeling to godly you guys feeling godly?

They took form in a bedroom, Khloe realized with a scowl. He noticed and gave her a sideways grin. Arrogant ass. Laugh it up, demon.

He’s just the “one”. Not in a religious, demi-god sort of way even though I wouldn’t put it past him to think that of himself.

Our house was a temple to The Book. We owned thousands, nay millions of books. They lined the walls, filled the cupboards, and turned the floor into a maze far more complex than Hampton Court’s. Books ruled out lives. They were our demi-gods.

Abandoned by a God in whom many of us believed, we lay prostrate and dazed in our demi-tomb. From time to time, one of us would look over the parapet to stare across the dusty plain into the east, from which death might bear down on us at any moment. We felt like lost souls, who had forgotten that men are made for something else, that time exists, and hope, and sentiments other than anguish; that friendship can be more than ephemeral, that love can sometimes occur, that the earth can be productive, and used for something other than burying the dead.

Our house was a temple to The Book. We owned thousands, nay millions of books. They lined the walls, filled the cupboards, and turned the floor into a maze far more complex than Hampton Court's. Books ruled out lives. They were our demi-gods.

The power of the Will in a man, is favoured by the Heavens. The man who sets his Heart and Word onto something, and says "I will" no matter what obstacle is placed in his way— joins the ranks of the demi-gods. All else remain in mortality and are soon forgotten.

perhaps that’s what it’s for – self-confidence and courage and energy and peace – perhaps it’s to be used in the world. Perhaps there’s only one thing to do with it: spend it. I’m always super-conscious of how whenever I go out into the world, whenever I get involved in a relationship, my idea of who I think I am utterly collides with the reality of who I actually am. And I continue to go out even though who I am always comes up short. I always prove myself to be less generous, less charming, less considerate, not as bold or energetic or intelligent or courageous as I imagined in my solitude. And I’m always being insulted, or snubbed, or disappointed. And I’m never in my pyjamas. And yet, in some way, maybe this is better. Each of us in this room could suffer the pangs of withdrawal and gain the serenity of the non-smoker. We could be demi-gods in our little castles, all alone, but perhaps, at heart, none of us here wants that. Maybe the only cure for self-confidence and courage is humility. Maybe we go out in order to fall short... because we want to learn how to be good at being people... and moreover, because we want to be people.

Around the hero everything turns into a tragedy; around the demi-god, into a satyr play; and around God--what? perhaps into "world"?

Then again, Piper couldn’t imagine choosing one demi god’s life over another,

He knew he should go to see her again, according to her invitation. Those earnest men he read of, the saints, whom Sue, with gentle irreverence, called his demi-gods, would have shunned such encounters if they doubted their own strength. But he could not. He might fast and pray during the whole interval, but the human was more powerful in him than the Divine.

I always imagined that when I got pregnant it would be awesome and everything would go perfectly, and I’d pose for all those artfully naked, pregnant Demi Mooresque pictures and put them all over my house, and suddenly I’d have less cellulite, and then I’d go into labor while I was standing in line at the bank, but it would be okay because the baby would get stuck in my pants leg, so it totally wouldn’t slam into the floor. Thank God for skinny jeans with maternity panels; am I right?

Since ancient times, sacred texts from around the world foretold about a time period in human history when a mighty demi-god would appear on earth. Whether we call this figure Perseus, Krishna, or Messiah, he is epitomized in the figure of Jesus Christ—the modern equivalent of which is Superman!

Some men even prepare for whatever lies after death – a necropolis of tombs, countless public dedications, blazing funeral pyres that can be seen from the stars and ostentatious funerals worthy of demi-gods. But in the end, their funerals were just like their lives – over in a short burst of flames.

There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded, Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, Where millions of Brahmâs are reading the Vedas, Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, Where millions of Indras dwell in the sky, Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, Where millions of Saraswatis, Goddess of Music, play on the vina— There is my Lord self-revealed: and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference. —REINHOLD NIEBUHR, “SERENITY PRAYER

the Kauravas and the Pandavas turned from demi-gods into cave men, the great war reduced to a tribal feud fought with sticks and stones.

Like Princes crowned they bore them-- Like Demi-Gods they wrought, When the New World lay before them In headlong fact and thought. Fate and their foemen proved them Above all meed of praise, And Gloriana loved them, And Shakespeare wrote them plays! . . . . . . . Now Valour, Youth, and Life's delight break forth In flames of wondrous deed, and thought sublime--- Lightly to mould new worlds or lightly loose Words that shall shake and shape all after-time! Giants with giants, wits with wits engage, And England-England-England takes the breath Of morning, body and soul, till the great Age Fulfills in one great chord:--Elizabeth!

Max Rigel,” (the dark skinned demi-god). “Caleb Altair,” (the blonde haired beaux next door), “Darius Acrux,” (my sin-filled fantasy). “And Seth Capella,” (the long haired lothario). “This is Gwendalina and Roxanya Vega-

As for me, (torn, stormy, even as I, amid these vehement days;) I have the idea of all, and am all, and believe in all; I believe materialism is true, and spiritualism is true—I reject no part. Have I forgotten any part? Come to me, whoever and whatever, till I give you recognition. I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, and the Hebrews; I adopt each theory, myth, god, and demi-god; I see that the old accounts, bibles, genealogies, are true, without         exception;

Cronos, then lord of the world, knew that no mortal nature could endure the temptations of power, and therefore he appointed demons or demi-gods, who are of a superior race, to have dominion over man, as man has dominion over the animals

At a great distance appeared with the same pomp the sheep of Thebes, the dog of Bubastis, the cat of Phoebe, the crocodile of Arsinoe, the goat of Mendes, and all the inferior gods of Egypt, who came to pay homage to the great ox, to the mighty Apis, as powerful as Isis, Osiris, and Horus, united together. In the midst of the demi-gods, forty priests carried an enormous basket, filled with sacred onions. These were, it is true, gods, but they resembled onions very much. ("The White Bull")

All very ancient history, except that of the illuminated Jews, is a perfect fable. It was written by priests, or collected from their reports; and calculated solely to raise lofty ideas of the origin of each nation. Gods and demi-gods were the principal actors; and truth is seldom to be expected where the personages are supernatural. The Greek historians have no advantage over the Peruvian, but in the beauty of their language, or from that language being more familiar to us. Mango Capac, the son of the sun, is as authentic a founder of a royal race, as the progenitor of the Heraclidae. What truth indeed could be expected, when even the identity of person is uncertain? The actions of one were ascribed to many, and of many to one. It is not known whether there was a single Hercules or twenty.

It’s pleasant to sit by, a demi-god, and hear the surmisings of mortals, upon things they know nothing about; theology, or amber, or ambergris, it’s all the same. But then, did I always out with every thing I know, there would be no conversing with these comical creatures.

What a thing is Man, this lauded demi-god! Does he not lack the very powers he has most need of? And if he should soar in joy, or sink in sorry, is he not halted and returned to his cold, dull consciousness at the very moment he was longing to be lost in the vastness of infinity?

What is a little mine?" [mind] "It is something which makes your body move, as the spring made the wheels go in my watch when I showed it to you." "Open me; I want to see it go wound." "I can't do that any more than you could open the watch. God winds you up, and you can go till He stops you." "Does I?" and Demi's brown eyes grew big and bright as he took in the new thought. "Is I wounded up like the watch?" "Yes; but I can't show you how; for it is done when we don't see." Demi felt of his back, as if expecting to find it like that of the watch, and then gravely remarked,- "I dess Dod does it when I's asleep.

In a YouTube video made by actor Ashton Kutcher just after Obama’s inauguration, dozens of Hollywood celebrities pledged “to be a servant to our president and all mankind.”28 It was like something out of an Aztec festival of the gods—if what the Aztec gods wanted was for Hollywood actresses like Eva Longoria to use “less bottled water.” I don’t remember Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope producing a video pledging themselves to be servants of Ronald Reagan. In fact, if anyone had ever made a video with people reading the exact same lines as Demi and Ashton’s friends about a Republican president, MSNBC would be running specials on the rise of fascism in America.

Oh Florence, Florence, patroness of the lovely tyrannicides! Where the tower of the Old Palace pierces the sky like a hypodermic needle, Perseus, David and Judith, lords and ladies of the Blood, Greek demi-gods of the Cross, rise sword in hand above the unshaven formless decapitation of the monsters, tubs of guts, mortifying chunks for the pack. Pity the monsters! Pity the monsters! Perhaps, one always took the wrong side - Ah, to have known, to have loved too many David and Judiths! My heart bleeds for the monster. I have seen the Gorgon. The erotic terror of her helpless, big-bosomed body lay like slop. Wall-eyed, staring the despot to stone, her severed head swung like a lantern in the victor’s hand.

Power deities, for all their strength, are very much like humans, They are subjects to periods of despair and are not free from the crippling consequences of emotions, For over two decades Tibetans were forbidden from holding any religious ceremonies or prayers. No prayer flags, incense or ceremonies were offered to the deities and demi-gods of the region. This neglect broke their hearts and they became bedraggled and weak.

She said that she did not see Balzac. Balzac went into the world scarcely at all, frequenting the lowest cafés, so that it was difficult to track him out. Which information I receive doubtingly. The rumours about Balzac with certain parties in Paris are not likely to be too favorable nor at all reliable, I should fancy; besides, I never entertain disparaging thoughts of my demi-gods unless they should be forced upon me by evidence you must know.

There never was a more legitimate chief of a State than Louis Napoleon is now — elected by seven millions and a half; and I do maintain that, ape or demi-god, to insult him where he is, is to insult the people who placed him there. As to the stupid outcry in England about forced votes, voters pricked forward by bayonets — why, nothing can be more stupid. Nobody not blinded by passion could maintain such a thing for a moment. No Frenchman, however blinded by passion, has maintained it in my presence.

Fathers are unwitting objects of fascination for their daughters, and the interlude of their childhood leaves a bittersweet taste: never again, for anyone else, will we be domestic demi-gods, greeted like long-awaited saviours when we come home for dinner at the end of the working day. The years go by and their joy becomes less and less palpable, until one day they fail to greet us at all. This time is past and the countdown reaches zero. We had known it would happen, we just hadn't expected it to happen so quickly

There are occult Esoteric Metaphysics (the secret and most confidential aspect of occult teachings) and Mystical Sciences practiced by mystical adepts, Living Grand Masters. This is the cosmological verdict of the Order of Astral and Terrestrial Hierarchy universal occult recognition. Exoteric is public occult teachings. An Adept uses the Technique of the Master. Hell is called After-Life-Hallucination. There are entities, spirits, demons, demi-gods, Archangels and other names for evil beings. A Guru is a spiritual Master.

Satan, as a god, demi-god, personal saviour, or whatever you wish to call him, was invented by the formulators of every religion on the face of the earth for only one purpose - to preside over man's so-called wicked activities and situations here on earth. Consequently, anything resulting in physical or mental gratification was defined as "evil" - thus assuring a lifetime of unwarranted guilt for everyone! So, if "evil" they have named us, evil we are - and so what! The Satanic Age is upon us! Why not take advantage of it and LIVE! * *(evil reversed)

By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age has grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.” There can easily be too much liberty, according to Shakespeare — “too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty” (Measure for Measure, Act 1, Sc. 3), but the idea of too much authority is foreign to him. Claudio, himself under arrest, sings its praises: “Thus can the demi-god, Authority, Make us pay down for our offense by weight, — The words of Heaven; — on whom it will, it will; On whom it will not, so; yet still ’tis just.

Vargus: Be me. Eat a bag of dicks for breakfast. Go home for lunch and eat another bag of dicks. Finish work and start preparing my bag of dicks for dinner while I warm up ‘The Saga Continues’. No Aetherius. Me sad. Chew dicks pensively. Some guy called Scorpius fighting instead. Level 28. Total noobcake. ROFL, wut a tryhard. Noobcake kicks demi-god in my three meals a day and cusses him out in livestream, with broken arms and legs. Dicks spilling from my gobsmacked open mouth (soooooo many dicks). I inhale too hard and my dinner gets lodged in my throat. Stars in my vision, blacking out. Try to call my mom for help, but multiple phalli are blocking my respiratory organs. Tumble out of my chair sideways and hit the ground, hands around my throat to dislodge all the penises I’ve been chowing down on. There’s no hope, there are too many. Everything goes dark. Wake up, my vision is blurry and my throat is blissfully unburdened by inadvertent deep throating. I’m being transported somewhere. Am I on my way to heaven? How will I explain my eating habits to Saint Peter? Big blurry white words are floating into perspective in the center of my vision. I try to focus on them, my brain still struggling to replenish oxygen. The words clear, and it is obvious that my diet has not gone unnoticed. I am in hell. ‘The Elder Scrolls V’. Oh no, oh god no, anything but that! ‘SKYRIM’. Please, St. Peter, I can change, please don’t forsake me, PLEA- “Hey you, you’re finally awake”. Thanks Todd. 10/10, would eat dicks and watch Daemien kick a demi-god in the schlong again.

Our plans are quite uncertain; and papa has not, I believe, made up his mind whether or not to take this house on after the beginning of next month; when our engagement with our present landlord closes. If we do leave Sidmouth, you know as well as I do where we shall go. Perhaps to Boulogne! perhaps to the Swan River. The West Indians are irreparably ruined if the Bill passes. Papa says that in the case of its passing, nobody in his senses would think of even attempting the culture of sugar, and that they had better hang weights to the sides of the island of Jamaica and sink it at once. Don’t you think certain heads might be found heavy enough for the purpose? No insinuation, I assure you, against the Administration, in spite of the dagger in their right hands. Mr. Atwood seems to me a demi-god of ingratitude! So much for the ‘fickle reek of popular breath’ to which men have erected their temple of the winds — who would trust a feather to it? I am almost more sorry for poor Lord Grey who is going to ruin us, than for our poor selves who are going to be ruined.

He saw a square room furnished as a library. The entire section of the walls which he could spy was covered from floor to ceiling with books. There were volumes of every size, every shape, every colour. There were long, narrow books that held themselves like grenadiers at stiff attention. There were short, fat books that stood solidly like aldermen who were going to make speeches and were ashamed but not frightened. There were mediocre books bearing themselves with the carelessness of folk who are never looked at and have consequently no shyness. There were solemn books that seemed to be feeling for their spectacles; and there were tattered, important books that had got dirty because they took snuff, and were tattered because they had been crossed in love and had never married afterwards. There were prim, ancient tomes that were certainly ashamed of their heroines and utterly unable to obtain a divorce from the hussies; and there were lean, rakish volumes that leaned carelessly, or perhaps it was with studied elegance, against their neighbours, murmuring in affected tones, "All heroines are charming to us.

How to describe the woman? Silky hair, velvety lips. No, it won’t do, I’m using fabrics, constructing a doll. How about coppery hair, or golden locks of hair, or platinum blonde? No, now I’m doing some kind of industrial metallurgy with precious metals; in addition to everything else, the woman sounds like a commodity. And what’s “locks of hair” supposed to mean? Lock, some kind of bondage? No, strike it out. Ruby lips, pearly white teeth, brilliant smile. No, now I’m making the woman out of precious stones, and out of clichés. Almond-shaped eyes, hazel-colored eyes, pear-shaped waist, apple-red cheeks, lips like the bud of a moist flower, peachy fuzz on her upper lip. Now I’m making up a woman out of fruits, plants. She strode like a gazelle. Her snaky waist coiled and uncoiled. Now I’m demeaning the woman, making her into an animal. On the other hand, you can call a woman a goddess. Aphrodite, Venus, or at least a demi-god, angelic beauty. But these terms were all invariably overused, clichés. In addition, if you call a woman Aphrodite, it might seem like an oblique way of saying that the woman is overweight.

Chapter 44 — The Coming Election       The very greatness of Mr Melmotte’s popularity, the extent of the admiration which was accorded by the public at large to his commercial enterprise and financial sagacity, created a peculiar bitterness in the opposition that was organized against him at Westminster. As the high mountains are intersected by deep valleys, as puritanism in one age begets infidelity in the next, as in many countries the thickness of the winter’s ice will be in proportion to the number of the summer musquitoes, so was the keenness of the hostility displayed on this occasion in proportion to the warmth of the support which was manifested. As the great man was praised, so also was he abused. As he was a demi-god to some, so was he a fiend to others. And indeed there was hardly any other way in which it was possible to carry on the contest against him. From the moment in which Mr Melmotte had declared his purpose of standing for Westminster in the Conservative interest, an attempt was made to drive him down the throats of the electors by clamorous assertions of his unprecedented commercial greatness.

On the Seven Minor Planes of the Great Spiritual Plane exist Beings of whom we may speak as Angels; Archangels; Demi-Gods. On the lower Minor Planes dwell those great souls whom we call Masters and Adepts. Above them come the Great Hierarchies of the Angelic Posts, unthinkable to man; and above those come those who may without irreverence be called "The Gods," so high in the scale of Being are they, their being, intelligence and power being akin to those attributed by the races of men to their conceptions of Deity. These Beings are beyond even the highest flights of the human imagination, the word "Divine" being the only one applicable to them. Many of these Beings, as well as the Angelic Host, take the greatest interest in the affairs of the Universe and play an important part in its affairs. These Unseen Divinities and Angelic Helpers extend their influence freely and powerfully, in the process of Evolution, and Cosmic Progress. Their occasional intervention and assistance in human affairs have led to the many legends, beliefs, religions and traditions of the race, past and present. They have super-imposed their knowledge and power upon the world, again and again, all under the Law of THE ALL, of course.

Macbeth breathed deeply and calmly. And what if death came now? It would of course be a meaningless end, but isn't that the case with all ends? We're interrupted in mid-sentence in the narrative about ourselves, and the end hangs in the air, with no meaning, no conclusion, no unravelling final act. A short echo of the last, semi-articulated word and you're forgotten. Forgotten, forgotten, not even the biggest statue can change that. The person you were, the person you really were, disappears faster than concentric rings in water. And what was the point of this short, interrupted guest appearance? Of playing along as best you can, seizing the pleasures and happiness life has to offer while it lasts? Or leaving a mark, changing the direction of things, making the world a slightly better place before you yourself have to leave it? Or perhaps the point is to reproduce, to put more suitable small creatures on the earth in the hope that humans will at some point become the demi-gods they imagine they are? Or is there simply no meaning? Perhaps we're just detached sentences in an eternal chaotic babble in which everyone talks and no one listens, and our worst premonition finally turns out to be correct: you are alone. All alone.

Those gathered on that day in Berlin were neither good nor bad. They were human, insecure, and susceptible to the propaganda that gave them an identity to believe in, to feel chosen and important. What would any of us have done, had we been in their places? How many people actually go up against so great a tide of seeming inevitability. How many can see the evil for what it is, as it is occurring. Who has the courage to stand up to the multitudes in the face of a charismatic demi-god, who makes you feel better about yourself, part of something bigger than yourself that you have been primed to believe. Every last one of us would now say to ourselves, "I would never have attended such an event, I would never have attended a lynching. I would never have stood by, much less cheered as a fellow human was dismembered, and then set on fire, here in America." And yet, tens of thousands of everyday humans did just that, in the lifetime of the oldest among us-in Germany, in India, in the American South. This level of cold-hearted disconnection did not happen overnight. It built up over generations of insecurities and resentments. Some of the witnesses and participants who heiled Hitler and laughed at humans being tortured in the Jim Crow South are still alive, cradling grandchildren to their bosom.

The free man is immoral, because it is his will to depend upon himself and not upon tradition: in all the primitive states of humanity “evil” is equivalent to “individual,” “free,” “arbitrary,” “unaccustomed,” “unforeseen,” “incalculable.” In such primitive conditions, always measured by this standard, any action performed — not because tradition commands it, but for other reasons (e.g. on account of its individual utility), even for the same reasons as had been formerly established by custom — is termed immoral, and is felt to be so even by the very man who performs it, for it has not been done out of obedience to the tradition. What is tradition? A higher authority, which is obeyed, not because it commands what is useful to us, but merely because it commands. And in what way can this feeling for tradition be distinguished from a general feeling of fear? It is the fear of a higher intelligence which commands, the fear of an incomprehensible power, of something that is more than personal — there is superstition in this fear. In primitive times the domain of morality included education and hygienics, marriage, medicine, agriculture, war, speech and silence, the relationship between man and man, and between man and the gods — morality required that a man should observe her prescriptions without thinking of himself as individual. Everything, therefore, was originally custom, and whoever wished to raise himself above it, had first of all to make himself a kind of lawgiver and medicine-man, a sort of demi-god — in other words, he had to create customs, a dangerous and fearful thing to do! — Who is the most moral man? On the one hand, he who most frequently obeys the law: e.g. he who, like the Brahmins, carries a consciousness of the law about with him wherever he may go, and introduces it into the smallest divisions of time, continually exercising his mind in finding opportunities for obeying the law. On the other hand, he who obeys the law in the most difficult cases.

Nell Armstrong was a demi-god, he succeded travelling to space, after numerous deaths.

My demi-god certainly had no ears for criticism.

My sister lives more comfortably in the present than I do. It's a sticking point between us. She calls me the White Queen from Through the Looking-Glass . "Jam to-morrow and jam yesterday, but never jam to-day.

The funny thing about shadows is they absorb each other. You can't see where one ends and another begins.

When I realized that warmth, even love, could be instinctive, not a decision that shifted from one day to the next, based on mood or motivations, I didn't want to be like Mom anymore.

I guess one aspect of aging is that the future grows limited.

So Thoth opposes his father-king, but he opposes what he himself repeats. He opposes himself. Thoth, the demi-god, is undecidable. And so is Theuth, his Greek counterpart…

[When men were ill, they] liked the importance, the confidence, the attack of a demi-god, whose voice was already echoing through the house as he mounted the stairs, who had the maids scurrying for water or blankets and the patient's relatives hanging on every word. Behenna was such a man. His very appearance made the heart beat faster even if, as often happened, it later stopped beating altogether. Failure did not depress him. If one of his patients died, it was not the fault of his remedies, it was the fault of the patient.

There was this old story my mother used to tell Vonetta and me about a girl who had fallen in love with another who was already mated. She believed that she was far more worthy, and so she prayed every day. Eventually, a god who claimed to be Aios came and promised to grant her what she desired, so long as she gave up something in return—the firstborn of the family. Her eldest brother. So, she had to kill him or something. And she did. But, of course, it wasn’t Aios. It was a demis who had tricked her into killing her sibling.

morality required that a man should observe her prescriptions without thinking of himself as individual. Everything, therefore, was originally custom, and whoever wished to raise himself above it, had first of all to make himself a kind of lawgiver and medicine-man, a sort of demi-god — in other words, he had to create customs, a dangerous and fearful thing to do!

Franklin appreciated the possibility of self-delusion in such matters. He regularly examined his motives. For the present at least, regarding the struggle with the proprietors, he was satisfied. “I am persuaded that I do not oppose their views from pique, disappointment, or personal resentment, but, as I think, from a regard to the public good. I may be mistaken in what is that public good; but at least I mean well.” The proprietors quite clearly did not. “I am sometimes ashamed for them, when I see them differing with their people for trifles, and instead of being adored, as they might be, like demi-gods, become the object of universal hatred and contempt.

I won’t lie to you,” Silla lied. Gods’ sacred ashes, she was lying about lying.

You should call them by their proper name.” “Hellbirds? Mite factories?

Nephilim as subjugating the race of humans. The Biblical account of demi-gods in Genesis 6 refers to the Nephilim as “men of renown”; several translations use the word “heroes”—the same word used by the Greek Herodotus to describe the demigods who ruled as kings in Egypt.

…greatness. What if that Divinity were subjected to you, your awareness, your care and feeding, your expression? What if you knew it dwelt at your deepest layer of Subjectivity, longing to be revealed, and you that demi-god(ess)’ only portal into Life? You are. Don’t shut the door. In fact, grab your psychic machete, author’s pen, or Bardic sword of light, and lacerate a pathway to usher in your uniquely vibrant frequency!

Fourth Cosmic Seal: (Terrestrial Seal 1330 - Seal of Ba-Vara) One who has received this Cosmic Seal (Living Grand Master of the Order of Astral and Terrestrial Hierachy) is empowered to control not less than 100,000,000 spirits and 33,000,000 demi-gods.

TREVES: Plato believed this was all a world of illusion and that artists made illusions of illusions of heaven. MERRICK: You mean we are all just copies? Of originals? TREVES: That’s it. MERRICK: Who made the copies? TREVES: God. The Demi-urge. MERRICK (goes back to work): He should have used both hands shouldn’t he?

There are traditionally six modes of existence that are not conducive to spiritual growth. It is said that a predominance of any one particular type of negativity results in rebirth in the most appropriate mode. Thus, pride leads to rebirth as a god, jealousy as a demi-god, attachment as a human being, stupidity as an animal, greed as a hungry ghost and hatred as a hell denizen. If we choose, we do not have to understand these modes of existence solely in literal terms. Figuratively speaking, these modes can be seen as psychological states, given the Buddhist idea that all things are shaped and formed by the mind.

Wonderful and terrible trial, from which the feeble come out infamous, from which the strong come out sublime. Crucible into which destiny casts a man whenever she desires a scoundrel or a demi-god. For there are many great deeds done in the small struggles of life. There is a determined through unseen bravery, which defends itself foot to foot in the darkness against the fatal invasions of need and degradation. Noble and mysterious triumphs which no eye sees, which no renown rewards, which no flourish of triumph salutes. Life, misfortunes, isolation, abandonment, poverty, are battlefields which have their heroes; obscure heroes, sometimes greater than the illustrious heroes. Strong and rare natures are thus created...

You can run down a demi-god only by making him out to be a demi-devil.  These

In comparison with the mode of life of whole millennia of mankind we present-day men live in a very immoral age: the power of custom is astonishingly enfeebled and the moral sense so rarefied and lofty it may be described as having more or less evaporated. That is why the fundamental insights into the origin of morality are so difficult for us latecomers, and even when we have acquired them we find it impossible to enunciate them, because they sound so uncouth or because they seem to slander morality! This is, for example, already the case with the chief proposition: morality is nothing other (therefore no more!) than obedience to customs, of whatever kind they may be; customs, however, are the traditional way of behaving and evaluating. In things in which no tradition commands there is no morality; and the less life is determined by tradition, the smaller the circle of morality. The free human being is immoral because in all things he is determined to depend upon himself and not upon a tradition: in all the original conditions of mankind, 'evil' signifies the same as 'individual', 'free', 'capricious', 'unusual', 'unforeseen', 'incalculable'. Judged by the standard of these conditions, if an action is performed not because tradition commands it but for other motives (because of its usefulness to the individual, for example), even indeed for precisely the motives which once founded the tradition, it is called immoral and is felt to be so by him who performed it: for it was not performed in obedience to tradition. What is tradition? A higher authority which one obeys, not because it commands what is useful to us, but because it commands. What distinguishes this feeling in the presence of tradition from the feeling of fear in general? It is fear in the presence of a higher intellect which here commands, of an incomprehensible, indefinite power, of something more than personal there is superstition in this fear. Originally all education and care of health, marriage, cure of sickness, agriculture, war, speech and silence, traffic with one another and with the gods belonged within the domain of morality: they demanded one observe prescriptions without thinking of oneself as an individual. Originally, therefore, everything was custom, and whoever wanted to elevate himself above it had to become lawgiver and medicine man and a kind of demi-god: that is to say, he had to make customs a dreadful, mortally dangerous thing! Who is the most moral man? First, he who obeys the law most frequently: who, like the Brahmin12, bears a consciousness of the law with him everywhere and into every minute division of time, so that he is continually inventive in creating opportunities for obeying the law. Then, he who obeys it even in the most difficult cases. The most moral man is he who sacrifices the most to custom: what, however, are the greatest sacrifices? The way in which this question is answered determines the development of several divers kinds of morality; but the most important distinction remains that which divides the morality of most frequent obedience from that of the most difficult obedience.

Max Rigel,” (the dark skinned demi-god). “Caleb Altair,” (the blonde haired beaux next door), “Darius Acrux,” (my sin-filled fantasy). “And Seth Capella,” (the long haired lothario). “This is Gwendalina and Roxanya Vega

I thought you’d never show. I’m freezing,” he called, and tucked his hands back under his arms. “What is this place?” “Go get him,” was Rowan’s answer. “Are you out of your mind?” Rowan gave her a smile that suggested he was, in fact, insane. “In your other form.” “He doesn’t know what I am,” she murmured. “You’ve been living in a fortress of demi-Fae, you know. He won’t care.” That was the least of her concerns, anyway. “How dare you drag him into this?” “You dragged him in yourself when you insulted him—and Emrys. The least you can do is retrieve him.” “I hope you brought snacks!” Luca said. “I’m starving. Hurry up, Elentiya. Rowan said you had to do this as part of your training, and…” He prattled on and on. “What is the gods-damned point of this? Just punishment for acting like an ass?

Max Rigel,” (the dark-skinned demi-god). “Caleb Altair,” (the blonde-haired beau next door), “Darius Acrux,” (my sin-filled fantasy). “And Seth Capella,” (the long-haired lothario). “This is Gwendalina and Roxanya Vega-

Around a hero everything becomes a tragedy, around a demi-god everything becomes a satyr play; and around God everything becomes-what do you think? perhaps the 'world'?-

You’re a demis. A false god.” One side of Isbeth’s lips curled up, but it was the golden Rev who spoke. “Well, apparently, he is rather clever.

But, no. A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.

Not exactly overwhelmed,’ I admitted. ‘Then again, it’s about what I was expecting, so I’m not underwhelmed either. So I suppose I’m feeling… whelmed?

All religions, with their demi-gods, and their prophets, their messiahs and their saints, were created by the prejudiced fancy of men who had not attained the full development and full possession of their faculties. Consequently, the religious heaven is nothing but the mirage in which man, exalted by ignorance and faith, discovered his own image, but enlarged and reversed – that is, divinized. -Michael Bakunin

official edition of his papers omitted) and had only tenuous claims to the uniforms he always wore—to the embarrassment or fury of ‘real’ soldiers. As one of the so-called ‘demi-gods’ on General Moltke’s staff, Lieutenant Colonel Bronsart von Schellendorf, wrote in 1870, ‘The civil servant in the cuirassier jacket becomes more impudent every day.’2 He had a ‘von’ in his name and came from a ‘good’ old Prussian family but, as the historian Treitschke wrote in 1862, he was apparently no more than a ‘shallow country-squire’.3 He had the pride of his social rank but understood that many occupied higher rungs than he. One of his staff recalled an instance: Most

If human beings can believe in gods,demons,angels and demi-gods then nothing is impossible for anyone in this world!

Nope," Demi replied with a short laugh. "Probably one of the few longtime residents of Shadow Grove who never once stepped foot on the dark side. Hon, he's clean. Aside from taking a job in your club and lying about his age, the boy is an angel. Seriously. You should probably do the world a favor and fire his ass before you corrupt him." God dammit.

A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.

Have it your way then," I declare. "I will," Sekh whispers darkly in my ear before holding onto my hand and walking us to the door.

Maelstrom Rock by Stewart Stafford O, obsidian jagged island, This playground of the gods, Distant white novice waves, In warhorse slam into rock. Be this witchcraft or wit's raft? Conducting the vast elements, With lava-hot passion mustered, Spinning whirlpool shipwreck tales. A walker between the winds comes, Both Nature and shaman within it, Of coral and shell and weed growth, Compassion at flaying whip's end. Bid goodbye to the demi-paradise! On the gloomy prow, watch it flee, An aria's dreams of magic ebbing, Freed thralls clasp earthly chains. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

I never had one of you to play with, though,” he tells me with another disarming smile.

I’m actually quite depressed,” she said. “I don’t see why.” “What’s the silver lining here? I can’t seem to remember today.” “The silver lining is that you’re not going to have to see any more naked pregnant pictures of Demi Moore.” She looked at me for a moment with real wonder. “God,” she said, “that’s a lot—I hadn’t even thought of that.

Even among the immortals and demi-gods of Greek mythology, his strife takes a higher rank.

What it was in their view was that fallen, ungodly angels and women married and produced these evil superhuman demi-gods called nephilim, who were naturally giant in size. This view has had a resurgence in recent times among Christians, and though I love and respect these Christians, this author must respectfully disagree.2 It is important to note that Answers in Genesis does not take an official ministry position in the debate over who or what the nephilim were, outside of rejection of the now oft-repeated "alien view.

The incessant marching and beating of drums, the sweeping searchlights, flaming torches, and thousands upon thousands of gigantic red and black swastikas flapping in the breeze, were all skillfully deployed to pay homage to the one supreme chieftain, the demi-god pre-ordained to lead his tribe out of darkness to its rightful place in the sun.

She was foolish to be walking alone at this ungodly hour when demi-gods like himself roamed in search of prey. He would pick this flower, uproot her from the soil. He would part her from her source of life. Her head, hands, and feet were the soft petals, her blood the sweet nectar. She walked by him, ignorant of the brutality that would soon befall her.

A book is the only shuttle service that carries one safely to another dimension and back

No one can build thee the bridge, over which thou must cross the river of life, save thyself alone. There are paths and bridges and demi-gods without number, that will gladly carry thee over, but only at the price of thine own self: thy self wouldst thou have to give in pawn, and then lose it. There is in the world one road whereon none may go, except thou : ask not whither it lead, but go forward.

demi-urge, or half-god,

Then I drove back to Carolyn’s house, where Ginny had stopped breathing in her hospital bed, and I took a few minutes alone with her, holding her hand. I didn’t cry then, and I didn’t cry when I went into the little bathroom off her room and closed the door. I had a rush of clarity as I stood absolutely still. All of the emotions that I felt toward Ginny—my anger, my pain, my hurt—were mine. The vessel for them was gone now. Whatever her issues were, and God knows there were plenty, she’d taken them with her. It was a liberating moment. I was flooded with compassion for the pain she had held all her life and had no way to work through or overcome. I felt sad for this wounded child who had never developed beyond the emotional level of a teenager. That understanding freed me to start to be more forgiving toward myself, and to quit working so hard not to be my mother.

Nobody can build the bridge for you to walk across the river of life, no one but you yourself alone. There are, to be sure, countless paths and bridges and demi-gods which would carry you across this river; but only at the cost of yourself; you would pawn yourself and lose.

Eros might be a demi-god, but he was young, flighty, and male, never pretending to be brave, or strong, or the least trustworthy.