Gateway To Heaven Quotes

For," I said, "a murdered man or woman dies not in God's time, but in Man's. He... or she... is cut short before he... or she... can atone for sin, and so all errors must be forgiven. When you think of it that way, all murderers are a gateway for heaven.

Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God’s Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world? Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.

Dante, I think, committed a crude blunder when, with a terror-inspiring ingenuity, he placed above the gateway of his hell the inscription, 'I too was created by eternal love'--at any rate, there would be more justification for placing above the gateway to the Christian Paradise...the inscription 'I too was created by eternal hate'...

The (false) suspicion that we can somehow be separated from God is the root of every form of anxiety in the universe, and the cure for it—which I received partially within the Gateway and completely within the Core—was the knowledge that nothing can tear us from God, ever.

War might be hell, but it was also the gateway to heaven.

I fell in love with her that day. There is no other woman for me; there never will be. Lily is my gateway to Heaven. Without her, the only thing left for me is Hell.

The valley spirit, undying Is called the Mystic Female The gateway of the Mystic Female Is called the root of Heaven and Earth It flows continuously, barely perceptible When utilized, it is never exhausted

In belief in what? In love with what? In hope for what?—There’s no doubt that these weak people—at some time or another they also want to be the strong people, some day their "kingdom" is to arrive—they call it simply "the kingdom of God" as I mentioned. People are indeed so humble about everything! Only to experience that, one has to live a long time, beyond death—in fact, people must have an eternal life, so they can also win eternal recompense in the "kingdom of God" for that earthly life "in faith, in love, in hope." Recompense for what? Recompense through what? In my view, Dante was grossly in error when, with an ingenuity inspiring terror, he set that inscription over the gateway into his hell:"Eternal love also created me." Over the gateway into the Christian paradise and its "eternal blessedness" it would, in any event, be more fitting to let the inscription stand "Eternal hate also created me"—provided it’s all right to set a truth over the gateway to a lie! For what is the bliss of that paradise? Perhaps we might have guessed that already, but it is better for it to be expressly described for us by an authority we cannot underestimate in such matters, Thomas Aquinas, the great teacher and saint: "In the kingdom of heaven" he says as gently as a lamb, "the blessed will see the punishment of the damned, so that they will derive all the more pleasure from their heavenly bliss.

Earth was the shorthand name for the classroom studio, named Earth, Fire, Air, Water, Spirit. Megan thought the alchemical name was especially appropriate for the art of sculpting, since the medium utilized all of those things.

I once met a traveler who told me he would live to see the end of time. He laid out all his vitamins before me and told me he slept seven hours every night, no more or less. All the life you want, he said. It's all within the palm of your hand now. He said he would outlast all the wars and all the diseases, long enough to remember everything, and long enough to forget everything. He'd be the last man still standing when the sun decides to collapse upon itself and history ends. He said he had found the safest place on earth, where he could stay until the gateway to the beyond opened before him. A thousand generations from today. I pictured him there, atop a remote and snowy mountain. The heavens opening and God congratulating him for his perseverance. Asking him to join Him and watch as the sun burns down to a dull orange cinder and everything around it breaks is orbit and goes tumbling tumbling away, everything that once seemed permanent pulled apart so effortlessly, like a ball of yarn. A life into divinity. But I knew it was a lie. I've always known it was a lie. You can not hide from the world. It will find you. It always does. And now it has found me. My split second of immortality is over. All that's left now is the end, which is all any of us ever has.

The holy scriptures and the spoken word of the living prophets give emphasis to the fundamental principles and doctrines of the gospel. The reason we return to these foundational principles, to the pure doctrines, is because they are the gateway to truths of profound meaning. They are the door to experiences of sublime importance that would otherwise be beyond our capacity to comprehend. These simple, basic principles are the key to living in harmony with God and man. They are the keys to opening the windows of heaven. They lead us to the peace, joy, and understanding that Heavenly Father has promised to His children who hear and obey Him.

To satisfy both optimists and pessimists, we may conclude by saying that we are on the threshold of both heaven and hell, moving nervously between the gateway of the one and the anteroom of the other. History has still not decided where we will end up, and a string of coincidences might yet send us rolling in either direction.

I asked the earth and it answered, “I am not He”; and all things that are in the earth made the same confession. I asked the sea and the deeps and the creeping things, and they answered, “We are not your God, seek higher.” I asked the winds that blow, and the whole air with all that is in it answered, “Anaximenes was wrong; I am not God.” I asked the heavens, the sun, the moon, the stars, and they answered, “Neither are we God whom you seek.” And I said to all the things that throng about the gateways of the senses: “Tell me of my God, since you are not He. Tell me something of Him.” And they cried out in a great voice: “He made us.” My question was my gazing upon them, and their answer was their beauty. Man is a silent, incarnate word of God. The moon, the stars, the sun, the sea, the firmament are the visible proof of the existence and omnipotence of God, who created them out of sheer love. These creatures are the powerful, mysterious voice of God.

Yet if there be one voice which can speak from the gateway of a dangerous avenue to its satisfaction, that can say, “Ho there! pass by; I have tried this way; it leads at last into poisonous wildernesses,” in the name of Heaven let it be raised.

Mountain of the young gods" in the environs of Kadesh, and two peaks of El and Asherah—Shad Elim, Shad Asherath u Rahim—in the south of the peninsula. It was to that area at mebokh naharam ("Where the two bodies of water begin"), kerev apheq tehomtam ("Near the cleft of the two seas") that El had retired in his old age. The texts, we believe, describe the southern tip of the Sinai peninsula. There was, we conclude, a Gateway Mount on the perimeter of the Spaceport in the Central Plain. And there were two peaks in the peninsula's southern tip that also played a role in the comings and goings of the Nefilim. They were the two peaks that measured up.

Heaven forbid you do anything -cliché-, Mr. English-Professor-in-Training," says Dodger. "You might find a single cliché is a gateway drug to tweed jackets and khaki slacks, and the next thing you know, you're teaching Kerouac and making eyes at that cute undergrad in the front row who makes you think about fucking all of Middle America in one triumphant go.

the vows before the Superior elected. Shortly before nine o’clock he went to see Father Ignatius to say goodbye. He found him out of bed and just finished dressing. Ignatius put his arm round the younger man’s shoulders and limped with him to the door. “Rodriguez left a quarter of an hour ago”, he said. It was a very beautiful morning. “Who is going to do all those letters now?” Francis blurted out. Ignatius smiled—without answering. And suddenly Francis knew that he would never see this man again, this incredible man whom he loved more than he had loved anybody else on earth; he knew that there was between them a very special love, beyond all the ties with the other companions, born of the air and soil and blood of their country, born out of the very hardships of the battle Ignatius had waged to win him over during all those long years in Paris. And he knew that the gateway to heaven could look like a man and be a man, a small, frail, bald man, who was for Christ on earth what Saint Michael was for God in heaven. “Go”, said Ignatius. “Go and set all afire.

Even if millions have seen Bonhoeffer’s death as tragic and as a prematurely ended life, we can be certain that he did not see it that way at all. In a sermon he preached while a pastor in London, he said: No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence. Whether we are young or old makes no difference. What are twenty or thirty or fifty years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal? That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up—that is for young and old alike to think about. Why are we so afraid when we think about death? . . . Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God’s Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world? Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.

Then comes idleness, which is indeed the gateway to all evils. The idle man is like unto a house which has no walls. The Devil may enter from every side and shoot at him, and tempt him from every side, for he is exposed. This idleness is the cesspool of all wicked and villainous thoughts, and the receptacle of all jabbering, backstabbing and excrement. For certain, Heaven is given to those who will labor, and not to idle folk. Also, David says, “They who do not do the labor of men shall be whipped for it.” That is to say, in Purgatory. Surely, it seems they shall be tormented by the Devil in Hell, unless they do Penitence.

When he awakened from sleep, he said, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it.... This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven” (Genesis 28:16–17). In the Celtic world that gateway is present everywhere. In every place is the immediacy of heaven. In every moment we can glimpse the Light that was in the beginning and from which all things have come. As Oliver says, “The threshold is always near.”3 We can step over this threshold and back again in the fleeting span of a second. In a single step we can find ourselves momentarily in that other world, the world of eternal Light, which is woven inseparably through this world—the world of matter that is forever unfolding like a river in flow.

No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence. Whether we are young or old makes no difference. What are twenty or thirty or fifty years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal? That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up—that is for young and old alike to think about. Why are we so afraid when we think about death? . . . Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God’s Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world? Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.

In heaven and on earth, pride or self-exaltation is the very gateway to hell.

Giving is the gateway to heaven.

Humor can help churches humble. It puts the community in touch with its inevitable limitations as a human organization, and its fundamental reliance to God. That leads us to God through the gateway of humility.

No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence. Whether we are young or old makes no difference. What are twenty or thirty or fifty years in the sight of God? And which of us knows how near he or she may already be to the goal? That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up–that is for young and old alike to think about. What are we so afraid when we think about death? Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God’s word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle, it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace. How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world? Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.

Giving is the gateway to heavenly blessings.

The house of God should be the gateway to heaven.

At a time when my faith severely wavered and I turned my back on God in favor of empirical truth, my Christian roots informed me of the power of death as the gateway into heaven and the presence of the Almighty. But

Humility is the gateway to heaven.

Service is the best expression of kindness. Kindness is the gateway to heaven.

The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The thronèd monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptered sway. It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings; It is an attribute to God Himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God’s When mercy seasons justice.” —William Shakespeare “The Merchant of Venice

Grace is sacred gateway to the kingdom of heaven.

Grace is the gateway to heaven.

I think I know why purgatory became so popular, why Dante’s middle volume is the one people most easily relate to. The myth of purgatory is an allegory, a projection from the present onto the future. This is why purgatory appeals to the imagination. It is our story, here and now. If we are Christians, if we believe in the risen Jesus as Lord, if we are baptized members of his body, then we are passing right now through the sufferings that form the gateway to life. Of course, this means that for millions of our theological and spiritual ancestors death brought a pleasant surprise. They had been gearing themselves up for a long struggle ahead, only to find it was already over.

Even writing this I have to pray against the feeling, yet you couldn’t pay me enough money to get stoned again, because I believe it is a gateway to the second heaven! He dropped me

If you find yourself reacting or experiencing anger or frustration with a child, then use it as a gateway to shine light and love upon the lies you were taught by your parents and ultimately by your ancestors. Take responsibility and make amends with that child by apologizing as soon as possible. Explain that your anger was not their fault, that every person is responsible for their own emotions, and that your anger was your responsibility.

I mean, for heaven’s sake, why couldn’t we at least fit in here, in this strangest little corner of the world, in this place for people who didn’t fit in anywhere else?

So, is the modern era one of mindless slaughter, war and oppression, typified by the trenches of World War One, the nuclear mushroom cloud over Hiroshima and the gory manias of Hitler and Stalin? Or is it an era of peace, epitomised by the trenches never dug in South America, the mushroom clouds that never appeared over Moscow and New York, and the serene visages of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King? The answer is a matter of timing. It is sobering to realise how often our view of the past is distorted by events of the last few years. If this chapter had been written in 1945 or 1962, it would probably have been much more glum. Since it was written in 2014, it takes a relatively buoyant approach to modern history. To satisfy both optimists and pessimists, we may conclude by saying that we are on the threshold of both heaven and hell, moving nervously between the gateway of the one and the anteroom of the other. History has still not decided where we will end up, and a string of coincidences might yet send us rolling in either direction.

Mind is not a gateway to another realm, Mind is a wondrous universe on its own. The messages we think we get from the heavens, Are actually subconscious constructs of our own.

I get visions of words, But it ain't nothing supernatural. It's just a natural expression, of divergently wired circuits neural. Much of my literary universe is born of intense transcendental states. Had I let it overwhelm my common sense, I'd've risen a supernatural figurehead. Instead, I looked for a tangible explanation, that flatters my curiosity, not ignorance. Thus, I stumbled upon the neurochemical roots, from which all normal and paranormal manifest. Mind is not a gateway to another realm, Mind is a wondrous universe on its own. The messages we think we get from the heavens, Are actually subconscious constructs of our own. Be conscious of consciousness, but more of your subconsciousness. Your eyes will open up to new vistas, with wider and more meaningful sapience.

but to refire into new life. (5) We choose to interpret all the physical, intellectual, emotional, social, and spiritual changes as new territory to traverse in our advancement. (6) We choose to see this aging process as our final pilgrimage—the one that will ultimately lead us to our Beloved, our Source. (7) We willingly and eagerly invite others to come with us and to help them along, just as we allow them to help us reach our sacred destination of heaven.

we are on the threshold of both heaven and hell, moving nervously between the gateway of the one and the anteroom of the other. History has still not decided where we will end up, and a string of coincidences might yet send us rolling in either direction.

I get visions of words, But it ain't nothing supernatural. It's just a natural expression, of divergently wired circuits neural. Much of my literary universe is born of intense transcendental states. Had I let it overwhelm my common sense, I'd've risen a supernatural figurehead. Instead, I looked for a tangible explanation, that flatters my curiosity, not ignorance. Thus, I stumbled upon the neurochemical roots, from which all normal and paranormal manifest. Mind is not a gateway to another realm, Mind is a wondrous universe on its own. The messages we think we get from the heavens, Are actually subconscious constructs of our own.

And make confession unto Him. — Josh. 7 : 19. OUR Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for keeping guard over us during the night. We laid us down and slept; we awakened because Thou didst sustain us. Thou hast opened to us the gateway of this new day and set before us open doors of fresh opportunity and privilege. As we go forth to new duties and responsibilities, we pray for Thy presence to go with us. Strengthen us in our weakness, guide us in our ignorance, and inspire us both to will and to do according to Thy good pleasure. Enable us to present our bodies a living sacrifice, wholly acceptable unto Thee, which is our reasonable service. We commit to Thee all our loved ones, and beseech Thee that Thy Spirit may so control their hearts and guide their lives as to save them from forgetfulness of Thee, and from neglect of Thy claims. Remember those in authority over us. Put Thy fear in their hearts, that they may faithfully discharge their responsible duties. May Thy Spirit rest on all our people, causing us to lead peaceable, quiet and orderly lives. Hasten the triumphs of Thy Kingdom, until all hearts shall be brought under the rule of Christ, and the whole family of man shall constitute a brotherhood bound together by the bond of Christian love. These blessings we ask, with the forgiveness of our sins, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen. R. C. Reed, D.D., Columbia, S. C.

Still you think yourself lonely; in the silence of night Your lament is heard by the stone, and flees from you often To wail away from mortals on a wingéd wave to heaven. Because the precious favorites never lived with you, Who worshiped you, who once made stunning temples and cities To wreathe your shores, and always searched and always missed, For the wreath will always need its heroes, the consecrated ones Glorified to eminence in the hearts of sensitive men. Tell me, then, where is Athens? Above the urns of the masters Is the most beloved of your cities, on the sacred shores, In mourning for God, and collapsed completely into ashes, Or is there still an indication from her that the skipper, When he arrives, perhaps he will remember her and call? In the columns that rose upward there, did nothing shine Below but the figurines of God on castle rooftops? Didn't people's voices, vociferous and wild, rustle Through the agora, and rush away through the gateways of joy Along the narrow lanes and down to the holiest of harbors? . . . Alas! It wanders in the night, it dwells as in Orcus, With nothing godlike, our race. To their own bustle Alone they are fastened, and in the raging workshop Each hears only himself, and the wild ones with mighty arms Work much without respite; yet ever more Sterile, like the Furies, remains the toil of the poor.

Obs were mediums and necromancers condemned by Torah, the Law of God. They were to be executed by the state for their spiritually heinous activity of consulting the dead and divining spirits. In Philistia, such activities were not outlawed as they were in Israel, but were rather encouraged. The Ob’s residence stood on the outskirts of the city near the foothills, because of the spiritual nature of mountains as cosmic connections between heaven and earth, and as gateways to Sheol.

Saul said, “I have been wrong in my thoughts and deeds. But God in his great mercy has given me light. Light through blindness. I now stand here to proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah, the risen Lord, the Son of God. He is come to save man from his sins. He is the gateway to heaven! Accept him as your Savior, and receive God’s forgiving grace!” After a stunned silence, a clamor of voices filled the air. Had this man just said what they thought they heard? The murderer, Saul of Tarsus, proclaiming Jesus Christ as the Messiah?

I do not serve and never will serve the human body. I serve only the human soul - the soul that is the cause of all feats of excellence in this world – the soul that is the gateway to a real kingdom of peace.

we are on the threshold of both heaven and hell, moving nervously between the gateway of the one and the anteroom of the other.

Oh, when shall men learn, at last, that if the Great Religion inculcates so rigidly the necessity of FAITH, it is not alone that FAITH leads to the world to be; but that without faith there is no excellence in this, — faith in something wiser, happier, diviner, than we see on earth! — the artist calls it the Ideal, — the priest, Faith. The Ideal and Faith are one and the same. Return, O wanderer, return! Feel what beauty and holiness dwell in the Customary and the Old. Back to thy gateway glide, thou Horror! and calm, on the childlike heart, smile again, O azure Heaven, with thy night and thy morning star but as one, though under its double name of Memory and Hope!

He was saying that when our minds are renewed, we will see the Kingdom displayed and proven as He did in His earthly ministry. That’s what it means to “see” the Kingdom of Heaven. Our souls long to see such things. We have inside of us an unrelenting hunger to watch the Kingdom break into this realm—and not just to watch but to participate, to become the connecting point and gateway for God’s power.

But how will you know when you’re in love? By your own admission, what you expect to feel is something imagined during moments of fancy.” He shuffled forward until their knees touched. “What if passion is a stepping stone to love? What if the joining of our bodies is the gateway to something far more profound?” Heavens, this man could induce the Lord to sin.

What He really wants is for us to go and meet with Him, and in meeting with Him, to come back into this realm bringing what we have from there to here; to be a gateway of heaven on earth. My journey is from seeing God’s works