Keith Green Quotes

If your heart takes more pleasure in reading novels, or watching TV, or going to the movies, or talking to friends, rather than just sitting alone with God and embracing Him, sharing His cares and His burdens, weeping and rejoicing with Him, then how are you going to handle forever and ever in His presence...? You'd be bored to tears in heaven, if you're not ecstatic about God now!

I'd rather have people hate me with the knowledge that I tried to save them.

I've never tried to be controversial. The truth is controversial enough.

If somebody writes a great poem, people don't run around applauding the pencil, saying 'Oh, what a great pencil'...I'm a pencil in God's hands.

This generation of Christians is responsible for this generation of souls on earth.

What is your personal carrying capacity for grief, rage, despair? We are living in a period of mass extinction. The numbers stand at 200 species a day. That's 73,000 a year. This culture is oblivious to their passing, feels entitled to their every last niche, and there is no roll call on the nightly news.

Ahem! Ahem!” As I recalled, Aunt Kathy loved Uncle Dan so much, she went grocery shopping during his funeral and failed to attend his burial as well. Apparently, Ham Hocks, Collard greens, Chitlin, Fatback, and Hog-Head cheesetook higher priority over his Last Rites. Then the reverend proceeded cautiously as he introduced my mom. “Let metell y’all about my Ms. Liza. Sister Kathy kept this one close.” “Ahem! Ahem! Ar-choo! Ahem!” Shockingly, there was a lightening blast that rocked the building once again while dimming the lights for more than 10seconds. The crowd turned restless, took a deep breath, and then allowed Pastor Keith to resume. “I’m gonna tell y’all, they were two kernels on a cob. When you saw Sister Kathy, you saw Sister Liza. “Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!” “The two of them raised those boys from seeds to bean stalks. We helped nourish them right here in Zion Gate Union. Now they’re just ripe for the harvest. I hope some of you ladies can take a hint!” For a brief moment, modest laughter filled the church. Yet, it was needed because Pastor Keith had gone into uncharted waters. No one dared to challenge my mom. Yet, Pastor Keith was speaking glowingly about her. Only a fewwanted to see where the Reverend was going. But most didn’t care to re-open that door. Church members were so afraid of Mom, no one dared to call her by name. All parishioners would go mute and head the other way, or simply hit the exits just to avoid all encounters.

If you don’t have a definite call to stay here, you are called to go.

This is the moment when we have to decide: does a world exist outside ourselves and is that world worth fighting for? Another 200 species went extinct today. They were my kin. They were yours, too. If we know them as such, why aren't we fighting to save them with everything we've got?

This is why militarism is a feminist issue, why rape is an environmental issue, why environmental destruction is a peace issue. We will never dismantle misogyny as long as domination is eroticized. We will also never stop racism. Nor will we mount an effective resistance to fascism, which is the eroticization of domination and subordination–fascism is in essence a cult of masculinity. Those are all huge spin-outs from the same beginning. The result is torture, rape, genocide, and biocide.

I think the biggest reason otherwise radical people don't want to face the necessity of ending industrial civilization is privilege. We're the ones reaping the benefits. We've sold out the rest of life on earth for convenience, creature comforts, and cheap consumer goods, and it's appalling. I'm sickened by this bargain.

Intimacy requires a slow, cumulative build of safety between people who agree to a relationship, an ongoing connection of care and concern. The performance of pain is essentially a form of bonding over trauma, and people can get addicted to their endorphins.

Our best hope will never lie in individual survivalism. Nor does it lie in small groups doing their best to prepare for the worst. Our best and only hope is a resistance movement that is willing to face the scale of the horrors, gather our forces, and fight like hell for all we hold dear.

John Locke, called the Father of Liberalism, made the argument that the individual instead of the community was the foundation of society. He believed that government existed by the consent of the governed, not by divine right. But the reason government is necessary is to defend private property, to keep people from stealing from each other. This idea appealed to the wealthy for an obvious reason: they wanted to keep their wealth. From the perspective of the poor, things look decidedly different. The rich are able to accumulate wealth by taking the labor of the poor and by turning the commons into privately owned commodities; therefore, defending the accumulation of wealth in a system that has no other moral constraints is in effect defending theft, not protecting against it.

Resistance is a simple concept: power, unjust and immoral, is confronted and dismantled. The powerful are denied their right to hurt the less powerful. Domination is replaced by equity in a shift or substitution of institutions. That shift eventually forms new human relationships, both personally and across society.

It's so hard to see when my eyes are on me.

Jesus, you are hereby officially welcomed into me. Now only action will reveal your effect on me.

Did you know Granddaddy was a famous quarterback with the Green Bay Packers?” she said breathlessly. “My friends at school told me he won these things called Super Bowls and championships…” She didn’t

I want two of the four piece fried chicken dinners.  Both with mashed potatoes and green beans.  I also want two orders of grilled corn on the cob and a side of macaroni salad.  Three slices of the banana cream pie and a piece of German chocolate cake.

There is a name for the tsunami wave of extermination: the Holocene extinction event. There's no asteroid this time, only human behavior, behavior that we could choose to stop. Adolph Eichman's excuse was that no one told him that the concentration camps were wrong. We've all seen the pictures of the drowning polar bears. Are we so ethically numb that we need to be told this is wrong?

How come no one idolizes or praises the missionaries who give up everything and live in poverty, endangering their lives and their families with every danger that the American dream has almost completely eliminated? How come no one lifts up and exalts the ghetto and prison ministers and preachers? Because we are taught early on 1) that comfort is our goal and security and 2) that we should always seek for a lot of people to like us.

Colorado and Wyoming are America’s highest states, averaging 6,800 feet and 6,700 feet above sea level. Utah comes in third at 6,100 feet, New Mexico, Nevada, and Idaho each break 5,000 feet, and the rest of the field is hardly worth mentioning. At 3,400 feet, Montana is only half as high as Colorado, and Alaska, despite having the highest peaks, is even further down the list at 1,900 feet. Colorado has more fourteeners than all the other U.S. states combined, and more than all of Canada too. Colorado’s lowest point (3,315 feet along the Kansas border) is higher than the highest point in twenty other states. Rivers begin here and flow away to all the points of the compass. Colorado receives no rivers from another state (unless you count the Green River’s’ brief in and out from Utah).Wyoming’s Wind River Range is the only mountain in North America that supplies water to all three master streams of the American West: Missouri, Colorado, and Columbia rivers.

The violence of hierarchy is the violence that the powerful use against the dispossessed to keep them subordinated. As an example, the violence committed for wealth is socially invisible or committed at enough of a distance that its beneficiaries don't have to be aware of it. This type of violence has defined every imperialist war in the history of the US that has been fought to get access to "natural resources" for corporations to turn into the cheap consumer goods that form the basis of the American way of life.

The cross of Roman times knew no compromise. It never made concessions. It won all its arguments by killing its opponent and silencing him for good. It spared not Christ, but slew Him the same as the rest. . . . With perfect knowledge of all this, Christ said, “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow Me.” So the cross not only brought Christ’s life to an end, it also ends the first life, the old life of every one of His true followers. . . . This and nothing less is true Christianity. We must do something about the cross, and there’s only one of two things we can do—flee it or die upon it!

All of us can get lost in the sea of humanity and just think that we are who and what other people say we are based on their preconceptions. All of us have preconceptions about other people. We preconceive about people based on how we perceive ourselves. In other words, we don’t see people, places, and things how they are—we see them through the lens of how we are. For example, if you look at a lemon with sunglasses that have blue lenses, what color is the lemon? Green . . . right? No, it is yellow. The color of the lemon does not change, but how we see the lemon does. Most people’s preconceptions stem from the misconceptions they have about themselves, based on what they have come to believe about themselves. We all have limited knowledge about ourselves.

in Solitude; also James Martin’s introduction to Merton and others, Becoming Who You Are), Henri Nouwen (The Inner Voice of Love), Gregory Mayers (Listen to the Desert), Rowan Williams (Tokens of Trust), J. Keith Miller (Compelled to Control) and David Benner (Spirituality and the Awakening Self). Let me also include here Frederica Matthews-Green (The Jesus Prayer and At the Corner of East and Now) for gentle and compelling introductions to Eastern Orthodoxy, a direction to which I never once nodded throughout my entire seminary career, and James Fowler’s classic Stages of Faith. Others I want to mention are M. Holmes Hartshorne (The Faith to Doubt) and Daniel Taylor (The Myth of Certainty and The Skeptical Believer). I could go on, but each of these were one ah-ha moment after another, encouraging in me a different perspective on what the life of faith can look like, which I found both unsettling and also healing and freeing. These books have become old friends.

As I progressed, the lower flanks of Seana Bhraigh cleared, revealing the wide gaping valley of Gleann a’ Chadha Dheirg. Teasingly, the spectacle unfolded. With each step came a slight change, my angle of view refined, and those lower flanks moved aside just a little more. After all the tweaks, the full majesty of Gleann a’ Chadha Dheirg presented itself. At times, it appeared menacing. Seana Bhraigh, on one side of this valley, rose and stood proud of everything it surveyed. On the other side, of shorter stature but of no less beauty, stood Meall Glac an Ruighe. Both stood guard like sentinels, one minute placid, the next imposing like the gates of hell itself. Steep sides plummeted from a lofty perch, tumbling down from grey to green lowlands, and a ribbon of shimmering water wound down to meet me. The valley walls ran away, stretching further and converging until they curved and carved in to meet each other

when the Americans liberated Ohrdruf, one of Buchenwald’s sub-camps. Ohrdruf is particularly important because General Dwight Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Europe, visited it on 12 April, just a week after it had been discovered. He brought with him Generals Omar Bradley and George Patton, and insisted on seeing ‘every nook and cranny’ of the camp, ‘because I felt it my duty to be in a position from then on to testify at first hand about these things in case there ever grew up at home the belief or assumption that the stories of Nazi brutality were just propaganda’.23 Here they observed torture devices, a butcher’s block used to smash the gold fillings from the mouths of the dead, a room piled to the ceiling with corpses, and the remains of hundreds of bodies that had been burned in a huge pit, as if on ‘some gigantic cannibalistic barbecue’.24 Patton, a man well used to the horrors of the battlefield, took one look at the ‘arms and legs and portions of bodies sticking out of the green water’ in the pit, and was obliged to retire behind a shed to throw up.25

Coward, he thought again, meeting Eremei Fyodorovich’s laughter-sweet eyes. He wondered briefly if Ian’s would be as changeable as Elaine’s or if they were green like his own.

His heart warmed at her thanks. He didn’t hear many kind words from the lasses and would take what he could get, even from a dishonored woman who had caught a bairn out wedlock. Oddly, he didn’t think poorly of her. Whether it was her vexed brow, her guileless, soft mouth, or her vulnerable size, he had not the heart to condemn her. He didn’t even mind so much that she found him distasteful for being overlarge, although talking with her now, she didn’t seem overly upset to be in his arms. He endeavored to keep her talking, keep her distracted from her disgust. “You never answered my first question,” he said. “Who are you? And where are you from if ye’re no’ English?” “Ugh. I don’t know. Is there an answer that won’t get me burned at the stake or locked up in a ward for the hopelessly insane?” Like most things out of her mouth, that had been a peculiar answer. “You could try the truth,” he offered, slowing his pace since he heard Archie’s voice not far off. “No,” she said flatly. “I couldn’t. At least not the whole truth. How about we just go with my name, Melanie, and with the honest fact that I’m a long way from home and have no idea how to get back.” Her green eyes pierced his. “I’m afraid you might be stuck with me, Darcy Keith.

It was difficult in the ’70s to get hypodermics in America. So when I traveled I would wear a hat and use a needle to fix a little feather to the hatband, so it was just a hat pin. I would put the trilby with the red, green and gold feather in the hat bag. So the minute James turned up, I got the shit. OK, but now I need the syringe. My trick was, I’d order a cup of coffee, because I needed a spoon for cooking up. And then I’d go down to FAO Schwarz, the toy shop right across Fifth Avenue from the Plaza. And if you went to the third floor, you could buy a doctor and nurse play set, a little plastic box with a red cross on it. That had the barrel and the syringe that fitted the needle that I’d brought. I’d go round, “I’ll have three teddy bears, I’ll have that remote-control car, oh, and give me two doctor and nurse kits! My niece, you know, she’s really into that. Must encourage her.” FAO Schwarz was my connection. Rush back to the room, hook it up and fix it.

Imagine if Mozart and Beethoven had a fucking Walkman! You wouldn’t have had twenty-six overtures, you’d have fifty-bleeding-nine. Those guys would be green with envy. They would burn their wigs.

Davy Keith, don't you know that it is very wrong of you to be eating that jam, when you were told never to meddle with anything in that closet?" "Yes, I knew it was wrong," admitted Davy uncomfortably, "but plum jam is awful nice, Anne. I just peeped in and it looked so good I thought I'd take just a weeny taste. I stuck my finger in. . ." Anne groaned. . ."and licked it clean. And it was so much gooder than I'd ever thought that I got a spoon and just sailed in." Anne gave him such a serious lecture on the sin of stealing plum jam that Davy became conscience stricken and promised with repentant kisses never to do it again. "Anyhow, there'll be plenty of jam in heaven, that's one comfort," he said complacently. Anne nipped a smile in the bud. "Perhaps there will. . .if we want it," she said, "But what makes you think so?" "Why, it's in the catechism," said Davy. "Oh, no, there is nothing like that in the catechism, Davy." "But I tell you there is," persisted Davy. "It was in that question Marilla taught me last Sunday. `Why should we love God?' It says, `Because He makes preserves, and redeems us.' Preserves is just a holy way of saying jam." "I must get a drink of water," said Anne hastily. When she came back it cost her some time and trouble to explain to Davy that a certain comma in the said catechism question made a great deal of difference in the meaning.

supposed to be attending all of Jackson’s meetings. How is it that you didn’t find this out before yesterday?” Rob shrugged. “And if you had known, what would you have done about it?” “I would have talked to Keith. Convinced him not to pay for that new hard drive.” Victor stood up from the couch. “But it doesn’t matter. We still have the doctored video of Jackson’s crew.” He picked up his book bag and pulled a small box from it. “I need another favor,” he said to Kayla. He handed her the box and waited for her to open it. “Those are the watches we’re supposed to use on Friday. They put out UV light, allowing us to see the answers written on the back of our hands.

Maybe we should talk to Dr. Kelsey," Bradley chimed in. "He's not so mad about the heist anymore." He crinkeled his nose. "Well, except when Keith's father calls. Or Gaby enters the office. Or --

And you lay the old folder out. "Hmmmm. I say, we've had a good look at this, Keith, and it does show some promise. By the way, do you make a good cup of tea?" I said yes, but not for you. I walked off with my folio--it was green, I remember--and I dumped it in the garbage can when I got downstairs. That was my final attempt to join society on their terms.

Cameron Edmunds’ wife hadn’t been far wrong when she said she thought Jagger might live in a cave. It was actually a cottage, which could have been quite beautiful if the woods surrounding it hadn’t been allowed to encroach on the garden and shroud the building in darkness. The walls and paintwork were stained with green mould through lack of light, and the windows were thick with years of grime. There were old net curtains at the windows, grey with age. There was a dead feel to the place. No vehicle was parked on the weed-covered drive, but that made sense as they had found Jagger’s car in central Manchester. As Tom and Keith got out of the car, the silence struck both of them. The trees masked the sound of nearby roads and Tom would have expected birdsong. And yet there was none. Both men closed their car doors quietly and walked softly up the path to the front door, looking around almost as if they were expecting someone or something to appear from the dense undergrowth.

My favorite time was dusk, in the summer, after supper. I sat on the creek bridge dangling my feet in the stream. During peak sweet corn season I swear I heard the sweet corn growing. The creeping darkness began flickering with hundreds of lightning bugs. It was magical, twinkling stars above, twinkling lighting bugs all around, and frogs, crickets and whip-poor-wills in full voice.

We weren’t poor, we just never had any money.

So I wound up listening with innocent fascination—along with everyone else in the courtroom—as Keith told how he had met Nicole in Aspen about two years before her death. At that time, he was director of operations for the Mezzaluna restaurants’ Colorado and California operations. Nicole was legally separated from Simpson then and living at Gretna Green. In the spring of ‘92 he and Nicole became lovers, but only for about a month. During that time, Zlomsowitch said, O. J. Simpson would follow Nicole when she went out in the evening. Once Nicole and a party of friends showed up at the Mezzaluna in Beverly Hills, where ZIomsowitch was on duty. As he was sitting with her at her table, he noticed O. J. Simpson pull his car up to the parking attendant. Simpson came in and went directly to Nicole’s table. He leaned over, stared at ZIomsowitch, and said, “I’m O. J. Simpson and she’s still my wife.

The afternoon of September 26 was chilly and overcast. On the cusp of sunset, several hundred people, most of them white, were milling around the limestone pavilion on the park’s north side. Montaug, that legendary doorman with the soul of an activist, had indeed drawn a crowd. Many had come because of David Wojnarowicz’s eye-catching flyer, which had been plastered on lampposts in the East Village: it depicted skeleton policemen beating a handcuffed Black man. Even Madonna showed up. “Everyone from the neighborhood was there,” recalled Kenny Scharf, who attended the protest with Keith Haring.