Marvel Apocalypse Quotes

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The more thou search, the more thou shall marvel.
COMPTON GAGE
The whole world will marvel at how God brings down a powerful enemy while preserving His people.
David Jeremiah (The Book of Signs: 31 Undeniable Prophecies of the Apocalypse)
The more thou search, the more thou shall marvel; for the world hast fast to pass away-
COMPTON GAGE
It’s not a war. It’s an annihilation,” he’d mumbled low for her ears only. She’d been unable to respond, only focusing on her own breath and marveling that she in fact was still breathing.
Jettie Necole (The Vault)
Imagine if you will—and you will—a mushroom cloud bigger than anything that you currently see out that window. Imagine jet planes and bombers the size of apartment complexes dropping technological marvels of deconstruction upon this city, this world, all around the epicenter of a blooming death cloud. Imagine that mushroom coming to a head, knowing that it is filled with unimaginable heat and concrete, dust, papers—human faces, eyes, and brains. Gray matter filling the radioactive cloud with electricity as all that is inside us leaves us and becomes one with the mushroom. Glass will melt and connect with steel, and we will melt and connect with each other as everything that made us whole is criminally dissected and rearranged. Everything below us, from the sewer tunnels to the subway line, will be consumed into the cloud and jettisoned into the stratosphere, where it will become nothing but silken ash, hardened to a black substance, and turned back to a black dust, transfixed into a black nothing. A stinking, glowing crater all that remains of where you had your first kiss and told someone that you loved them. A mess of a world where everything you’ve ever done quickly becomes all that you’ll ever do.
Michael A. Ferro (TITLE 13: A Novel)
Dear God, what is this Aethyr I am come upon? What spirits are thee, labouring in what heavenly light? No... No, this is dazzle, but not yet divinity. Nor are these heathen wraiths about me spirits, lacking even that vitality. What, then? Am I, like Saint John the Divine, vouchsafed a glimpse of those last times? Are these the days my death shall spare me? It would seem we are to suffer an apocalypse of cockatoos... Morose, barbaric children playing joylessly with their unfathomable toys. Where comes this dullness in your eyes? How has your century numbed you so? Shall man be given marvels only when he is beyond all wonder? Your days were born in blood and fires, whereof in you I may not see the meanest spark! Your past is pain and iron! Know yourselves! With all your shimmering numbers and your lights, think not to be inured by history. Its black root succours you. It is INSIDE you. Are you asleep to it, that cannot feel its breath upon your neck, nor see what soaks its cuffs? See me! Wake up and look upon me! I am come amongst you. I am with you always! You are the sum of all preceding you, yet seem indifferent to yourselves. A culture grown disinterested, even in its own abysmal wounds. ... How would I seem to you? Some antique fiend or penny dreadful horror, yet YOU frighten ME! You have not souls. With you I am alone. Alone in an Olympus. Though accomplished in the sciences, your slightest mechanisms are beyond my grasp. They HUMBLE me, yet touch you not at all. This disaffection. THIS is Armageddon.
Alan Moore (From Hell)
Essay on Submission" Having ebbed in the disbelief of it instead of its weight. Stone-tiled the floor the blood a trickling fire confessional. Here the ocean metaphor refused. He tore me shut & seeping no vastness. To marvel or hide in. Being told i don’t exist i laugh with wounded teeth into. The folds of his larynx a choir of bees rattle me. Into myth less the mechanics of. Throat than the usage the context neither divorced from combustion. Of birth more or less i forgave him before. He entered because he swelled for me i could never trust. Myself in his hands but i did want. Him. Knocking leaning into the sliver of light he. Missed the wastebasket he couldn’t bear. The sight of me i never slept. With the lights off i don’t know that. History. But i named it so it can’t be. Holy. Or rather question. Of distance my skin. And cold waters my skin and woundless. Skin i wade in the contradiction. After i wanted only to be. Held. No. Distance his hand & the small of my. Back his hand & the lip. Of a waterfall here i reject the landscape. Its vastness i don’t think. We’re looking for the same thing you. And i you’d think olympus. Would dethrone itself of goldenrod leaves i told you it was. Blood did i claim it. Mine i am built of avoidable. Violences with one drop apocalypse. The burning wilderness you can see yourself. Out now histories like this cannot. Be known let alone escaped even the one. Where i set fire to my colonizer i can afford neither. Reclamation nor reconciliation. No. Unfragmented i cannot give you an ending. That isn’t body lunar. And concave staining instead. The bathroom floor.
George Abraham
parallel to all other ages, not a chronological series of events. Indeed, one of the great marvels of God’s gracious activity toward us is that it occurs in real time without being prejudiced in favor of any particular age. Just because we are the latest does not mean we are the best. The effects of sin prevent any age—including ours—from being “golden,” at least in the spiritual sense. Every Christian generation learns equally the lessons of Revelation—that God is in control, that the powers of the world are minuscule when compared with God, that God is as likely to work through apparent weakness and failure as through strength and success, and that in the end God’s people will prevail. Revelation is the last book of the Bible. It reveals important truths about the end times. But it is also last in another important sense—it calls on all the hermeneutical courage, wisdom, and maturity one can muster in order to be understood properly. In many ways it serves as a graduation exercise for the NIV Application Commentary Series, an opportunity to fully apply the many lessons we have learned in the Bridging Contexts sections of previous volumes. God’s time is his, not ours. The story of God’s gracious activity on our behalf will be fulfilled in a great and glorious conclusion. But all Christians, everywhere and at all times, have equal access to the time. That access has been and is made possible by God’s message in the book of Revelation. Terry C. Muck Author’s Preface AS A NEW CHRISTIAN recently converted from atheism, I eagerly hurried through Paul’s letters, reaching Revelation as soon as possible. Once I reached it, however, I could hardly understand a word of it. I listened attentively to the first few “prophecy teachers” I heard, but even if they had not contradicted one another, over the years I watched as most of their detailed predictions failed to materialize. Perhaps six years after my conversion, as I began to read Revelation in Greek for the first time, the book came alive to me. Because I was now moving through the text more carefully, I noticed the transitions and the structure, and I realized it was probably addressing something much different from what I had first supposed. At the same time, I catalogued parallels I found between Revelation and biblical prophets like Daniel, Ezekiel, and Zechariah. I also began reading an apocalypse contemporary with Revelation, 4 Ezra (2 Esdras in the Apocrypha), to learn more about the way Revelation’s original, first-century audience may have heard its claims. Yet even in my first two years as a Christian, Revelation and other end-time passages proved a turning point for me. As a young Christian, I was immediately schooled in a particular, popular end-time view, which I respectfully swallowed (the
Craig S. Keener (Revelation (The NIV Application Commentary Book 20))
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Vietnam
I have always thought how nice it would be to have a mate who enjoys me doting on them, protecting them, and caring for them. Maybe even spoil them. And you are so very soft. I want soft things for you. I want others to see and hear you happy and marvel at the skill it takes to make you so.
Alexa Piper (Magic & Home (Monster Apocalypse, #2))
Our apocalyptic fiction depicts a world in which humans revert to the savagery of the jungle the moment our institutions fall, survivors tearing each other to pieces even as they are dying of plague or stalked by the undead. In our real history, we have been in that situation many times—left without government or law enforcement, none of the modern institutions we take for granted. From each of these scenarios what emerged was not savagery, but cooperation. When the pillars of our culture crumble, we rebuild them. [...] Mankind is, and always has been, much greater than the sum of its parts. A lone human may appear to be nothing special if observed, say, blearily standing in line at a convenience store at two in the morning, or spitefully ripping a toy from the hands of a middle-aged woman in the chaos of a Black Friday sale. Yet, the combined efforts of these confused and volatile primates result in gleaming cities and majestic flying carriages. They have split the atom and peered across the universe. In the blink of an eye, they have acquired the powers of gods. This, I believe, is the fate of humanity: to colonize the stars over the next thousand years, to set down settlements in our solar system and others. Then, many centuries from now, one of our descendants will be strolling along some marvelous domed paradise on some distant planet and will see a drunken youth in offensive clothing, vomiting in an alley outside a pub. The man will look sidelong at the youth in that shameful state, shake his head, and mutter to himself that humanity is a ridiculous, doomed species, incapable of anything worthwhile. He will believe it, because the true, wonderful, terrible, fearsome power of humanity is otherwise almost too much to comprehend. I recognize that not all of you share my faith, but you must admit that if gods are real and have observed humanity’s evolution from afar, they must shudder at the possibilities.
David Wong
Future humans, living in a coastal megalopolis in Baffin Island in the Canadian Arctic, might similarly marvel at the strange ancient culture 5,000 years ago that was fully aware that it was sacrificing the prospects of civilization and the welfare of the living world to satisfy its hunger for burning ancient plants and sea life buried in the rocks. But this far underestimates the eventual legacy of humanity.
Peter Brannen (The Ends of the World: Volcanic Apocalypses, Lethal Oceans, and Our Quest to Understand Earth's Past Mass Extinctions)