Rant And Rave Quotes

...because I rant not, neither rave of what I feel, can you be so shallow as to dream that I feel nothing?

My recipe for dealing with anger and frustration: set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes, cry, rant, and rave, and at the sound of the bell, simmer down and go about business as usual.

Many will rant and rave against the garment fate has woven for them, but they pick it up and don it all the same, and most wear it to the end of their days. You... you would rather go naked into the storm.

We rant and rave against God for the evil we have to endure but hardly blink at the evil in our own hearts.

At first we raced through space, like shadows and light; her rants, my raves; her dark hair, my blonde; black dresses, white. She's a purple-black African-violet-dark butterfly and I a white moth. We were two wild ponies, Dawn and Midnight, the wind electrifying our manes and our hooves quaking the city; we were photo negatives of each other, together making the perfect image of a girl.

I been silent so long now it’s gonna roar out of me like floodwaters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It’s still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it’s the truth even if it didn’t happen.

There's a part of me that knows that I'll never die. There's a part of me that knows better.

It's hard to take sex ed seriously when the teachers haven't even wiggled their stuff in this millennium.

I can see that you go through life athwart it. You see the flow of events, you are able to tell how you could most easily fit yourself into it. But you dare to oppose it. And why? Simply because you look at it and say, 'this fate does not suit me. I will not allow it to befall me.'" Amber shook her head, but her small smile made it an affirmation. "I have always admired people who can do that. So few do. Many, of course, will rant and rave against the garment fate has woven for them, but they pick it up and on it all the same, and most wear it to the end of their days. You... you would rather go naked into the storm.

No one promised life would be easy or that the game wouldn't change without warning. There you are, all ready to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars, and suddenly Colonel Mustard is trapped in the conservatory, ranting and raving and waving a wrench, and no one knows what exactly a conservatory is or why anyone thought a wrench - of all things - would be a good murder weapon, or what branch of the military Colonel Mustard even served in! Has anyone seen his credentials?

Has anyone ever in recorded history kept a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies for longer than three days?

It’s hard not to be impatient with the absurdity of the young; they tell us that two and two make four as though it had never occurred to us, and they’re disappointed if we can’t share their surprise when they have discovered that a hen lays an egg. There’s a lot of nonsense in their ranting and raving, but it’s not all nonsense. One ought to sympathize with them; one ought to do one’s best to understand. One has to remember how much has to be forgotten and how much has to be learnt when for the first time one faces life. It’s not very easy to give up one’s ideals, and the brute facts of every day are bitter pills to swallow. The spiritual conflicts of adolescence can be very severe and one can do little to resolve them.

If anyone attempted to rule the world by the gospel and to abolish all temporal law and sword on the plea that all are baptized and Christian, and that, according to the gospel, there shall be among them no law or sword - or need for either - pray tell me, friend, what would he be doing? He would be loosing the ropes and chains of the savage wild beasts and letting them bite and mangle everyone, meanwhile insisting that they were harmless, tame, and gentle creatures; but I would have the proof in my wounds. Just so would the wicked under the name of Christian abuse evangelical freedom, carry on their rascality, and insist that they were Christians subject neither to law nor sword, as some are already raving and ranting. To such a one we must say: Certainly it is true that Christians, so far as they themselves are concerned, are subject neither to law nor sword, and have need of neither. But take heed and first fill the world with real Christians before you attempt to rule it in a Christian and evangelical manner. This you will never accomplish; for the world and the masses are and always will be unchristian, even if they are all baptized and Christian in name. Christians are few and far between (as the saying is). Therefore, it is out of the question that there should be a common Christian government over the whole world, or indeed over a single country or any considerable body of people, for the wicked always outnumber the good. Hence, a man who would venture to govern an entire country or the world with the gospel would be like a shepherd who should put together in one fold wolves, lions, eagles, and sheep, and let them mingle freely with one another, saying, “Help yourselves, and be good and peaceful toward one another. The fold is open, there is plenty of food. You need have no fear of dogs and clubs.” The sheep would doubtless keep the peace and allow themselves to be fed and governed peacefully, but they would not live long, nor would one beast survive another. For this reason one must carefully distinguish between these two governments. Both must be permitted to remain; the one to produce righteousness, the other to bring about external peace and prevent evil deeds. Neither one is sufficient in the world without the other. No one can become righteous in the sight of God by means of the temporal government, without Christ's spiritual government. Christ's government does not extend over all men; rather, Christians are always a minority in the midst of non-Christians. Now where temporal government or law alone prevails, there sheer hypocrisy is inevitable, even though the commandments be God's very own. For without the Holy Spirit in the heart no one becomes truly righteous, no matter how fine the works he does. On the other hand, where the spiritual government alone prevails over land and people, there wickedness is given free rein and the door is open for all manner of rascality, for the world as a whole cannot receive or comprehend it.

You better cut the pizza in four pieces because I’m not hungry enough to eat six pieces.

Every time I visit, he sends me off to the Chicken Ranch to fetch dinner. Deep fried chicken, greasy potatoes, BBQ sauce. I can feel my arteries clogging just thinking about

Men could rant and rave all they chose; if a woman did the same, she showed herself a slave to her emotions.

I was born, slipping on a symphony of broken melancholy; created of pencils and crayons; i was not supposed to be this way. i guess i am a "disappointment". i paint and draw. i like to write poetry. The things I excel at could fit inside my shoe." Excerpt from the poem,"Pain"written in 1995, by E.H. Cato(my maiden name) featured in Volume 2 of the Rantings & Ravings Series, 2013.

As a non-believer, I want the atheist case to be made. I want religious belief to be scrutinised and challenged. I want Britain to be a genuinely secular nation, where religious belief is protected and defended as a private matter of conscience. But I feel prevented from doing so because atheism in public life has become so dominated by a particular breed that ends up dressing up bigotry as non-belief. It is a tragedy. And that is why it is so important that atheists distance themselves from those who undermine our position. Richard Dawkins can rant and rave about Muslims as much as he wants. But atheists: let's stop allowing him to do it in our name.

Lack of fairness is not an excuse for bad behavior; it is simply information. If you are required to jump five hurdles to everyone else's three, and if you are unable to remove the extra ones, you are left with two options. You can remain at the starting line, ranting and raving in a fit of unproductive indignation. Or you can jump over those hurdles. Either way, the race will end when it ends. Where you're standing when it does, however, is completely up to you.

It is six months before the election, and the Republicans have already done their focus groups. How do I know? I can hear it in their “message,” which they repeat over and over again like a mantra: “Bernie Sanders is ineffective. Bernie Sanders is out of touch. Bernie Sanders is a left-wing extremist. Bernie Sanders rants and raves on the House floor and still no one listens to him. Susan Sweetser, on the other hand, is a sensible moderate who can work with everyone.” They think that’s how they can beat me. Maybe.

How can there possibly be a God, with leukemia and AIDS?

Life’s a gamble. Sometimes you step in a pile of shit, sometimes you step over it, and sometimes you fall into it – face first.

All writing is lies. Good writing is lies skillfully told.

People idealize their animals, and at the same time they patronizingly overlook a dog’s natural life – biting fleas, burying rotten bones, rolling in garbage, barking up an empty tree all night… But what do they do themselves? Bury stuff that will rot in secret and then dig it up and bury it again and rant and rave under empty trees. And the stuff they roll around in!

I have been ranting and raving about this ever since the idea of the Cloud Ark was announced. So far all I get in return, from the powers that be, are vague answers and hand-wavy happy talk.

If there was one thing I had learned about anger, it was that she was just a cover, and as she ranted, raved, and screamed, she stripper herself away, only to reveal fear. Anger was always fear dressed in a thinning, poor disguise. If you only took a minute to examine it, you could see that.

Giving control of our social interactions to the outer critic prohibits the cultivation of the vulnerable communication that makes intimacy possible. We must renounce unconscious outer critic strategies such as: [1] “I will use angry criticism to make you afraid of me, so I can be safe from you”; [2] “Why should I bother with people when everyone is so selfish and corrupt” [all-or-none thinking]; [3] “I will perfectionistically micromanage you to prevent you from betraying or abandoning me”; [4] “I will rant and rave or leave at the first sign of a lonely feeling, because ‘if you really loved me, I would never feel lonely’”.

They cannot help but lie; they cannot help but add to their own lies, their own flourishes to well-known falsehoods. And they all do so from an agonizing need that everything be just as they so fiercely desire. They rave on like they have a fever; and when I hear their rantings I take their words in greedily and become infected by them.

For all their weirdness, I LOVE the penis people. I don't understand them. I can't imagine I'll ever learn their language of grunting and scratching, but I'm going to try. If I have to devote my life to learning, I will do it. I can't explain the compulsion that is me thinking about Stephen now. Or just watching a boy walk by and wondering what is going on inside his head. To have him want to play with my hair and take me exciting places. To touch his amazingly fabulous butt and not be arrested for assault. Don't they have a distinct smell? When do they start producing that spicy, manly, different-from-me scent? I don't mean the sweaty, take-a-shower odor, but the yummy soap and a hint of cologne. The kind of scent that makes me want to inhale in their general vicinity just because I can. I get fluttery and gooey and cease to function at higher levels. Like I shut down except for feeling things; like the hot rays of Stephen's manliness and the solid rock of femur and muscle under his denim cargo pants.

The months leading up to World War II were some of the most terrible months in the life of Leonard and Virginia Woolf, as they “helplessly and hopelessly” watched events unfold. Leonard said one of the most horrible things was listening to Hitler’s rants on the radio—“the savage and insane ravings of a vindictive underdog who suddenly saw himself to be all-powerful.

It’s gonna burn me just that way, finally telling about all this, about the hospital, and her, and the guys—and about McMurphy. I been silent so long now it’s gonna roar out of me like floodwaters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It’s still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it’s the truth even if it didn’t happen.

It's not un-American to suggest that as Americans, we each owe our fellow Americans something. Not to infect them with a deadly virus by refusing to wear a mask, for one thing. Think of all the Americans who gave their lives storming the beaches of Normandy to protect those back home. I wonder how they'd feel about their sacrifice now if they could see their fellow Americans refusing to get vaccinated, or ranting and raving about being forced to wear a mask in order to protect others.

Adrian, on the other hand, was held captive by a much more powerful master, and even though the shackles no longer felt as heavy, he only obeyed the earthy voice in his head. Even when Edward had ranted and raved and called him a crazy man, Adrian had remained loyal to his master. Not even the promise of a higher salary had tempted him. He was ruled by only one woman, a woman that had enslaved him many years ago, and he was one hundred percent certain that those shackles were not coming off anytime soon.

To instruct us in candid honesty, God gave us the book of Psalms — a worship manual, full of ranting, raving, doubts, fears, resentments, and deep passions combined with thanksgiving, praise, and statements of faith. Every possible emotion is catalogued in the Psalms. When you read the emotional confessions of David and others, realize this is how God wants you to worship him — holding back nothing of what you feel. You can pray like David: “I pour out my complaints before him and tell him all my troubles. For I am overwhelmed.” 6

Let the systematic theologian spell it out. Let the artists throw out thoughts and slants, maybe even slants no one else has thought of. They should give another view of something familiar to help us learn more about it. They should deal with love, life, good, evil, God, the world and faith. Many of the biblical writers were poets more than they were theologians. Poets and prophets ranted and raved, and storytellers wrote great yarns that all had different slants on God and life and faith. Perhaps the poet's absence from the Church for many centuries has left it deprived of much insight.

After more hours in a carriage with Archer than he ever wanted to experience again, Grey returned to Ryeton House. All he wanted to do was find Rose, climb into bed with her, and sleep for the rest of the day. Honestly, sleep. Entwine his legs with hers, sink into her arms, bury his face in the sweet warm hollow of her neck… “You coming?” Grey blinked and turned his head. He was standing in the drive with Archer and the others watching him expectantly. Archer shook his head, clearly exasperated. “Are we going inside, Your Grace, or shall we conduct our business on the street for all Mayfair to witness?” “Inside,” he mumbled. Could he be any more of an idiot? He walked toward the door, the others falling into step behind him. Archer took Bronte’s arm and led their pale, scared-looking sister into the house. Grey hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to her, to let her know that everything would be fine. She probably thought he was going to rant and rave and tell her she could never see Alexander again. Truth be told, ranting and raving was tempting. And a little fear was a small price to pay for what she’d put him through-and for thinking so ill of him to begin with. When had he ever given her reason to think him a monster?

(FIRE) THE BOOK OF SATAN THE INFERNAL DIATRIBE The first book of the Satanic Bible is not an attempt to blaspheme as much as it is a statement of what might be termed 'diabolical indignation'. The Devil has been attacked by the men of God relentlessly and without reservation. Never has there been an opportunity, short of fiction, for the Dark Prince to speak out in the same manner as the spokesmen of the Lord of the Righteous. The pulpit-pounders of the past have been free to define 'good' and 'evil' as they see fit, and have gladly smashed into oblivion any who disagree with their lies - both verbally and, at time, physically. Their talk of 'charity', when applied to His Infernal Majesty, becomes an empty sham - and most unfairly, too, considering the obvious fact that without their Satanic foe their very religions would collapse. How sad, that the allegorical personage most responsible for the success of spiritual religions is show the least amount of charity and the most consistent abuse - and by those who most unctuously preach the rules of fair play! For all the centuries of shouting-down the Devil has received, he has never shouted back at his detractors. He has remained the gentleman at all times, while those he supports rant and rave. He has shown himself to be a model of deportment, but now he feels it is time to receive his due. Now the ponderous rule-books of hypocrisy are no longer needed. In order to relearn the Law of the Jungle, a small, slim diatribe will do. Each verse is an inferno. Each word is a tongue of fire. The flames of Hell burn fierce... and purify! Read on and learn the Law.

And thank you for bringing me." "A pleasure." Bartel returned politely, and stole one last look at the incredible smiling Hairy. Rider stood. Though he was relieved to hear that she planned on staying for a while, he was glad for an excuse to escape his landlady's inquisition. "I'll give you a hand, Bartel." Just short of grabbing the older man's arm, he hustled him out the door. Once outside, bartel chortled jovially. "Ease up,son. She isn't coming after us." Rider exhaled deeply and grinned. "Who put the burr under the lady's saddle?" he asked as they approached the carriage. "Don't know, but she came flying into my store saying she had to get out here and get out here now! I tried to tell her I was too busy to be gallivanting all over hell's half acre, but do you think she'd listen? Uh-uh. Kept ranting and raving something 'bout Miss Willow's welfare. The woman was in a real dither all the way here." Rider groaned. Bartel slapped his back. "I can commiserate with you,son. There isn't anything scarier than a virtuous woman on a crusade.

Well, now, if we’d known we were going to have such…ah…gra…that is, illustrious company, we’d have-“ “Swept off the chairs?” Lucinda suggested acidly. “Shoveled off the floor?” “Lucinda!” Elizabeth whispered desperately. “They didn’t know we were coming.” “No respectable person would dwell in such a place even for a night,” she snapped, and Elizabeth watched in mingled distress and admiration as the redoubtable woman turned around and directed her attack on their unwilling host. “The responsibility for our being here is yours, whether it was a mistake or not! I shall expect you to rout your servants from their hiding places and have them bring clean linens up to us at once. I shall also expect them to have this squalor remedied by morning! It is obvious from your behavior that you are no gentleman; however, we are ladies, and we shall expect to be treated as such.” From the corner of her eye Elizabeth had been watching Ian Thornton, who was listening to all of this, his jaw rigid, a muscle beginning to twitch dangerously in the side of his neck. Lucinda, however, was either unaware of or unconcerned with his reaction, for, as she picked up her skirts and turned toward the stairs, she turned on Jake. “You may show us to our chambers. We wish to retire.” “Retire!” cried Jake, thunderstruck. “But-but what about supper?” he sputtered. “You may bring it up to us.” Elizabeth saw the blank look on Jake’s face, and she endeavored to translate, politely, what the irate woman was saying to the startled red-haired man. “What Miss Throckmorton-Jones means is that we’re rather exhausted from our trip and not very good company, sir, and so we prefer to dine in our rooms.” “You will dine,” Ian Thornton said in an awful voice that made Elizabeth freeze, “on what you cook for yourself, madam. If you want clean linens, you’ll get them yourself from the cabinet. If you want clean rooms, clean them! Am I making myself clear?” “Perfectly!” Elizabeth began furiously, but Lucinda interrupted in a voice shaking with ire: “Are you suggesting, sirrah, that we are to do the work of servants?” Ian’s experience with the ton and with Elizabeth had given him a lively contempt for ambitious, shallow, self-indulgent young women whose single goal in life was to acquire as many gowns and jewels as possible with the least amount of effort, and he aimed his attack at Elizabeth. “I am suggesting that you look after yourself for the first time in your silly, aimless life. In return for that, I am willing to give you a roof over your head and to share our food with you until I can get you to the village. If that is too overwhelming a task for you, then my original invitation still stands: There’s the door. Use it!” Elizabeth knew the man was irrational, and it wasn’t worth riling herself to reply to him, so she turned instead to Lucinda. “Lucinda,” she said with weary resignation, “do not upset yourself by trying to make Mr. Thornton understand that his mistake has inconvenienced us, not the other way around. You will only waste your time. A gentleman of breeding would be perfectly able to understand that he should be apologizing instead of ranting and raving. However, as I told you before we came here, Mr. Thornton is no gentleman. The simple fact is that he enjoys humiliating people, and he will continue trying to humiliate us for as long as we stand here.” Elizabeth cast a look of well-bred disdain over Ian and said, “Good night, Mr. Thornton.” Turning, she softened her voice a little and said, “Good evening, Mr. Wiley.

So here they are, a gaggle of highly skilled and utterly unique actresses whose pre-feminist strength and independence were awesome to behold. Whether with gags, glares or gats, they railed, they ranted, they raved, they rode roughshod. They ruled.

Poetry Reading To be a boxer, or not to be there at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds? Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare— it’s time to start this cultural affair. Half came inside because it started raining, the rest are relatives. O Muse. The women here would love to rant and rave, but that’s for boxing. Here they must behave. Dante’s Inferno is ringside nowadays. Likewise his Paradise. O Muse. Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet, one sentenced to hard shelleying for life, for lack of muscles forced to show the world the sonnet that may make the high-school reading lists with luck. O Muse, O bobtailed angel, Pegasus. In the first row, a sweet old man’s soft snore: he dreams his wife’s alive again. What’s more, she’s making him that tart she used to bake. Aflame, but carefully—don’t burn his cake!— we start to read. O Muse.

Yet again, the protesters took to the palace. A witness recalled the commotion, “In a fury, the mob now began throwing stones at the windows of the palace and attacking the doors with picks and axes. There was no effective defending force; the crowd stormed in.” With Prignano stowed away at the Vatican, the panicking cardinals grabbed Tebaldeschi, clothed him in pontifical robes, and unveiled him to the crowd. The somewhat senile 80-year-old had been thrashing and flailing all the way. In hindsight, they should have heeded his objections, for when he was presented to the rabble, he began to rant and rave about demons, spitting and spewing curses at anyone who approached him.

Go ahead. Make the midnight knock. Stand up on behalf of those you love. And, yes, stand up on behalf of those you do not. “Pray for those who hurt you” (Matt. 5:44 NCV). The quickest way to douse the fire of anger is with a bucket of prayer. Rather than rant, rave, or seek revenge, pray. Jesus did this. While hanging on the cross, he interceded for his enemies: “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing” (Luke 23:34 MSG). Jesus, even Jesus, left his enemies in God’s hands.

If a drum beat is a hundredth of a second off, I become unstable. I rant, I rave, it has to be fixed or the world will stop spinning on its axis. I drive my band crazy with this shit.

To this day, I have a hard time accepting people who suddenly convert from one region to another, or people who suddenly change their ideology, especially when they rant and rave in front of others.

Now you're ranting and raving, but tell me this: would you yourself kill the old woman or not?" "Of course not! I'm talking about justice. . . . This has nothing to do with me . . ." "In my opinion, if you don't dare to do it yourself, it's not a matter of justice!

I thought we were dead for sure,” said Biff. “I’ve had to spend the last couple of hours listening to Spidroth rant and rave about how stupid and foolish everyone is. It’s been horrible.” “Shut up you, fool.

I looked around at all the college kids who were getting away from their parents for the first time, all these kids ranting and raving about their first drunk or first high, acting as if they’d made the most remarkable discovery.

We have deliberately omitted the ravings of the 16th and 17th Century fanatics who wasted much good paper trying to absolve themselves by making the papacy Antichrist. Even all their own followers have long since repudiated their bigotry. And likewise we omit the rantings of certain sect leaders of our own day who try to revive the papal Antichrist legend by choosing some letters alleged to be on the tiara and omitting others. Let us take all or none.

If there was one thing I had learned about anger, it was that she was just a cover, and as she ranted, raved, and screamed, she stripped herself away, only to reveal fear. Anger was always fear dressed in a thinning, poor disguise. If you only took a minute to examine it, you could see that.

These days good guys can wear black hats, women are attracted to the bad guy, and even the best politician would likely set off a lie detector if he walked within fifty feet of it.

The utmost zeal for Christ is consistent with common-sense and reason: raving, ranting, and fanaticism are products of another zeal which is not according to knowledge.

If I lost a bout then I soon learned not to go home straight afterwards, I would give him time to go to the bar first. Event though I’d go to all of that trouble to escape his ranting and raving, my father would come home steaming drunk, drag me out of bed whilst I was still half asleep and beat the living shit out of me!

The time period in question was before the proliferation of outsourcing, but there was already Craigslist as a “ready reserve” resource. I had to resolutely disregard interesting-but-unhelpful search terms with advertising of local people looking for “casual encounters” and “rants and raves.” In the possibly more helpful Craigslist category enigmatically titled “Gigs,” I typed in: Lawyer seeks help. College drop-out preferred. Long hours, pressure-cooker environment, unyielding schedule. Pays all the Ramen noodles you can eat. Great opportunity to broaden your horizons and enhance your resume! It was a truthful description of the job, and consequently, I did not expect many takers.

There were a few times when I thought you were awake; however, you were ranting and raving about Tom, and hearts, and how we had to go to the Devil’s Isles. You didn’t even know I was holding you,” said Baltsaros, his hand stroking Jon’s hair softly back. As he blinked sleepily, Jon turned his head and captured Baltsaros’s hand, pressing it against his cheek. “I love you,” he said softly and promptly fell back to sleep.

Getting up from her seat, she walked over to him and— Slap. As Beth followed through with her palm, the sharp cracking sound faded in the room and her beloved mate shut up. Staring at him calmly, she said, “And now that I have your attention and you’re not ranting and raving like a lunatic, I’d appreciate your telling me where I can find whatever they sent us.

Prayer and Action Go Hand in Hand     “Prayer and action go hand in hand” (Nehemiah 4:17).     I remember the frustration experienced in my home because of homework. Each day my kids would return from school, we would argue over when and where and how to do their nightly assignments. The ordeal stressed us and caused family strife. I decided to take it to God in prayer. I hoped that God would change my childrens’ attitudes so that they would look forward to doing their homework.This, however, was not the case.   I learned that although I can pray to God and ask Him to help I must also be willing to be part of the solution.   I can’t just pray and then throw up my hands and carry on with my day. I can ignore the fear and worry but I still need to be willing to take action. I believe it was Joyce Meyer who said, “Don’t react, act.”  So I don’t need to react with ranting, raving, whining and nagging. I must rely on God’s guidance and proceed with a solid plan to resolve this homework issue.   God often answers prayer through people. He can and will divinely interject but usually He uses people who are willing and obedient. I can pray for wisdom and knowledge but I must also act upon that knowledge and “do” something. It’s not enough for me to say, “Dear Lord, help my child to do homework” without listening for His answer and being open to His guidance.   We devised a homework system through listening to the wisdom of others and spending time in quiet reflection with God. I realize that although my plan is working well now, I may need to change it in the future. As our family’s needs change I can ask God for His guidance and His wisdom. Then I must be open and listen for it. God wants to answer our prayers but He wishes to work though His creation, not impose His will upon it.       Prayer is intimacy ~ Elsie Montgomery         How Does God Reveal Himself?     “Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near”(Revelation 1:3).     At my church, we worked through a Bible study by Beth Moore. A video series, entitled “A Heart Like His”, Beth invited us to join her on a journey to know King David, a man after God’s own heart.   Beth explained that when we ask God for something we shouldn’t be expecting Him to talk to us through the clouds. Instead, God speaks to us through His Word, the Bible. If we have a concern or problem or issue, we need to read the Bible to “listen” for God’s voice and His answer. Before opening the Bible, we need to pray that God would reveal Himself to us through the words on the page.   Beth gives the example of how God revealed Himself to Samuel through His Word, the Bible. Samuel 3:21 says, “The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, and there he revealed himself to Samuel through his word.”  

The brother of a close friend of my parents living in Vienna, was arrested and sent to Dachau and shortly after sent back to his family, in a sealed coffin. Later on they did not take that much trouble any more, people were buried in mass graves and afterwards they were disposed of in the crematorium. Nightly, on the radio, we heard Hitler ranting and raving and screaming. He blamed everything that ailed the world on the Jews and he predicted that only their complete annihilation would save Europe and the world.

From 1934,5 we heard the raving and ranting of Hitler, the venomous speeches and the vicious Nazi propaganda, which made us cringe with fear and apprehension. From the Soviet Union, we were wooed with propaganda, in all the European languages. We were the first among our circle of relatives and friends to possess this magic box and did we have guests, no end.

Prayer and Action Go Hand in Hand     “Prayer and action go hand in hand” (Nehemiah 4:17).     I remember the frustration experienced in my home because of homework. Each day my kids would return from school, we would argue over when and where and how to do their nightly assignments. The ordeal stressed us and caused family strife. I decided to take it to God in prayer. I hoped that God would change my childrens’ attitudes so that they would look forward to doing their homework.This, however, was not the case.   I learned that although I can pray to God and ask Him to help I must also be willing to be part of the solution.   I can’t just pray and then throw up my hands and carry on with my day. I can ignore the fear and worry but I still need to be willing to take action. I believe it was Joyce Meyer who said, “Don’t react, act.”  So I don’t need to react with ranting, raving, whining and nagging. I must rely on God’s guidance and proceed with a solid plan to resolve this homework issue.   God often answers prayer through people. He can and will divinely interject but usually He uses people who are willing and obedient. I can pray for wisdom and knowledge but I must also act upon that knowledge and “do” something. It’s not enough for me to say, “Dear Lord, help my child to do homework” without listening for His answer and being open to His guidance.   We devised a homework system through listening to the wisdom of others and spending time in quiet reflection with God. I realize that although my plan is working well now, I may need to change it in the future. As our family’s needs change I can ask God for His guidance and His wisdom. Then I must be open and listen for it. God wants to answer our prayers but He wishes to work though His creation, not impose His will upon it.       Prayer is intimacy ~ Elsie Montgomery         How Does God Reveal Himself?     “Blessed is the one who reads the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it,

Prayer and Action Go Hand in Hand     “Prayer and action go hand in hand” (Nehemiah 4:17).     I remember the frustration experienced in my home because of homework. Each day my kids would return from school, we would argue over when and where and how to do their nightly assignments. The ordeal stressed us and caused family strife. I decided to take it to God in prayer. I hoped that God would change my childrens’ attitudes so that they would look forward to doing their homework.This, however, was not the case.   I learned that although I can pray to God and ask Him to help I must also be willing to be part of the solution.   I can’t just pray and then throw up my hands and carry on with my day. I can ignore the fear and worry but I still need to be willing to take action. I believe it was Joyce Meyer who said, “Don’t react, act.”  So I don’t need to react with ranting, raving, whining and nagging. I must rely on God’s guidance and proceed with a solid plan to resolve this homework issue.   God often answers prayer through people. He can and will divinely interject but usually He uses people who are willing and obedient. I can pray for wisdom and knowledge but I must also act upon that knowledge and “do” something. It’s not enough for me to say, “Dear Lord, help my child to do homework” without listening for His answer and being open to His guidance.   We devised a homework system through listening to the wisdom of others and spending time in quiet reflection with God. I realize that although my plan is working well now, I may need to change it in the future. As our family’s needs change I can ask God for His guidance and His wisdom. Then I must be open and listen for it. God wants to answer our prayers but He wishes to work though His creation, not impose His will upon it.       Prayer is intimacy ~ Elsie Montgomery

We’ve had lots and lots of millionaires in our ranks. And it just drives me crazy when they flaunt it. Maybe it’s none of my business, but I’ve done everything I can to discourage our folks from getting too extravagant with their homes and their automobiles and their lifestyles. As I said earlier, I just don’t believe the lifestyle here in Bentonville should be much different than what would be high moderate income in most other places. But from time to time I’ve had a hard time holding back folks who have never had the opportunity to get their hands on the kind of money they’ve made with their Wal-Mart stock holdings. Every now and then somebody will do something particularly showy, and I don’t hesitate to rant and rave about it at the Saturday morning meeting. And a lot of times, folks who just can’t hold back will go ahead and leave the company. It goes back to what I said about learning to value a dollar as a kid. I don’t think that big mansions and flashy cars are what the Wal-Mart culture is supposed to be about. It’s great to have the money to fall back on, and I’m glad some of these folks have been able to take off and go fishing at a fairly early age. That’s fine with me. But if you get too caught up in that good life, it’s probably time to move on, simply because you lose touch with what your mind is supposed to be concentrating on: serving the customer.

...I'm smiling because you and all nationalists always rant and rave about the fundamentalists and act as though you're so different. And yet you're just two sides of the same coin.

At times I feel my body has been transformed into a factory of infection, a vessel of virus. The wheels and cogs are constantly turning, manufacturing more toxins and poisons. My body is merely the host

Against you, Doctor! How could I have it in for you when you’re so nice to me? Against poor Leonard, who does everything he can so that I don’t get worked up, so that I get along here as well as possible? Against anyone else? Well, that’s another story! I have to say that I can’t stand that quack Bid’homme. Of course, I feel sorry for him—as he deserves—but I am tired of seeing this ridiculous fool, who should be put in a straightjacket, intimidate, act like a tyrant, rant and rave, yell and insult everyone. He should be washed with Niagara jets until he bursts, which would not be a great loss to humanity! That Bid’homme! Argh! Him, yes, I hate! He’s a constant danger to the patients, whom he knows nothing about, and whom he might kill with his stupid brutality! Why don’t you lock up this dangerous lunatic, Doctor—or, at least, send him back to Franche-Comté, to his family, if they agree to be responsible for such an evil creature and keep him tied up 24 hours a day?” What was I saying? Doctor Froin looked different; he shrugged his shoulders sadly. I saw him—his mind was made up now: I was a monomaniacal madman with delusions of persecution. All my ideas, all my preoccupations and all my anger, was focused on Bid’homme. I was acting exactly like someone who was crazy. I would keep saying that he hounded his patients and hated them all—me, first and foremost! His doubts about his assistant might even have been erased by my angry outburst. He could blame it all on my madness. I tried desperately to redeem myself, to save myself. What should I do? What should I say? Wouldn’t I be cleverer to tell him everything I was thinking—however uncomfortable it might be? I cried out—as unloudly as possible: “Doctor! No! Don’t write me off like that with a flick of your hand. I know what you’re thinking; you think I’m obsessed! Don’t deny it: I’m sure of it! But it’s nothing like that! To show you I’m not the least bit deranged, let me say that I was a little hard just now—even though I hate your colleague Bid’homme, and think he’s dangerous and harmful to your patients, I have absolutely no problem thinking about other things. Why, today, I thought about a thousand things that had nothing to do with him. Do you want me to tell you about waking up this morning in this room? About what went on inside my head—pointing out the difference between the sane ideas and those that are still a little…off? Do you want to be sure that I am not sneaky or vindictive, like most of the mental patients? Well! You just told me that my relatives are coming on Monday, but you didn’t say whom, probably because you were concerned about making me angry. I’m going to tell you: it’s Roffieux—the one who brought me here. I swear to you that I have no hard feelings against him. I can honestly say that he is close to my heart, but if I leave Vassetot, no harm will come to him from me, I guarantee it. I will do what any good man would do in the same situation: I will go as far away as possible. True enough, he disgusts me and I don’t want him to have any more control over me, but it would never enter my mind to play a dirty trick on him!

I cope with jealousy by having a furious conversation in my head when I rant and rave to Mum about how much attention the TWELVE-YEAR-OLD is getting. I swear a lot and make some evil unforgivable things and it makes me feel much better. Out loud, I say, "Of course, go ahead, that's fine, you go and enjoy yourself." As you do.

One of the greatest (and least discussed) barriers to compassion practice is the fear of setting boundaries and holding people accountable. I know it sounds strange, but I believe that understanding the connection between boundaries, accountability, acceptance, and compassion has made me a kinder person. Before the breakdown, I was sweeter—judgmental, resentful, and angry on the inside—but sweeter on the outside. Today, I think I’m genuinely more compassionate, less judgmental and resentful, and way more serious about boundaries. ... The heart of compassion is really acceptance. The better we are at accepting ourselves and others, the more compassionate we become. Well, it's difficult to accept people when they are hurting us or taking advantage of us or walking all over us. This research has taught me that if we really want to practice compassion, we have to start by setting boundaries and hold people accountable for their behavior. We live in a blame culture -- we want to know whose fault it is and how they're going to pay. In our personal, social, and political worlds, we do a lot of screaming and finger-pointing, but we rarely hold people accountable. How could we? We're so exhausted from ranting and raving that we don't have the energy to develop meaningful consequences and enforce them. From Washington, D.C., and Wall Street to our own schools and homes, I think this rage-blame-too-tired-and-busy-to-follow-through-mind-set is why we're so heavy on self-righteous anger and so low on compassion.

The final wishes of an atheist are ultimately meaningless. I mean, I would like to be cremated after any salvageable organs have been donated to right-wing Republicans and religious fundamentalists because I'm really not bitter after all). But ultimately it isn't my concern

If there was one thing I had learned about anger, it was that she was just a cover, and as she ranted, raved, and screamed, she stripper herself away, only to reveal fear. Anger was always fear dressed in a thinning, poor disguise. If you only took a minute to examine it, you could see that,

The Grenade. They say they don’t get any appreciation and they’re not getting any respect. When the silence and lack of appreciation become deafening, look out for the Grenade: the adult temper tantrum. “Kaboom! @#$* Nobody around here cares! That’s the problem with the world today. Kapow! *%^&@# I don’t know why I even bother! No one appreciates just how hard it is for me! Katung! &%$#*.” Ranting and raving are difficult to ignore. But since this desperate behavior produces negative attention and disgust, the Grenade is ever more likely to blow up at the next provocation.

Ow! You might’ve broke my arm!” wailed Morooka, ranting and raving, making a spectacle like a soccer athlete trying to show how badly they were hurt. “Looks like you did something pretty terrible, Kouenji,” Mikitani said. “I think you really hurt Morooka.” “It looks to me like he’s faking it,” said Kouenji.

I don’t delight in religion which needs or creates an impulsive, hotheaded convert. Give me godliness which flourishes upon Calvary rather than upon Vesuvius. The greatest zeal for Christ is consistent with common-sense and reason, while raving, ranting, and fanaticism are products of another zeal which is not according to knowledge (Romans 10:2).

In our personal, social, and political worlds, we do a lot of screaming and finger-pointing, but we rarely hold people accountable. How could we? We’re so exhausted from ranting and raving that we don’t have the energy to develop meaningful consequences and enforce them.

Although simple, peace is a highly evolved state of consciousness. It cannot live side-by-side with the ego. We choose one or the other. Peace is the predominant quality of spiritual advancement. The unassuming quality of peace wins the day when it comes to the soul’s progression. To choose peace means that we give up the rantings and ravings, demands and hurts, wants and cravings of the personal mind. The personal self feeds off injustices, imagined injustices, complaining, conflict, excitement, drama, and all the goings-on of normal human life. At some point, when we have suffered enough or have enough wisdom, we tire of the whole thing. We sincerely prefer peace.

Plutarch, in the first century AD, mentions the pneuma (translated as “wind,” “air,” “breeze,” “breath,” or “inspiration”), and that occasionally the oikos was filled with a “delightful fragrance” as a result of the pneuma, but he does not describe its exact nature. Instead he relays a long-running argument among his friends about why the oracle is less active now than it was in the past. The arguments include less pneuma; the moral degeneration of mankind leading to its abandonment by the gods; the depopulation of Greece and the departure of the daimones (spirits) responsible for divination. But Plutarch also insists that the Pythia did not at any point rant or rave. Instead, he comments that, after a consultation session, the Pythia “feels calm and peaceful.

My friend, meaning to respond to her questions, I raved some words at someone and gaped at another and all the while the lady stood elsewhere. This morning, in reality your friend stood there overcome with silliness. So I told myself, “It’s time you take your leave, My Dear!” And when I turned around and tottered my way outwards, at her door, I fell down like a crumbling wall.

His fellow travellers took him for an Englishman and did not mince their words, and their words were all the more weighty and significant because they were perfectly calm. They did not rant and rave against Germany, they did not hate her, they merely judged her and condemned her as they would have judged and condemned any thief or any murderer of innocent men. They discussed the whole affair sanely and dispassionately in a manner that made his blood run cold.

Black Toast Intolerant He dreamt of golden brown chewy bread, And upon it pads of butter he did spread. The butter melt, the bread was sweet, Thus, he had his fill and he did eat. But when the toast was burned, he did rave and rant, He was a connoisseur–he was black toast intolerant. -- Poems on the Run, vol. I

A preaching bush woke up Aloysius. It was a bush that claimed to have taken a correspondence course from an American seminary, that sat in a dirty gully and did nothing but rant and rave all day except during the fiercest heat of the sun when it had to content itself with muttering like an old man. Once or twice before, this same bush had awoken Aloysius from a sound sleep with its preaching until he had threatened to chop it up with his machete the next time. Now the bush was waxing full force as though it were in a church being listened to attentively by fifty toothless old women.