Selling Your Soul To The Devil Quotes

Eve: She told me last! Shane: Boyfriend! Michael: Landlord! Eve: Crap. Right. Next time you sell your soul to the devil, I get first contact!

Doesn't everyone sell his soul? I tell you, sir: the devil does not exist, there is no devil, yet I sold him my soul. That is what I am afraid of. To whom did I sell it? That is what I am afraid of, my dear sir: we sell our souls, only there is no buyer.

I wondered if this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil. I bet there were awesome cookies in hell, too.

The most dangerous people in the world are not the tiny minority instigating evil acts, but those who do the acts for them – for a paycheck. To act without a conscience, but for a paycheck, makes anyone a dangerous animal. The devil would be powerless if he couldn’t entice people to do his work. So as long as money continues to seduce the hungry, the hopeless, the broken, the greedy, and the needy, there will always be war between people.

Riley, you're the Devil, and I'd gladly sell you my soul, if you didn't already own it..." - Luc Wade

It was your covenant with the devil to exchange your soul for money and fame, so i won't be sorry for your damn f***ing soul, and the devil gat no time to refund what you had already sell, demons don't understand the meaning of sympathy, you should know that already, so, go make some dollar bill in hell, and come back and give me some.

you don't sell your soul to the devil unless part of you is already a little dead inside.

To become a Satanist, it is unnecessary to sell your soul to the Devil, or make a pact with Satan. This threat was devised by Christianity to terrorize people so they would not stray from the fold.

Every man has a soul, but will every man’s clone have a soul? No, because me and some scientists will have sucked them out in the lab. Why sell your soul to the devil, when you can sell your clone’s soul?

Kandiaronk: I have spent six years reflecting on the state of European society and I still can’t think of a single way they act that’s not inhuman, and I genuinely think this can only be the case, as long as you stick to your distinctions of ‘mine’ and ‘thine’. I affirm that what you call money is the devil of devils; the tyrant of the French, the source of all evils; the bane of souls and slaughterhouse of the living. To imagine one can live in the country of money and preserve one’s soul is like imagining one could preserve one’s life at the bottom of a lake. Money is the father of luxury, lasciviousness, intrigues, trickery, lies, betrayal, insincerity, – of all the world’s worst behaviour. Fathers sell their children, husbands their wives, wives betray their husbands, brothers kill each other, friends are false, and all because of money. In the light of all this, tell me that we Wendat are not right in refusing to touch, or so much as to look at silver?

Кровных коней запрягайте в дровни! Графские вина пейте из луж! Единодержцы штыков и душ! Распродавайте — на вес — часовни, Монастыри — с молотка — на слом. Рвитесь на лошади в Божий дом! Перепивайтесь кровавым пойлом! Стойла — в соборы! Соборы — в стойла! В чертову дюжину — календарь! Нас под рогожу за слово: царь! Единодержцы грошей и часа! На куполах вымещайте злость! Распродавая нас всех на мясо, Раб худородный увидит — Расу: Черная кость — белую кость. Москва. 2 марта 1918 Первый день весны. Harness your thoroughbreds to the sledges! Drink the counts' wines while the gutter rolls! Rulers of bayonets and of souls! Sell off your chapels - by weight - your churches, monasteries - auction them all - for scrap. Burst in the Lord's house on horse-back! Lap up the red trough for all you're able! Stables - in churches! Churches - to stables! Calendar - devil's own dozen too far! Ours is the grave for one word: tsar! Rulers of currency and time-keeping! Vent on the cupolas all your spite! When they start selling our flesh for eating, menial slaves will discover - breeding: black bones descry - bones that are white. Moscow, 9 March 1918 First day of spring

Little Nicky heads to the Badlands to see the show for himself. The Western Roads are outside his remit as a U.S. Treasury agent, but he knows the men he wants are its denizens. Standing on the corner of the Great Western and Edinburgh Roads, a sideshow, a carnival of the doped, the beaten, and the crazed. He walks round to the Avenue Haig strip and encounters the playground of Shanghai’s crackpots, cranks, gondoos, and lunatics. He’s accosted constantly: casino touts, hustling pimps, dope dealers; monkeys on chains, dancing dogs, kids turning tumbles, Chinese ‘look see’ boys offering to watch your car. Their numbers rise as the Japs turn the screws on Shanghai ever tighter. Half-crazy American missionaries try to sell him Bibles printed on rice paper—saving souls in the Badlands is one tough beat. The Chinese hawkers do no better with their porno cards of naked dyed blondes, Disney characters in lewd poses, and bare-arsed Chinese girls, all underage. Barkers for the strip shows and porno flicks up the alleyways guarantee genuine French celluloid of the filthiest kind. Beggars abound, near the dealers and bootleggers in the shadows, selling fake heroin pills and bootleg samogon Russian vodka, distilled in alleyways, that just might leave you blind. Off the Avenue Haig, Nicky, making sure of his gun in its shoulder holster, ventures up the side streets and narrow laneways that buzz with the purveyors of cure-all tonics, hawkers of appetite suppressants, male pick-me-ups promising endless virility. Everything is for sale—back-street abortions and unwanted baby girls alongside corn and callus removers, street barbers, and earwax pickers. The stalls of the letter writers for the illiterate are next to the sellers of pills to cure opium addiction. He sees desperate refugees offered spurious Nansen passports, dubious visas for neutral Macao, well-forged letters of transit for Brazil. He could have his fortune told twenty times over (gypsy tarot cards or Chinese bone chuckers? Your choice). He could eat his fill—grilled meat and rice stalls—or he could start a whole new life: end-of-the-worlders and Korean propagandists offer cheap land in Mongolia and Manchukuo.

If you sell your soul to the Devil, you will spend the rest of eternity trying to buy it back.

him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate this. I don't want to sell my soul to win." Steve placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not selling your soul. Maybe you're just . . . lending it out for a while." She closed her eyes and gritted her jaw. Could she do this? Could she truly make a deal with the devil? Even if they survived, how would she then live with herself? Steve hugged her from behind, and Addy held his hands, silent, eyes closed. They made love—silent but hard, eager yet so weary. When she climaxed, she shouted into his palm, and she fell asleep in his arms. She never wanted to leave his embrace. In the morning, she walked through the military base. She wore no uniform, just jeans and a hockey jersey. She carried her rifle across her back, a bandoleer of bullets hung around her waist, and a cigarette dangled from her lips. Her helmet hung askew, scrawled with the words Hell Patrol. Her people walked behind her, just as ragged. She looked like a haggard survivor, bruised, scratched, her eyes sunken. But the fire burned

Don't sell your soul to the Devil for one a moment of happiness. Sometimes you gotta go through true hell to reach heavenly paradise.

It is very easy to prove to anyone that religious people have no morals, that their public image is a facade, and that they hide the most dangerous perversions. Because you see, they don’t consider you, the outsider, worthy of sympathy or honesty. And so, they consider as legitimate to lie and abuse, and disrespect, even attack violently, slander and manipulate any outsider. The most vicious insults I ever heard came from the mouths of people who consider themselves above moral judgement. They do this in the premise that their group secures their moral status. And as a matter of fact, it does. Nobody will ever act against a member of his own religious group, no matter how wrong he is. And in doing so, anyone sells his soul for cheap. The thing is, by doing that, they are also justifying a very demonic attitude towards people, because we are talking about people here, and not just “outsiders”. It is just that they don’t consider outsiders to their group real human beings, like they are, you see. And so, by being part of a religion, christians, muslims, jews, rosicrucians, hindus, buddhists, freemasons and scientologists, end up justifying being the cruelest of all people on earth. Hell must be having a laugh on this for many thousands of years. Because, you see, all the demons are there, in those groups. That’s not hard to imagine, since the most racist and xenophobic nations also claim to be the most religious orientated, and when you give too much emphasis to a religion, you will invariably expose yourself to this cheap trick played by the devil, of making you sell your soul for cheap. And unless you are truly a God chosen soul, you will fall for this trick, because you won't have the courage to be separated from what you considered previously as being a divine path. Few souls dare to admit that it is impossible for a true moral person to be part of any religion, simply because they’re all perverted. You need a very high ethical level to be able to see that, and those people, in these groups, don't have it. They speak the most vividly about morals, and yet, are the ones nobody should listen, because listening to them is like listening to demons describing paradise. They are not there, in their own words, they don't even see what they are talking about, they don't apply it. They are a scam. Their existence is a scam. And if you confront them with their own scam, their mask will fall off, and you will see their true demonic face. Because that's who they truly are. When you sell your soul for cheap to hell, you become a part of it. And that's who you are. That's why when the mask falls, they show you horrible, disgusting and very ugly appearances. And I have never met one single group in the entire planet where this does not happen. As a matter of fact, the more a group talks about evil, the more certainly it is that they represent that very same evil.

Whether or not you sell your soul to Satan or to God, you’ve still sold your soul. The numinous realm, the astral plane, the transcendent dimension—the sacred—is a terrifying kingdom, defined by its difference from everything that is safe and familiar and human.

All of you who are tired of living – why not sell your souls to the devil? Turn your lives into something valuable! If you do you’ll find that nothing is impossible.

You’re so hungry for success, more. I can almost feel the crossroads looming... Do you know there’s a legend that certain musicians sold their souls to the devil for their skill? Johnson. Paganini.” Luiz laughed at the shift of Michael’s hips, the grind of Michael’s cock into his hand, released him to add, “And certain metal bands for money and fame.

the time has come and so have I,I'll laugh cause you come to die.The damage done the pain subsides and I see the fear clean when I look in your eyes. I never kneel and I'll never rest you can tear the heart from my chest. I'll make you see what I do best,I'll succeed as you breathe your very last breath. Now I know how the angel fell,I know the late and I know it too well. I'll make you wish you had a soul to sell, when I strike you down and send you straight to hell.my army comes from deep within beneath my soul,beneath my skin as you're ending I'm about to begin. I will never give in!!! I'll tell you now I'm the one to survive you never break my faith or my stride. I'll have you choke on your own demise, I make the angel scream and the devil cry.

All the time, I lay in bed, I kept hearing Ian’s words. “Not easy selling your soul to the devil, is it?

You have hardly started living, and yet all is said, all is done. You are only twenty-five, but your path is already mapped out for you. The roles are prepared, and the labels: from the potty of your infancy to the bath-chair of your old age, all the seats are ready and waiting their turn. Your adventures have been so thoroughly described that the most violent revolt would not make anyone turn a hair. Step into the street and knock people's hats off, smear your head with filth, go bare-foot, publish manifestos, shoot at some passing usurper or other, but it won't make any difference: in the dormitory of the asylum your bed is already made up, your place is already laid at the table of the poètes maudits; Rimbaud's drunken boat, what a paltry wonder: Abyssinia is a fairground attraction, a package trip. Everything is arranged, everything is prepared in the minutest detail: the surges of emotion, the frosty irony, the heartbreak, the fullness, the exoticism, the great adventure, the despair. You won't sell your soul to the devil, you won't go clad in sandals to throw yourself into the crater of Mount Etna, you won't destroy the seventh wonder of the world. Everything is ready for your death: the bullet that will end your days was cast long ago, the weeping women who will follow your casket have already been appointed. Why climb to the peak of the highest hills when you would only have to come back down again, and, when you are down, how would you avoid spending the rest of your life telling the story of how you got up there? Why should you keep up the pretence of living? Why should you carry on? Don't you already know everything that will happen to you? Haven't you already been all that you were meant to be: the worthy son of your mother and father, the brave little boy scout, the good pupil who could have done better, the childhood friend, the distant cousin, the handsome soldier, the impoverished young man? Just a little more effort, not even a little more effort, just a few more years, and you will be the middle manager, the esteemed colleague. Good husband, good father, good citizen. War veteran. One by one, you will climb, like a frog, the rungs on the ladder of success. You'll be able to choose, from an extensive and varied range, the personality that best befits your aspirations, it will be carefully tailored to measure: will you be decorated? cultured? an epicure? a physician of body and soul? an animal lover? will you devote your spare time to massacring, on an out-oftune piano, innocent sonatas that never did you any harm? Or will you smoke a pipe in your rocking chair, telling yourself that, all in all, life's been good to you?

Build a home for me and bury me there. I promise with all the fierce love of a mother to guard it along with all of the hosts of heaven. But, as soon as you have to sell your soul to the devil and fight like hell—I’ll be there, holding the brandy and a rifle.

Welcome to the family, Juliet. There are perks for selling your soul to the devil," he said with a grin.

The saying, “They sold their soul to the Devil for fame,” has been proven to be accurate. Even if people initially gained fame due to their talents and skills rather than from outside assistance, they inevitably sold it later to maintain that elevated level of fame, fortune, and status.

he is clearly referring to laws of a coercive or punitive nature. He goes on to dissect the failings of the French legal system, dwelling particularly on judicial persecution, false testimony, torture, witchcraft accusations and differential justice for rich and poor. In conclusion, he swings back to his original observation: the whole apparatus of trying to force people to behave well would be unnecessary if France did not also maintain a contrary apparatus that encourages people to behave badly. That apparatus consisted of money, property rights and the resultant pursuit of material self-interest: Kandiaronk: I have spent six years reflecting on the state of European society and I still can’t think of a single way they act that’s not inhuman, and I genuinely think this can only be the case, as long as you stick to your distinctions of ‘mine’ and ‘thine’. I affirm that what you call money is the devil of devils; the tyrant of the French, the source of all evils; the bane of souls and slaughterhouse of the living. To imagine one can live in the country of money and preserve one’s soul is like imagining one could preserve one’s life at the bottom of a lake. Money is the father of luxury, lasciviousness, intrigues, trickery, lies, betrayal, insincerity, – of all the world’s worst behaviour. Fathers sell their children, husbands their wives, wives betray their husbands, brothers kill each other, friends are false, and all because of money. In the light of all this, tell me that we Wendat are not right in refusing to touch, or so much as to look at silver?

The problem with selling your soul to the devil is that you always pay twice.

If you sell your soul to the devil, you'll get what you want, but at a price you might not want to pay.

First life lesson: know your fucking worth. When you’re about to sell your soul to the devil, get a better price.

It’s a funny thing when you sell your soul to the devil,” I said, staring at a point on the wall. “Everyone thinks they’ll be able to outsmart him when he comes to collect.

There’s a lot to be said for those who can create something from a simple idea. Something like a ground-breaking game with all kinds of new features to wow people in a technologically advanced game saturated society. That’s saying a lot. And it’s a great deal of work, blood, sweat, and tears to accomplish even a modicum of what most construe as success. Almost enough that one would contemplate selling his soul to the devil in order to make his dream come true. What’s one infinitesimal, abstract idea of being when compared to seeing the look of joy in your daughter’s eyes when she sees the characters she helped make up in three dimensions? Her best friend’s grin when he talks about sorcery and magic as if it’s more real to him than the ground beneath his feet? Would you do it? Sell your soul to some cosmic force to create your wildest fantasy? Wouldn’t you? Sounds like a decent deal to some, of course, no one ever really reads the fine print. Always read the fine print. I implore you to always doubt the honeyed words thrown your way. Because the devil is in the details, kids.

Ko, dakle, prodaje dušu đavolu? Niko. Svi ti što mene služe, eh, svi ti, svi su oni davno propali, pre nego što su mene sreli. A drugo, ja ne kupujem. I ja volim kada mi se od scra da, a ne kada se traži para.

Liberals don't know what they want. But they say"Watch for what you wish for it". 1990 I escaped from communist regime, I put my life in risk to have the freedom we have here in America and these idiots want communism. To some people Socialism and Communism might sound good but you have to give up a lot and you might get luckier if you know some one in the communist party or you can sell your soul to the devil to get the "FREE" stuff they offer. From free housing, but you don't get the house you want or when you wanted, you are luckily if you get 1 or 2 bedroom apt regardless the number of your family. or you might not get a house at all because elites always come 1st. that free health care come free death also because Dr.s decried you should live or die, the free schooling is for elites 1st then you maybe is is space in the classroom for your child. in Communism, Socialism, Islamism and Monarchy they all play the same rules is called "only one way." 1. Your freedom. 2. Freedom of speech. 3. Freedom of press. 4 Freedom of ownership. 5. Freedom of protection/Gun will be taken away. 6. You can't protest. 7. You don't choose who to vote. 8. You don't have any chooses they make the choices for you. 9. no religions believe at all. 10. Police can beat you up, can arrest you for no reason and get prosecuted for no reason and no one have right to an attorney because there don't exist one for you. Is this the life you LIBERALS/idiots want? Good luck on that but I'm pretty sure Americans are not ready to give up their freedom and their wealth for no one.

God gave men souls, and free will. But a soul is not a commodity — it is a part of you, like the color of your eyes or the sound of your voice. It can’t be separated from you, any more than you can bottle your eye color and sell that.” “So why all these stories about people selling their souls to the Devil?” The smiled faded. “If a person comes to the psychological point where he feels his soul is of no worth to him, that it can be traded for wealth or power or any of the other temporal things he might crave, then he has lost touch with the bit of grace God has granted him by giving him a soul in the first place. Once a person is in such a state of mind, he allows himself to commit whatever acts he feels are necessary, because he has ‘lost his soul,’ so to speak. It’s a way of giving up responsibility for one’s actions. You know — ‘the Devil made me do it,’” Luke

Crighton’s lips curled in disgust. “People are so eager to sell their souls, and believe me, the devil’s always buying. If he’s impressed, he’ll give you a chair in Hell…a place where there’s standing room only. He might even give you a thorny crown to rule over the damned, cruel and forgotten. But I’m not here to reward you, Benjamin Poe…although one day you might wish that were true. I’m here to collect an overdue debt and the wicked soul that goes with it. When my task is done, I’ll leave the same way I came. And if you’re lucky, demon-fearing and honest, you’ll never see me again. At least, not in this lifetime.

I’m the flame and smoke My soul’s about to ash My heart stone cold Blacker than coal Thick as a gash I put the blame behold On the one who asks Sell your soul for buckets of dough C-notes and cash I failed to feel the touch Of an honest hand — My skin it grows old embezzled with gold Trembling sand So I ask myself — Do I make a stand with the one,
who guarantees a path to the promised land?