Seventy Two Virgins Quotes

In the year 2006, a person can have sufficient intellectual and material resources to build a nuclear bomb and still believe that he will get seventy-two virgins in Paradise.

You want to know what’s on the other side?’ Walsh eyed the detective carefully, as if gauging the seriousness of the question. ‘Is it seventy-two virgins, like the Muslims believe?’ ‘That’s the good news. The bad news is that they’re all guys. It’s like being at a boarding school.’ ‘I knew there had to be a catch.

If the only tool in Willem's arsenal was a silent supplication to an absent almighty, then I might as well be sitting next to a raving radical ready to die for the promise of seventy-two virgins and a couple of camels.

Okay," I confessed. "You got me. I don't want to die. I'm terrified of death. I fear there's nothing beyond it and that this existence is the only one I'll ever possess. That's why I'm here." He patted my leg to give me reassurance. "That's why they're all here. Even the ones that believe in heaven and seventy-two virgins and every other good thing supposedly waiting for them in the afterlife.

However, Harry, my clock has stopped. The embalmer is rolling up his sleeves. Even as we speak, seventy-two virgins are slipping into schoolgirl uniforms for me. You must live, and I confirm: always put your penis first.

London, December 1915. In the master bedroom (never was the estate agent's epithet more appropriate) of Flat 21, Carlyle Mansions, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, the distinguished author is dying - slowly, but surely. In Flanders, less than two hundred miles away, other men are dying more quickly, more painfully, more pitifully - young men, mostly, with their lives still before them, blank pages that will never be filled. The author is seventy-two. He has had an interesting and varied life, written many books, travelled widely, enjoyed the arts, moved in society (one winter he dined out 107 times), and owns a charming old house in Rye as well as the lease of this spacious London flat with its fine view of the Thames. He has had deeply rewarding friendships with both men and women. If he has never experienced sexual intercourse, that was by his own choice, unlike the many young men in Flanders who died virgins either for lack of opportunity or because they hoped to marry and were keeping themselves chaste on principle.

Yeah, yeah, Jesse had been fed the seventy-two virgins line, too. He could remember looking up at the Caliph and explaining that he never really had a thing for virgins. He preferred dirty girls. Now if he could promise him seventy-two fully experienced women with a taste for the nasty, they still wouldn’t talk because having all those women to please sounded a little more like hell than heaven. He’d

As for the claim that science is a kind of “faith” because it rests on untestable assumptions, depends on authority, and so on, this involves either a deliberate or an unconscious conflation of what “faith” means in religion versus what it means in everyday life. Here are two examples of each usage: “I have faith that because I accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior, I will join my late wife in heaven.” “I have faith that when I martyr myself for Allah, I’ll receive seventy-two virgins in paradise.” “I have faith that the day will break tomorrow.” “I have faith that taking this penicillin will cure my urinary tract infection.” Notice the difference. The first two statements exemplify the religious form of “faith,” the one Walter Kaufmann defined as “intense, usually confident, belief that is not based on evidence sufficient to command assent from every reasonable person.” There is no evidence beyond revelation, authority, and sacred books to support the first two statements. They show confidence that isn’t supported by evidence, and most of the world’s believers would reject them.

I SUPPOSE YOU’D LIKE ME TO CONJURE A PORTAL, THEN? SEND YOU BACK TO THE FUTURE? IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU’D LIKE, WHILE I’M AT IT? PERHAPS SEVENTY-TWO VIRGINS AND A HOT TOWEL?

So heaven with its seventy-two virgins sounded attractive. Every night my father would pray to God, ‘O Allah, please make war between Muslims and infidels so I can die in your service and be a martyr.

Guys said you did good today.” He made a face. He’d done his job, nothing more. God knew he’d have taken on any threat to protect Taya. “Wish I’d been able to get more out of the bastard before he went to his seventy-two virgin dating service in the sky.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt as I looked at the Tongue & Buckle. I wasn’t used to button-up shirts. I only owned two. The one I had on was new, a gift from my sister. Just thinking about her made my fingers worry nervously at the next button. The shirt was black, short-sleeved with tiny little skulls on the pocket. On the back, a Day of the Dead style Virgin Mary. Haley has a wicked sense of humor.   James didn’t insist on much, but he did insist on dressing up for meetings. Ridiculous, since one of the members had a hard time wearing pants. Wait, what was I thinking? James insisted on tons of things. I undid another button.   “You’re one away from a nice seventies look.” Sean put his feet up on the dash.   “I’d need chest hair for that. And gold chains.”   “True.” He leaned farther back into the passenger seat, if that was even possible. Sean, at least, never bitched about my Subaru. “You know, you’re going to have to go in eventually. And the longer you wait, the longer you’re in those clothes.”   I flicked a piece of lint off the black slacks James had dug up for me. He’d grunted at inspection. That grunt probably meant he’d be taking me shopping soon. Or it might have been directed at my Cons. You never knew. He needed to cut me some slack. My last job had been flipping burgers. You didn’t buy dress shoes for a job like that. With a job like that, you couldn’t even afford dress shoes. Or clothes. You couldn’t afford anything, really.   Sean looked over at the pub. “What did Groucho Marx say about being aware of any job that requires new clothes?”   “The quote is that we should ‘beware of all enterprises that require new clothes,’ and it’s Thoreau, not Groucho Marx.”   “Oooh, listen to you. ‘It’s Thoreau.’ Well, we didn’t all go to college for a quarter.”   “I went for a year, not a quarter, and shut up.

Yeah, yeah, Jesse had been fed the seventy-two virgins line, too. He could remember looking up at the Caliph and explaining that he never had a thing for virgins. He preferred dirty girls. Now if he could promise Jesse seventy-two fully experienced women with a taste for the nasty, they still wouldn’t talk because having all those women to please sounded more like hell than heaven.

Seventy-two virgins—screw that. I’d rather have seventy-two whores who know what they’re doing in bed than seventy-two virgins.

Here was a head of state ordering the execution of the private citizens of foreign countries for writing and publishing a work of fiction. A grotesque regard for the forms of legality had accompanied previous outbreaks of state terrorism. Even Stalin forced his victims to confess at show trials so that when he murdered them, he did so with a kangaroo court’s approval. No such concern with keeping up appearances inhibited Khomeini. On 14 February 1989, he said that the faithful must kill Rushdie and his publishers and ‘execute them quickly, wherever they may find them, so that no one will dare insult Islam again. Whoever is killed in this path will be regarded as a martyr.’ Just in case zealous assassins doubted that they would receive eternal life in paradise along with the services of seventy-two virgins, an Iranian foundation offered the earthly reward of $3 million.