Sold Soul To Devil Quotes

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.

You know what kind of person it takes to run for President? Not normal. They could start out okay, but by the time they reach that level they've sold their soul to the devil so many times and stomped the guts out of enough people that they are definitely not like you and me, not even close.

Ah yes, jobs. Once upon a time, souls were traded for immortality or riches. Now we are bought and sold with the promise of jobs. The human spirit is devalued currency. How the devil must be laughing.

I made a deal with the devil. I sold my soul for vengeance.

[...] There are tales among us that you have sold yourself to the devil, and I know not what.' 'We all have, have we not?' returned the stranger, looking up. 'If we were fewer in number, perhaps he would give better wages.

Don’t have a line to the devil, Ham." "Bullshit, babe. Somewhere along the line, you made a deal with him. No woman who gives head the way you do hasn’t sold her soul for that ability.

That strange mixture that’s always been a major part of Hollywood—self-enchantment mingled with the ever-present fear of total disaster (earthquakes, fires, random murders)—lies beneath the physical reality of Hollywood, which sometimes looks too good to be true, as though we must have sold our souls to the devil for all those swimming pools and orange trees and young hopefuls basking in the sun.

Congrats, bro. You've just sold your soul to the devil. Wait. You don't have a soul.

I would have sold my soul to the devil, but my boss had a better offer.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his rugged good looks and superior martial arts ability.” Phoenix met Joe's eyes. “Yeah?” “Then Chuck Norris roundhouse-kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciated irony, said he should have seen it coming. Now they play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

In all those stories about people who sold their souls to the devil, I never quite understood why the devil was the bad guy, or why it was okay to screw him out of his soul. They got what they wanted: fame, money, love, whatever—though usually it turned out not to be what they really wanted or expected. Was that the devil's fault? I never thought so. Like John Wayne said, "Life's tough. It's even tougher when you're stupid.

How will I go on after this, knowing that I sold my soul to the devil?

Once you’ve sold your soul to the devil you can’t then ask for it back.

Ah yes, jobs. Once upon a time, souls were traded for immortality or riches. Now we are bought and sold with the promise of jobs. The human spirit is devalued currency. How the devil must be laughing.

I can almost believe the rumors that say you’ve sold your soul to the devil when you look like that. (Sean) You can more than believe it, MacKaid. Harm her and I’ll introduce you to the devil myself. (Ewan)

I was more’n forty by then,” said Miles sadly. “I was married. I had two children. But, from the look of me, I was still twenty-two. My wife, she finally made up her mind I’d sold my soul to the Devil. She left me. She went away and she took the children with her.” “I’m glad I never got married,” Jesse put in.

If you say the Rosary faithfully until death, I do assure you that, in spite of the gravity of your sins “you shall receive a never fading crown of glory.”42 Even if you are on the brink of damnation, even if you have one foot in Hell, even if you have sold your soul to the devil as sorcerers do who practise black magic, and even if you are a heretic as obstinate as a devil, sooner or later you will be converted and will amend your life and save your soul, if—and mark well what I say—if you say the Holy Rosary devoutly every day until death for the purpose of knowing the truth and obtaining contrition and pardon for your sins.

I’m a natural salesman. I sold my soul to the devil. I’m so shrewd that I got pennies on the dollar for it. Ha! Wait, a buyer who gets pennies on the dollar is the clever one in the deal. Damn it! Lucifer tricked me!

I tried to play off my outburst as having been touched by the romantic moment (and I think most people bought it!), but in reality I was crying because of what a farce this whole thing was and how stretched thin my nerves were at that moment. Hef reading off the flowing words of love from the card reminded me again what a joke this whole situation was and made me feel like I had missed out on my chance to ever have anything real with someone; to ever meet a man who really deserved a card like that. I had sold my soul to the devil and felt that there was no way out.

Devil does not buy our empty soul. He waits for us to selling off that. (Diable n'achète notre âme vide. - Il attend qu'on la solde.)

The Saudi judicial system looks as if it were designed by Ghengis Khan. Saudi Arabia tops the world in public beheadings.

We can walk away from the moral consequences of our actions, but we can’t walk away from economic consequences.

Not the cute kind of cuckoo, or the lights-on-but-nobody's-home loony. She's really, genuinely, sold my-soul-to-the-devil crazy. She don't care about me or anyone else in the place. I mean, sure, she killed Frankie. And maybe she wanted to save the rest of us or whatever. But mostly, she just plain wanted to kill him. I mean, she stabbed him like a zillion times. Then licked his blood. I don't remember Wonder woman ever doing that at the end of an episode.

My friendship with Jack remains strained. I want to believe that he was duped, but he has always been far too clever to fall for another man's ruse. So we have added yet one more thing to our relationship about which we never speak. Sometimes I think we will break beneath the weight of it, but on those occasions I have but to look at my wife in order to find the strength to carry on. I am determined to be worthy of her and that requires that I be a far stronger and better man than I had ever planned to be. We see Frannie from time to time, not as often as we'd like unfortunately. She did eventually marry, but that is her story to tell. Dear Frannie, darling Frannie. She shall always remain the love of my youth, the one for whom I sold my soul to the devil. But Catherine, my beloved Catherine, shall always be the center of my heart, the one who, in the final hour, would not let the devil have me.

The man who wields the blood-clotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit on Sunday, and claims to be a minister of the meek and lowly Jesus. The man who robs me of my earnings at the end of each week meets me as a class- leader on Sunday morning, to show me the way of life, and the path of salvation. He who sells my sister, for purposes of prostitution, stands forth as the pious advocate of purity. He who proclaims it a religious duty to read the Bible denies me the right of learning to read the name of the God who made me. He who is the religious advocate of marriage robs whole millions of its sacred influence, and leaves them to the ravages of wholesale pollution. The warm defender of the sacredness of the family relation is the same that scatters whole families,— sundering husbands and wives, parents and children, sisters and brothers,—leaving the hut vacant, and the hearth desolate. We see the thief preaching against theft, and the adulterer against adultery. We have men sold to build churches, women sold to support the gospel, and babes sold to purchase Bibles for the poor heathen! all for the glory of God and the good of souls! The slave auctioneer’s bell and the church-going bell chime in with each other, and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave are drowned in the religious shouts of his pious master. Revivals of religion and revivals in the slave-trade go hand in hand together. The slave prison and the church stand near each other. The clanking of fetters and the rattling of chains in the prison, and the pious psalm and solemn prayer in the church, may be heard at the same time. The dealers in the bodies and souls of men erect their stand in the presence of the pulpit, and they mutually help each other. The dealer gives his blood-stained gold to support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return, covers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity. Here we have religion and robbery the allies of each other—devils dressed in angels’ robes, and hell presenting the semblance of paradise.

To be loved by a pure young girl, to be the first to reveal to her the strange mystery of love, is indeed a great happiness, but it is the simplest thing in the world. To take captive a heart which has had no experience of attack, is to enter an unfortified and ungarrisoned city. Education, family feeling, the sense of duty, the family, are strong sentinels, but there are no sentinels so vigilant as not to be deceived by a girl of sixteen to whom nature, by the voice of the man she loves, gives the first counsels of love, all the more ardent because they seem so pure. The more a girl believes in goodness, the more easily will she give way, if not to her lover, at least to love, for being without mistrust she is without force, and to win her love is a triumph that can be gained by any young man of five-and-twenty. See how young girls are watched and guarded! The walls of convents are not high enough, mothers have no locks strong enough, religion has no duties constant enough, to shut these charming birds in their cages, cages not even strewn with flowers. Then how surely must they desire the world which is hidden from them, how surely must they find it tempting, how surely must they listen to the first voice which comes to tell its secrets through their bars, and bless the hand which is the first to raise a corner of the mysterious veil! But to be really loved by a courtesan: that is a victory of infinitely greater difficulty. With them the body has worn out the soul, the senses have burned up the heart, dissipation has blunted the feelings. They have long known the words that we say to them, the means we use; they have sold the love that they inspire. They love by profession, and not by instinct. They are guarded better by their calculations than a virgin by her mother and her convent; and they have invented the word caprice for that unbartered love which they allow themselves from time to time, for a rest, for an excuse, for a consolation, like usurers, who cheat a thousand, and think they have bought their own redemption by once lending a sovereign to a poor devil who is dying of hunger without asking for interest or a receipt. Then, when God allows love to a courtesan, that love, which at first seems like a pardon, becomes for her almost without penitence. When a creature who has all her past to reproach herself with is taken all at once by a profound, sincere, irresistible love, of which she had never felt herself capable; when she has confessed her love, how absolutely the man whom she loves dominates her! How strong he feels with his cruel right to say: You do no more for love than you have done for money. They know not what proof to give. A child, says the fable, having often amused himself by crying "Help! a wolf!" in order to disturb the labourers in the field, was one day devoured by a Wolf, because those whom he had so often deceived no longer believed in his cries for help. It is the same with these unhappy women when they love seriously. They have lied so often that no one will believe them, and in the midst of their remorse they are devoured by their love.

The adjective “Faustian” describes the insatiable striving for the unattainable, the impossible, for all knowledge and all power, for the infinite and perfect. The Faustian human will bow to no tyrant God. He will worship no God. He will never be a slave, servant or serf. He will have no lord and no master. Religious people regard Faust as having “sold his soul to the Devil”. In fact, Faust liberated his soul from the Devil (the Abrahamic God) so that he himself could become a God.

In a few days, I thought, we shall have forfeited all kinship with ninety-nine per cent of the population of the world, with the men and women who earn their living, who insure their lives, who are anxious about the future of their children. Perhaps in the Middle Ages people felt like this, when they believed themselves to have sold their souls to the Devil. It was a curious, exhilarating, not unpleasant sensation: but, at the same time, I felt slightly scared. Yes, I said to myself, I’ve done it, now. I am lost.

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.

My dad used to warn me that the devil doesn't have horns and a pitchfork, he'll appear as the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. He'll make you laugh. He'll make you feel good. You'll do things you never thought you would, but he'll tell you it's okay. And before you know it, you've sold your soul to him.

You know what kind of person it takes to run for President? Not normal. They could start out okay, but by the time they reach that level they’ve sold their soul to the devil so many times and stomped the guts out of enough people that they are definitely not like you and me, not even close.” Frank

Franklin D. Roosevelt plays a part, as does the eighteenth-century tribal chief Muhammad Ibn Sa’ud. So does another eighteenth-century Arab, Muhammad ibn ‘Abd-al-Wahhab and the archconservative thirteenth-century cleric Ibn Taymiyah. And so, finally, do the fruits of all the malignant seeds planted by Ibn Taymiyah: the Muslim Brotherhood.

The Saudis are active at every level of the terror chain, from planners to financiers, from cadre to foot-soldier, from ideologist to cheerleader.

Literally sold his soul? Like, ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia,’ Robert Johnson at the crossroads—” “Like Mephistopheles and your namesake, or the violinist Niccolò Paganini, or the Rolling Stones, yes, exactly.” She paused. “Forget I said that last one.

Legend says this man sold his soul to the Devil. I don’t know about that. All I can say is, when he died, the members of this church had love in their hearts and gave him a resting place, and God wrote that down. Now, I don’t know what Robert Johnson told the Lord. You don’t know what Robert Johnson told the Lord. We all have come short of the glory of God.

The Saudi government probably spends more per capita than any other country in the world on arms. (It acknowledges only that it spends 13 percent of its gross domestic product, but half of its revenue is earmarked for the military.)

Every time you fill up your car with gas that has its beginning as Saudi crude—and statistically, that should be about one in every five or six times you pull up to the pump—you’re contributing something like a dollar toward keeping Saudi royal heads attached to their necks.

Anger against the West and particularly the United States spills all over the Land of Islam. But there are groups that all the signs keep pointing to—the Wahhabis, the Muslim Brotherhood, and al Qaeda, of course—and there’s one place that serves more than any other as the principal backer: Saudi Arabia.

Things are even worse than they seem. Saudi Arabia doesn’t have what we would call a rule of law. Look inside a Saudi passport: It states that the holder “belongs” to the royal family. A Saudi commoner is chattel, a piece of property no different from an Al Sa’ud’s Jeddah palace or his Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud.

One report described how on June 22, 1998, forty Chechens were quietly brought to a secret military camp located seventy-five miles southeast of Riyadh. Over the next four months, they were trained in explosives, hand-to-hand combat, and small weapons. A lot of time was set aside for indoctrination into Wahhabi Islam. Salman, the governor of Riyadh and the full brother of King Fahd, was the camp’s sponsor.

I’d deal with the devil if it meant keeping Cam safe.” “Sometimes the devil is the only option, but best to leave it to those of us who have already sold their souls.” Valerie didn’t laugh.

The winter before he was sixteen, Pup sold his soul to the devil.

No, Sonia, that’s not it... ...that’s not it! Better … imagine—yes, it’s certainly better—imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive and … well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let’s have it all out at once! They’ve talked of madness already, I noticed.) I told you just now I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know that perhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I needed for the fees and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But I turned sulky and wouldn’t. (Yes, sulkiness, that’s the right word for it!) I sat in my room like a spider. You’ve been in my den, you’ve seen it.… And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn’t go out of it! I wouldn’t on purpose! I didn’t go out for days together, and I wouldn’t work, I wouldn’t even eat, I just lay there doing nothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn’t, I went all day without; I wouldn’t ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At night I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn’t earn money for candles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust lies an inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and thinking. And I kept thinking … And I had dreams all the time, strange dreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to fancy that.… No, that’s not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I kept asking myself then: why am I so stupid, that if others are stupid—and I know they are—yet I won’t be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if one waits for every one to get wiser it will take too long.… Afterwards I understood that that would never come to pass, that men won’t change and that nobody can alter it and that it’s not worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that’s so. That’s the law of their nature, Sonia, … that’s so!… And I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit will have power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in their eyes. He who despises most things will be a law-giver among them and he who dares most of all will be most in the right! So it has been till now and so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it!... ...I divined then, Sonia... ...that power is only vouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only one thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the first time in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever thought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it is that not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to go straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I … I wanted to have the daring … and I killed her. I only wanted to have the daring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!

Only desperate people, like him, sold out by everyone, abandoned, and left to wallow in misery and despair, would consider something as mad as selling their souls to the devil.

But nothing could change the memory of love… I wondered, does falling in love go through the eyes, or through the heart? If somebody asked me after a while, when it was all over, “What are you carrying with you?” I would answer, “Her.” I didn’t want to have anything else. I didn’t need anything else. Afterwards they called me The Devil, the master of lies, the one who bought and sold souls, the one with countless faces. They were right. I was taking the soul, bringing out all that was hidden there, deep inside, or behind countless masks, tempting it to come out into the light, tricking it into sucking up and showing itself.

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'd have sold his soul to the devil for her. He'd have offered his life, in order to protect her. He'd have burned the world to ashes for her, or fetched the moon from the fucking sky.

The army struck hard at the roots of populist politics by assassinating Bhutto. The prime minister was arrested, tried for murder and hung in 1979. The Machiavellian prince had turned into the tragic character of Christopher Marlow’s Dr Faustus, who had sold his soul to the devil for power and become a victim of his own intellect.

The army struck hard at the roots of populist politics by assassinating Bhutto. The prime minister was arrested, tried for murder and hung in 1979. The Machiavellian prince had turned into the tragic character of Christopher Marlow’s Dr Faustus, who had sold his soul to the devil

Environmental historian Valeria Fogleman wrote that perhaps the early Christian colonists saw themselves figuratively as the wolves’ prey based on the New Testament’s anecdote of Jesus sending his followers out as sheep among wolves. Their antipathy and fear toward wolves was a physical manifestation of their spiritual protectiveness, she wrote, for “wolves were considered capable of murdering a person’s soul.” Wolves were also viewed through a religious and cultural lens as animals that made pacts with the devil, thereby garnering them the stigma of being full of trickery and evil. Livestock damages may have been the rational argument for clearing wolves from the woods around settlements, but wolves likely also symbolized a potent religious threat in the minds of some early colonists. The Native Americans did not view wolves so negatively, and some even tattooed images of wolves - along with moose, deer, bears, and birds - on their cheeks and arms, according to William Wood, writing about New England in 1634, described the “ravenous howling Wolfe: Whose meagre paunch suckes like a swallowing gulfe” in a passage that imparts the belief that wolves consumed more prey than was necessary. Wood wished that all the wolves of the country could be replaced by bears, but only on the condition that the wolves were banished completely, because he believed wolves hunted and ate black bears. He also lamented that “common devourer,” the wolf, preying upon moose and deer. No doubt, the colonists wanted the bears, moose, and deer for their own meat and hide supplies. Yet Wood also observed the wolves of New England to be different from wolves in other countries. He wrote that they were not known to attack people, and that they did not attack horses or cows but went after pigs, goats, and red calves. The colonists seemed to believe the wolves mistook calves that were more coppery colored for deer, so much so that a red-colored calf sold for much less than a black one.

Because of his literal understanding of the Christian myth, Western man has an attitude to death which other cultures find puzzling. The Christian way of thought has made so deep an impression upon our culture that this attitude prevails even when the intellectual assent to Christian dogma exists no more. For it is no easy matter to cast off the influence of our history, to be rid of habit of thought and emotion which has prevailed for close to two thousand years. Western man has learned a peculiarly exaggerated dread of death, because he has seen it as the event which will precipitate him for ever into either unspeakable joy or unimaginable misery. Few have dared to be quite certain as to the outcome, for though one might hope for the mercy of God, it was a very serious sin to presume upon it. The sense of uncertainty was, furthermore, part and parcel of Christian feeling for the insidious subtlety of evil, so that the more one approached sanctity, the more one was aware of diabolical motivations, and of the near impossibility of a pure intent. Many sold their souls to the Devil just because this very uncertainty seemed more insupportable than damnation itself

The Impossible Banquet by Stewart Stafford Awakened by a stinging sun, Radiant wings of flame and gold, I breathe in dawn’s virgin hopes, With icy shards of doubting cold. Am I not my parents' child? Lost my way on a freedom roam, Invitation to a tempting feast, Over family, love, and home. Trapped within the world's crosshairs, Locked down with time to burn, Casting runestones, but too late, For visible escape, I yearn. An obsessive lady by my side, A judge of karma infernal, She took my life with her own hand, Bequeathing a wound eternal. Tomorrow’s hopes are now a ghost, No merciful release to illuminate, I wish to scrub away the past, A vain rebirth to change my fate. But I’m caught in the Reaper's maw, I weep for you who procrastinate, Sold my soul on Devil's Bridge, Then dragged through a fiery gate. Hope, community, society crash, Towering feats of grotesquery, You may not grieve for me who's gone, Time's cruel critic is all you see. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Tom Wood - The Hunter and other Books in the series "Money, he had long ago discovered, was the world’s number one aphrodisiac." " But better I take what I might not need than find myself without what I do need." " Why do you do what you do?" "Once you’ve sold your soul to the devil you can’t then ask for it back." "Trust is earned." " You don’t like it, stop doing it. A simple statement, but true all the same." " People who wanted weapons had enemies and by supplying those people, he would count their enemies as his own." "....to give the teabags the best chance at working. The haemostatic tannins found naturally in tea would help stop the bleeding, reduce the chance of infection, and aid the healing process." "I am a shark. As soon as I stop swimming, I’ll drown.’ " Life flows like a river, and we must adapt to its ever-changing course." "They’re a nuisance. Pure vermin.’" '‘As are we all, madam,’ the man with blond hair said back. ‘But at least the pigeons have no pretence of grandeur." "I trust that you understand the consequences of showing yourself to be untrustworthy.’ "And there is no hearsay in a man’s eyes. There is only truth.’ ‘What truth do you see in mine?’ ‘I see a man of experience. I see a man without conscience. I see a man who sold his soul before he knew he possessed anything of value.’ "Do I need to be in a hurry to wonder how long I’ll be here?’ "Understanding and doing are two separate concepts.’ "Aren’t you glad to be alive?’ ‘Of course,’ Victor said. ‘Life is always preferable to the alternative.’ 'They say you get out of reading what you put in.’ BETTER OFF DEAD "....jobs could only be considered routine because of the preparation that went into them and the patience displayed in their execution. If corners were cut in the lead-up to the job – should any contingency not be considered and planned for – mistakes would surely follow." You don’t know it yet, and no one ever told me at your age, but eventually you’ll reach a point in life where you have no new thoughts; you experience no new sensations. Everything you do, everything you say, you’ve done and said a thousand times before. Swearing is an expression of anger. When we swear we’re admitting we’ve lost control. Reading is exercise for the mind. I believe in integrity and I believe in justice. I believe a man is only as good as his word and I believe that we are only treated as we allow ourselves to be treated. Forgiveness is against human nature. To forgive a wrong is to invite another. I believe in justice. No wrong should go unpunished.

It’s in this very moment that I know…I’ve sold my soul to the devil, and I don’t want it back.

In other words, no matter what country you buy your oil from, Saudi Arabia determines world price by how much oil it chooses to produce.

The equations have changed. One report sent to the United Nations Security Council indicated that Saudi Arabia transferred half a billion dollars to al Qaeda in the ten years beginning 1992.

The kingdom’s mosque schools have become hothouses of militant Islam, the breeding grounds of Sunni terrorism.

That’s why we in the West—Washington, D.C., in particular—have to face up to our part in cultivating the virus that has infected Saudi Arabia. And that is why we must consider putting to sleep the host, the House of Sa’ud, if it can’t or won’t cure itself.

But I’ve spent enough years in the Middle East to know that in a place like Saudi Arabia, things flow naturally toward their most combustible mix.

There was a Wahhabi way to sneeze, embrace, shake hands, yawn, kiss, dress, and so on. There was even a Wahhabi way of reinterpreting physics; strict Wahhabis believe the world is flat. (If this begins to conjure images of the Taliban rule in Afghanistan, there’s a good reason.)

Even the interior minister, Na’if, had to admit that Saudi Arabia had a problem with Islamic militants. In November 2002 he said, “All our problems come from the Muslim Brotherhood. We have given too much support to this group. The Muslim Brotherhood has destroyed the Arab world.” Na’if went on to accept, at least minimally, Saudi Arabia’s responsibility for militant Islam.

95 percent of educated Saudis between the ages of twenty-five and forty-one support bin Laden.

a democratic election in Saudi Arabia would bring to power a militant Islamic government more hostile than Khomeini’s Iran.

Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Syria all backed the February 1996 coup attempt and were continuing to undermine the Qatari government.

He, who sold his soul to the devil for an earthly possession, has bargained for eternal damnation

font. I sold my soul, he thought, and it fit. Like a perfect chorus summing up the verses of his life, it rhymed with the rest of him.

The sweet little virgin I had met before absolutely sold her soul to us at that moment.