Spawn Of Satan Quotes

He stared down at the golden curls of the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. "You know," he concluded, after a while, "I think he actually looks like an Adam.

Yo, guys," Ty says, peering down into the stroller. "What the hell is that thing? Satan's spawn?" "You'd better watch it!" Henry says. He puts on a serious face, throws an arm around my shoulders, and pulls me in close. "That's our child you're talking about." Ty smiles, then looks at Jerry Rice. "Its eyes are seriously creeping me out. And I knew something was going on between you two." "You're right," Henry says. "Woods is my husband, and I'm her wife.

You're the very spawn of Satan and I'll not have you darken this door ever again.

You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.

Back when I still thought her brother was born of a human mother and not spawned straight from Satan’s asshole.

Yeah,” I said. “What is that? A bird? "It’s the swan,” he said. “Wow. A school with a swan. Wow.” “That swan is the spawn of Satan. Never get closer to it than we are now.

the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness,

You still aren't screaming." "Is that the usual reaction you get when people realize you're, um..." "Different? Yes, generally." Marcus stepped up beside him. "We also get shrieks, curses, pant wetting, bowels releasing"--Sarah grimaced--"religious recitations..." Her eyebrows rose. "Religious recitations?" "You know--Get thee back, you, ah..." He nudged Roland. "What was it that priest called us?" Roland rolled his eyes. "Which one?" "The one in London." "What century?" "Eighteenth." Sarah's mouth fell open. "The one with hair like Albert Einstein?" "Yes." "Spawns of Satan." "Right." Adopting a raspy elderly man's voice, Marcus shook his fist at Sarah and intoned dramatically, "Get thee back, ye spawns of Satan. Return thee to the bowels of hell where ye belong!" Lowering his fist, he proceeded in a normal voice."Then he hurled numerous biblical versus at our heads as we walked away...But screaming is by far the most common reaction, from both men and women.

The man was irresistible. What’s with that? she thought. It was like wanting to bake cookies for the spawn of Satan.

I have no issue with Elissa. She's a fantastic stage manager, and we've worked together before. In fact, a million years ago we used to be good friends. Back when I still thought her brother was born of a human mother and not spawned straight from Satan's asshole.

I'll have to warn you, my cousins are Satan's spawn.

And crazy old people will be to blame for whichever spawn of Satan slithers its way into the Oval Office.

Spawn of Satan,

Uncle Bob chuckled. “What the Hell Spawn of Satan are you wearing?” What Ubie was so indelicately referring to was the outfit I’d changed into, carefully picking out my most comfortable black-on-black attire and meticulously applying black greasepaint to my face to complement a desert-at-midnight look. Naturally, I had to struggle through several costume changes as Garrett sat out in his leather-seated truck waiting for me. I sure hoped my time-consuming endeavor didn’t annoy him.

He stared down at the golden curls of the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. ‘You know,’ he concluded, after a while, ‘I think he actually looks like an Adam.

I think you look like the spawn of Satan." "Yeah, and you still look like my brother's favorite blow-up doll." "Speaking of, what's the deal with the size of my breasts in last month's manual?" He'd drawn me so top heavy a stiff wind could have knocked me off balance. "Creative license," he said with a shrug. "A little too creative.

Whenever people unquestioningly turn over their minds to authoritarian figures to do with as they please—whether it be in a satanic cult or some of the more fanatic offshoots of the Jesus Movement, in the right wing or the far left, or in the mind-bending cults of the new sensitivity—those potentials exist. One hopes that none of these groups will spawn other Charles Mansons.

When he finished telling her about the kidnapping, Esperanza’s first words were an incredulous, “Win has a mother?” “Yep.” Pause. “There goes my spawned-from-a-satanic-egg theory.

I’ve barely woken up and I’m faced with this spawn of Satan sitting on my bed. 

the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.

When the girl you’re casually screwing and dating starts to look like she was literally sent from Heaven, you better reassess your priorities before someone gets hurt. Especially when she speaks like the spawn of Satan.

You are truly Satan’s sequined spawn.

As methods of human communication go, a wink is quite versatile. You can say a lot with a wink. For example, the new nun’s wink said: Where the hell have you been? Baby B has been born, we’re ready to make the switch, and here’s you in the wrong room with the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, drinking tea. Do you realize I’ve nearly been shot?

I am he, Hell within mercy, as Almighty spawned in vain. Anguish on the bastard throne, I crucify the last martyr. Born with a heinous offering, I decay the lies of Holy. Whoring the seed through the cunt of a serpent, I sought the plagues as her juices spew on me. Anointed by the prongs of sin, blasphemy reaches its darkest manifestation. Conjure of unlight swells within thy legions of thy great accuser, as thy wrenched is for thy Satan comes forth at the dawn of reckoning.

After the dedication, Eleanor saw Bernard privately, probably at her own request. He came prepared to offer more spiritual comfort, thinking that she too might be suffering qualms of conscience over Vitry, but he was surprised to learn that she was not. Nevertheless, several matters were indeed troubling her, not the least the problems of her sister. She asked him to use his influence with the Pope to have the excommunication on Raoul and Petronilla lifted and their marriage recognised by the Church. In return, she would persuade Louis to make peace with Theobald of Champagne and recognise Pierre de la Chatre as Archbishop of Bourges. Bernard was appalled at her brazen candour. In his opinion, these affairs were no business of a twenty-two-year-old woman. He was, in fact, terrified of women and their possible effects on him. An adolescent, first experiencing physical desire for a young girl, he had been so filled with self-disgust that he had jumped into a freezing cold pond & remained there until his erection subsided. He strongly disapproved of his sister, who had married a rich man; because she enjoyed her wealth, he thought of her as a whore, spawned by Satan to lure her husband from the paths of righteousness, and refused to have anything to do with her. Nor would he allow his monks any contact with their female relatives. Now there stood before him the young, worldly, and disturbingly beautiful Queen of France, intent upon meddling in matters that were not her concern. Bernard's worst suspicions were confirmed: here, beyond doubt, was the source of that "Counsel of the Devil" that had urged the King on to disaster and plunged him into sin and guilt. His immediate reaction was to admonish Eleanor severely.

Trash first. Then supplies. Stepping forward, I kicked a pile of takeout containers to one side, wanting to clear a path to the cabinets so I could look for latex gloves. But then I stopped, stiffening, an odd scratching sound coming from the pile I’d just nudged with my foot. Turning back to it, I crouched on the ground and lifted a greasy paper at the top of the mess. And that’s when I saw it. A cockroach. In Ireland. A giant behemoth of a bug, the likes I’d only ever seen on nature programs about prehistoric insects. Okay, perhaps I was overexaggerating its size. Perhaps not. Honestly, I didn’t get a chance to dwell on the matter, because the roach-shaped locust of Satan hopped onto my hand. I screamed. Obviously. Jumping back and swatting at my hand, I screamed again. But evil incarnate had somehow crawled up and into the sleeve of my shirt. The sensation of its tiny, hairy legs skittering along my arm had me screaming a third time and I whipped off my shirt, tossing it to the other side of the room as though it was on fire. “What the hell is going on?” I spun toward the door, finding Ronan Fitzpatrick and Bryan Leech hovering at the entrance, their eyes darting around the room as though they were searching for a perpetrator. Meanwhile, I was frantically brushing my hands over my arms and torso. I felt the echo of that spawn of the devil’s touch all over my body. “Cockroach!” I screeched. “Do you see it? Is it still on me?” I twisted back and forth, searching. Bryan and Ronan were joined in the doorway by more team members, but I barely saw them in my panic. God, I could still feel it. I. Could. Still. Feel. It. Now I knew what those hapless women felt like in horror movies when they realized the serial killer was still inside the house.

It’s so weird that it’s Christmas Eve,” I said, clinking my glass to his. It was the first time I’d spent the occasion apart from my parents. “I know,” he said. “I was just thinking that.” We both dug into our steaks. I wished I’d made myself two. The meat was tender and flavorful, and perfectly medium-rare. I felt like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby, when she barely seared a steak in the middle of the afternoon and devoured it like a wolf. Except I didn’t have a pixie cut. And I wasn’t harboring Satan’s spawn. “Hey,” I began, looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so…so pathetic since, like, the day we got married.” He smiled and took a swig of Dr Pepper. “You haven’t been pathetic,” he said. He was a terrible liar. “I haven’t?” I asked, incredulous, savoring the scrumptious red meat. “No,” he answered, taking another bite of steak and looking me squarely in the eye. “You haven’t.” I was feeling argumentative. “Have you forgotten about my inner ear disturbance, which caused me to vomit all across Australia?” He paused, then countered, “Have you forgotten about the car I rented us?” I laughed, then struck back. “Have you forgotten about the poisonous lobster I ordered us?” Then he pulled out all the stops. “Have you forgotten all the money we lost?” I refused to be thwarted. “Have you forgotten that I found out I was pregnant after we got back from our honeymoon and I called my parents to tell them and I didn’t get a chance because my mom left my dad and I went on to have a nervous breakdown and had morning sickness for six weeks and now my jeans don’t fit?” I was the clear winner here. “Have you forgotten that I got you pregnant?” he said, grinning. I smiled and took the last bite of my steak. Marlboro Man looked down at my plate. “Want some of mine?” he asked. He’d only eaten half of his. “Sure,” I said, ravenously and unabashedly sticking my fork into a big chuck of his rib eye. I was so grateful for so many things: Marlboro Man, his outward displays of love, the new life we shared together, the child growing inside my body. But at that moment, at that meal, I was so grateful to be a carnivore again.

Outside," Regulus replies. "They're making mud-pies, so prepare for the mess." "Mm, nothing we can't handle," James assures him. "We've certainly had worse." "Yes, that's true, but if either of those brats track mud into the kitchen, I'm shipping them off to Sirius and Remus without looking back," Regulus warns, eyes narrowing playfully. James snorts. "You'd miss them and go get them back after three hours, don't even try it." "At least four," Regulus counters, sliding his arms around James' shoulders, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I can entertain myself for four hours, surely." "Oh?" James raises his eyebrows. "Don't you mean I could entertain you for four hours?" Regulus' lips twitch. "No, because I'm shipping you off with them. I've earned the break. I'm done with you Potters." "You're a Potter," James reminds him, amused. "Baby, I'll always be a Black," Regulus tells him, reaching up to card his fingers through James' hair. He leans in and starts mouthing along James' jaw, which James is very pleased about, actually. "No matter my name, that doesn't change." "Dad! Dad, look, we found a frog!" comes the abrupt shriek from outside, along with more delighted screams. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Regulus groans, letting his head thunk down on James' shoulder. "Really, can't we just send them back from whence they came?" "And where is that?" "Hell." James laughs, turning his head to smack a kiss to Regulus' cheek, then down the side of his face, then the scar on the side of his neck. "It's a bit pointless to do that. You'd go through hell just to get them back, and you know it." "Dad, it peed on me!" "Shit, shit, shit," Regulus chants, jolting away from James to rush towards the door. "Put it down, you little demons! Step away from the frog right now!" He's still grumbling as he slips out the door. "Just like your father. Literal spawns of Satan himself. What did I say about staying out of tr…" James sighs softly and leans back against the bar, grabbing his cane again, eyes drifting shut as he listens to the sounds of his family, lips curled up. Then, from his pocket, there's a sudden cry that makes his eyes snap open. Ah, yes, the joys of parenthood. Frogs and squalling infants. James wouldn't change a damn thing.

I remember you," the mond said. "And you, spawn of Satan." He glowered at Thorgil. "Do you recognize him?" asked Jack. Thorgil shrugged. "We pillage so many monasteries.

If you are not being corrected by God you are not His child; you are the spawn of Satan your father!

The armour-plated cars with windows of bullet-proof glass, the murders implicit in Hymie Weiss [1889-1926] phrase 'to take for a ride', the sedans of tommy-gunners spraying the streets of gangland, all created a satanic mythology of the automobile which bid fair to rival the demonism of the saloon. The car was an instrument of death in the hands of the crook and the drunk, and prohibition was held to have spawned both of them.

There is one faction that believes George Bush is a simpleton with the brain capacity of plankton, and that is why we are in the mess we're in. Then there's another faction that believes George Bush is not only smarter than plankton, but that he is a diabolical mastermind, possibly even the spawn of Satan himself, and that is why we are in the mess we're in.

Sister Mary Loquacious has been a devout Satanist since birth. She went to Sabbat School as a child and won black stars for handwriting and liver. When she was told to join the Chattering Order she went obediently, having a natural talent in that direction and, in any case, knowing that she would be among friends. She would be quite bright, if she was ever put in a position to find out, but long ago found that being a scatterbrain, as she'd put it, gave you an easier journey through life. Currently she is being handed a golden.. haired male baby we will call the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.

I swear that alarm is the spawn of Satan.” She smacked her hand roughly against the top. “Die motherfucker. Die.

May I finish your sandwich?” Phillip reached for his brother’s uneaten portion. “Touch it”—Day sat up immediately—“and it’s pistols, swords, or bare-knuckle rules.” Darius accepted the pie Val withdrew from the hamper. “And to think, Valentine,” Darius drawled, “your mother raised five of these, what are they? Boys?” “Demons,” Belmont muttered. “Spawn of Satan, imps from hell.” “Beloved offspring,” Dayton and Phillip chorused together. “Hush,” Belmont reproved.

Because this Devil doesn't know how to love." "He doesn't have to, because I will love him enough for the both of us.

Since the Vampyr Protection Act was signed into law in 1983, religious opposition had been growing. Churches had mobilized in protest against the “spawn of Satan.” As with so many things in life, battle lines had been drawn, between the right-wing evangelicals who believed that vampyrs should be hunted down and killed (because that was what Jesus would want) and the “woke” liberals who believed that minorities should be protected and respected. Age old. Barbara had seen it with race, homosexuality, women’s rights, abortion, trans rights.

This spawn of Satan had sent me a text. I opened it to read, Bye, gay ass nigga.

Oh come on Tess, I would’ve killed to have a mac and cheese bar at my wedding,” William says and looks over at Jenna who’s about to say something. No doubt something sassy about Will’s wedding. “Don’t even say a word you heathen,” Will says, pointing at Jenna. “Heathen? I’m not a heathen? The spawn of Satan maybe, but a heathen? Give me some credit William.

My cousin Andreas was the spawn of Satan, and a British lord once tried to grope me under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball. He only stopped after I “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork.

A gentleman would’ve offered to sleep elsewhere, but Josh wasn’t a gentleman. He was the spawn of Satan… one who was currently staring at me with narrowed eyes as I tried to finesse my way out of skiing.

Her lips moved against his. She was breaking, giving in. Kissing him back. He lost himself. Lost reason. Had to taste her. He slid his tongue into her mouth. She made a mewling sound, her tongue moving against his. And then, the spawn of Satan bit him. His tongue, specifically. Hard enough for him to rear his head back, severing the connection. With enough force to draw blood. For the second time that day, the copper flavor of his own blood was in his mouth. “Vicious princess,” he ground out, staring down at her. “I will never marry you,” she returned, all fire. He smiled. He was enjoying this far more than he had anticipated. Enough of these games, however. He had no intention of consummating their union until she was officially his countess. And before that could happen, he would have to lay out the plain facts for her.

Josh was many things—infuriating, cocky, the spawn of Satan—but he wasn’t stupid, and he was the last person I wanted knowing I’d been stood up. He would never let me live it down.

Take that, you winged spawn of satan! Die, devil bird! Kinda hot in these rhinos.

Take that, you winged spawn of Satan! Die, devil bird!

Well, you see, I was trying to summon a duck army, but I was able to spawn Satan at the mere age of twelve instead by accident. Where were you at that age? Right, probably still drooling over the rise of miniskirts in Arcane.

The pictures on the walls would show his family and friends and Lori and no towheaded Amish-clad spawn of Satan, and

I tell you that no nation is the enemy of another nation, no people the enemy of another people! There are no bad nations; there are only bad governments, which are taken over by the men of evil. ‘The spawn of Satan,’ as the Bible calls them.

Was it possible, I began to wonder, that somebody had overpainted the portrait to protect it? We’ve already delved into the notion that Shakespeare might have fallen out of favor while alive or recently dead, but we know for a fact that he fell into disgrace when the Puritans gained power in 1653 under Lord Protector Cromwell and declared Shakespeare and his ilk spawn of Satan. After nailing shut the Globe and other such lairs, the Puritans started torching art. Did some Clopton hero disguise the family portrait to protect the poet from these buzzkill iconoclasts? In an 1883 lecture, the collector John Rabone stated as much: “It was suggested that the [Hunt] painting had been obscured in Puritanical times, as many portraits had been, to conceal it, as players then were in ill odour.

leave my loneliness unbroken

Some say magic can be found in madness. Mercy in malice. They come in the form of lessons learned which help you avoid these circumstances in the future. Cruel people teach you about your expectations and how high you want to raise them. Fits of rage help find your center which leads you back to your humanity. But what about those who lack both? It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about the past few days. Humans are not born evil or sinful, they’re driven to it. It’s one thing about Catholicism I’ve never agreed with. To believe an innocent baby can be born from sin and need to be washed of it in order to be seen as a child of God.

This poem has nothing to do with anyone else but Poe himself. The demons inside him he constantly fought but never conquered, the ones that darkened him beyond repair.

Diabolus orationes respondet.

Imperare Sibi Maximum Imperium Est “To rule yourself is the ultimate power.

Poetry is nothing but a compilation of painful tragedies. I have enough of my own.” Why the fuck did I say that? And why the fuck is she looking at me like she’s telling herself “I told you so”? “Well, maybe poems like these were made to release that pain.

Song of Marion’s Men” by William Cullen Bryant.

Entertain You” by Within Temptation

Ocean eyes ghost over skin like the darkness of night. Pure artistry in the form of my broken pieces. Secrets and lies. Another tormented life. Her beauty is sacred, worthy of worship. A true empress of light to face endless depths of black. Will she come out victorious? Live a life upon the throne? Can her perfection survive the wrath of a devil in disguise? Or will her beauty be the devil’s demise? Can she be mine? A soul who is not worthy of redemption, With fingers riddled in blood and sin. Who stands stoic behind the gates of hell. Only to be brought to his knees by the kiss of an angel.

Crayton was capable of forming such beautiful phrases like “Hollow hearts fill dangerous minds” or “Beware of the broken. They know how to survive.” My favorite being “The heaviest crowns will fall from heaven”.

I swear that alarm is the spawn of Satan.” She smacks her hand roughly against the top. “Die, motherfucker. Die.