Stairway To Heaven Quotes

The fact that there’s a Highway to Hell and only a Stairway to Heaven says a lot about anticipated traffic numbers. —

there was a reason why there was only a single stairway to heaven, but an entire highway to hell.

Why do you think there's only a single stairway to heaven, but an entire highway to hell? Because it's a lot easier to slide down then climb up, and it takes a whole lot less energy to boot.

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell.

If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk back up to Heaven and bring you home again.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on.

There's a lady who's sure All that glitters is gold. And she's buying a stairway to heaven. And when she gets there she knows If the stores are closed. With a word she can get what she came for. There's a sign on the wall But she wants to be sure. Cause you know sometimes words have Two meanings. In a tree by the brook there's a songbird Who sings sometimes. All of our thoughts are misgiven. There's a feeling I get when I look To the West. And my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke Through the trees. And the voices of those who stand looking.

He sang 'Stairway to Heaven' in four different languages but never knew where that staircase stood.

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell.

The stairway to heaven is not a sweeping spiral vanishing to infinity but a tiny step that leads to the next step.

AWESOMENESS is the closest you're gonna get to heaven while you're here on earth.

When you were building that all-important stairway to heaven, you couldn't just stand around with your hammer in your hand.

May the good Lord be with you down every road you roam, and may sunshine and happiness surround you when you're far from home. And may you grow to be proud, dignified and true; and do unto others as you'd have done to you. Be courageous and be brave and in my heart you'll always stay forever young. May good fortune be with you, may your guiding light be strong; build a stairway to heaven with a prince or a vagabond. And may you never love in vain and in my heart you will remain forever young. And when you finally fly away I'll be hoping that I served you well, for all the wisdom of a lifetime no one can ever tell. But whatever road you choose, I'm right behind you, win or lose, forever young.

Contrary to what has been written and said about me, I do not harbor hate in my heart for Lucifer. In fact, it is the opposite. I believe that the problems between us were caused because I loved him too much. He was unable to handle the sheer magnitude of it. With that and the free will I instilled within him, he made choices that in the end tore us apart.

bussiness is a part of my life,business is my stairway to heaven, I will be the successful business woman

As captives who were not members of the tribe, Olive and Mary Ann were spared the procedure. The Yavapais didn’t care whether they mounted the stairway to heaven; their souls could wander indefinitely.

As much as we might dance around it, or seek to repress our core physicality, it is an essential and unavoidable part of the human experience. It's not that our animal selves lie in contradiction to our angel selves. Our animal selves are literally our stairway to heaven. Despite his brilliant insights on so many aspects of the human condition, Becker was wrong on this one. Nature doesn't mock us. It unlocks us.

I have got acquainted with Lofty John. Ilse is a great friend of his and often goes there to watch him working in his carpenter shop. He says he has made enough ladders to get to heaven without the priest but that is just his joke.

Let it be clarified here that neither the Akkadians nor the Sumerians had called these visitors to Earth gods. It is through later paganism that the notion of divine beings or gods has filtered into our language and thinking. When we employ the term here, it is only because of its general acceptance and usage that we do so.

Listen: Common sense doesn't mean what it used to mean." -Matthias Chalmers, STAIRWAY2 HEAVEN

Every act of kindness is another step up Heaven’s stairway.

It should not be surprising that out of the same considerations they again selected it as the focal point of their new Spaceport.

Our room swallowed light whole. Even in summer when sunlight glared through the windows, it was somehow dim inside. Now it was only Easter morning, and the muted sky of early spring offered scant relief to our tenebrous room. On our side of the house a gnarled and ancient oak tree spread its reach across the back facade of the house as if to shade and protect us. One of the massive branches of its principal fork reached invitingly right up to our window to offer to take us wherever we wanted to go. This great limb, with circumference grander than both of us together, was our stairway to heaven and our secret exit to the ground; it was our biplane in the Great War of our imaginations and a magic carpet to Araby; it was our lookout post and the clubhouse of our most secret fraternal order; it was our secret passageway through the imaginary castle we made of our house. It was our escape from the darkness into the light.

The location of this entryway was forgotten in the following centuries, and when the Moslem caliph AI Mamoon attempted to enter the pyramid in 820 A.D., he employed an army of masons, blacksmiths and engineers to pierce the stones and tunnel his way into the pyramid's core. What prompted him was both a scientific quest and a lust for treasure; for he was apprised of ancient legends that the pyramid contained a secret chamber wherein celestial maps and terrestrial spheres, as well as "weapons which do not rust" and "glass which can be bent without breaking" were hidden away in past ages.

Mountain of the young gods" in the environs of Kadesh, and two peaks of El and Asherah—Shad Elim, Shad Asherath u Rahim—in the south of the peninsula. It was to that area at mebokh naharam ("Where the two bodies of water begin"), kerev apheq tehomtam ("Near the cleft of the two seas") that El had retired in his old age. The texts, we believe, describe the southern tip of the Sinai peninsula. There was, we conclude, a Gateway Mount on the perimeter of the Spaceport in the Central Plain. And there were two peaks in the peninsula's southern tip that also played a role in the comings and goings of the Nefilim. They were the two peaks that measured up.

Truth is a stairway to knowledge, existence is a highway to understanding; together they are an elevator to experience. Need is a stairway to want, desire is a highway to action; together they are an elevator to destiny. Peace is a stairway to knowledge, compassion is a highway to harmony; together they are an elevator to world peace. Books are a stairway to education, awareness is a highway to understanding; together they are an elevator to enlightenment. Sleep is a stairway to rest, life is a highway to death; together they are an elevator to eternity. Light is a stairway to God, virtue is a highway to Heaven; together they are an elevator to divinity.

And the priests looked down into the pit of injustice and they turned their faces away and said, 'Our kingdom is not as the kingdom of this world. Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage. The soul lives on humility and patience,' at the same time screwing the poor from their last centime. They settled down among their treasures and ate and drank with princes and to the starving they said, 'Suffer. Suffer as he suffered on the cross for it is the will of God.' And anyone believes what they hear over and over again, so the poor instead of bread made do with a picture of the bleeding, scourged, and nailed-up Christ and prayed to that image of their helplessness. And the priests said, 'Raise your hands to heaven and bend your knees and bear your suffering without complaint. Pray for those that torture you, for prayer and blessing are the only stairways which you can climb to paradise.' And so they chained down the poor in their ignorance so that they wouldn't stand up and fight their bosses who ruled in the name of the lie of divine right.

Matter would have the universe a uniform dispersion, motionless, complete. Spirit would have an earth, a heaven and a hell, whirl and conflict, an incandescent sun to drive away the dark, to illuminate good and evil, would have thought, memory, desire, would build a stairway of forms increasing in complexity, inclusiveness, to a heaven ever receding above, changing always in configuration, becoming when reached but the way to more distant heavens, the last . . . but there is no last, for spirit tends upward without end, wanders, spirals, dips, but tends ever upward, ruthlessly using lower forms to create higher forms, moving toward ever greater inwardness, consciousness, spontaneity, to an ever greater freedom.

Sensitive But Unclassified” cable to Washington titled “A KEY STRATEGIC TIPPING-POINT GAME-CHANGER.” It posited: The primary challenge in Afghanistan has become the ability to get fidelity on the problem set. Secondarily, we need to shape the battlefield and dial it in. Whether or not we can add this to a stairway to heaven remains to be seen, but the importance of double tapping it cannot be overlooked. After getting smart so that we do not lose the bubble, the long pole in the tent needs to be identified. Once we have pinned the rose on someone, then we must send them downrange. Then we must define the delta so it can be lashed up. This can be difficult, as there are a lot of moving parts; in the end, it is all about delivery.

Dinner proceeded as if no raid were occurring. After the meal, Biddle told Churchill that he would like to see for himself “the strides which London had made in air-raid precautions.” At which point Churchill invited him and Harriman to accompany him to the roof. The raid was still in progress. Along the way, they put on steel helmets and collected John Colville and Eric Seal, so that they, too, as Colville put it, could “watch the fun.” Getting to the roof took effort. “A fantastic climb it was,” Seal said in a letter to his wife, “up ladders, a long circular stairway, & a tiny manhole right at the top of a tower.” Nearby, anti-aircraft guns blasted away. The night sky filled with spears of light as searchlight crews hunted the bombers above. Now and then aircraft appeared silhouetted against the moon and the starlit sky. Engines roared high overhead in a continuous thrum. Churchill and his helmeted entourage stayed on the roof for two hours. “All the while,” Biddle wrote, in a letter to President Roosevelt, “he received reports at various intervals from the different sections of the city hit by the bombs. It was intensely interesting.” Biddle was impressed by Churchill’s evident courage and energy. In the midst of it all, as guns fired and bombs erupted in the distance, Churchill quoted Tennyson—part of an 1842 monologue called Locksley Hall, in which the poet wrote, with prescience: Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain’d a ghastly dew From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue.

All that, however, was wiped out by the Deluge. In its immediate aftermath—some 13,000 years ago—only the Landing Platform at Baalbek had remained. Until a replacement Spaceport could be built, all landings and takeoffs of the Shuttlecraft had to be conducted there. Are we to assume that the Anunnaki relied on reaching the site, tucked away between two mountain ranges, by sheer skilled piloting—or can we safely surmise that as soon as possible they worked out an arrow-like Landing Corridor to Baalbek? Fig. 122

In his earliest memories he was sitting on the floor in the family room, in front of the giant stereo his parents had bought themselves as a wedding present, his face pressed into the padded fabric of one speaker. The fabric was prickly against his forehead but his nose fit perfectly into a little groove, and he could feel music spilling like molten gold through his entire body. He'd sit back on his heels when the song was over and his father, an accountant and amateur drummer whose (still-unrealized) dream was to open a jazz club and coffee house, would say, "Order up!" and put another record on the turntable. Rabbit's favorite albums were by Earth, Wind & Fire (syncopation made his brain feel like it was laughing) and Also sprach Zarathustra, its opening rumbling like an earthquake. And he loved The White Album, and when his mother played ABBA on the piano and they'd sing together (though Alice couldn't do it without being a total showoff), and the Star Wars soundtrack, and of _course_ Zeppelin. For six months in 1984, he had asked his parents to play "Stairway to Heaven" instead of a bedtime story.

Heaven’s Door" I’d search the world for Heaven’s Door, Over mountains and valleys, each sandy shore. I’d find the stairway, soaring through clouds, I'd climb each step, without making a sound. I’d arrive at the door of glimmering gold, I’d slip through unnoticed, not stirring a soul. I’d gasp at its beauty, at its rivers and trees, I’d stray from the paths, I’d hide among leaves. I’d tiptoe unseen, under sun and sky blue, I’d search every corner until I found you. I’d capture a tear, catch a glimpse of your hair, As you danced and you twirled, without any care. You’d smile and you’d laugh, like a bird you’d be free, I’d try not to cry, you’re there without me. I’d stay my hand from touching your face, From calling your name, to feel your embrace. You’d open your mouth and your voice would be pure, I’d treasure the sound, no more pain you’d endure. I’d stay ‘til the sunset, when I’d have to leave, A pain in my heart, my spirit in grief. I’d blow you a kiss, let it drift to the sky, I’d whisper ‘I love you’ and bid you goodbye. I'd pass through the door, I’d descend out of view, Knowing that one day, some day, I’d again be with you. - Elsie

Even more important, however, was how the silhouettes and shadows of the pyramids appeared to an observer from the skies. As this aerial photograph shows (Fig. 155), the true shape of the pyramids casts arrow-like shadows, which serve as unmistakable direction pointers. When all was ready to establish a proper Spaceport, it required a much longer Landing Corridor than the one which served Baalbek. For their previous Spaceport in Mesopotamia, the Anunnaki (the biblical Nefilim) chose the most conspicuous mountain in the Near East—Mount Ararat—as their focal point. It should not be surprising that out of the same considerations they again selected it as the focal point of their new Spaceport.

The unique platform at Baalbek has been there from bygone days, and it is still there intact in its enigmatic immensity; Mount St. Katherine is still there, rising as the highest peak of the Sinai peninsula, hallowed since ancient days, enveloped (together with its twin-peaked neighbor, Mount Mussa) in legends of gods and angels; Fig. 124 The Great Pyramid of Giza, with its two companions and the unique Sphinx, is situated precisely on the extended Ararat-Baalbek line; and The distance from Baalbek to Mount St. Katherine and to the Great Pyramid of Giza is exactly the same. This, let us add at once, is only part of the amazing grid which—as we shall show—was laid out by the Anunnaki in connection with their post-Diluvial Spaceport. Therefore, whether or not the conversation had taken place aboard a shuttlecraft, we are pretty certain that that is how the pyramids came to be in Egypt.

When he reached a certain place, he stopped for the night because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones there, he put it under his head and lay down to sleep. He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the LORD, and he said: “I am the LORD, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” GENESIS 28 : 11 – 16

More than putting another man on the moon, more than a New Year’s resolution of yogurt and yoga, we need the opportunity to dance with really exquisite strangers. A slow dance between the couch and dinning room table, at the end of the party, while the person we love has gone to bring the car around because it’s begun to rain and would break their heart if any part of us got wet. A slow dance to bring the evening home, to knock it out of the park. Two people rocking back and forth like a buoy. Nothing extravagant. A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating. Your head resting on his shoulder, your breath moving up his neck. Your hands along her spine. Her hips unfolding like a cotton napkin and you begin to think about how all the stars in the sky are dead. The my body is talking to your body slow dance. The Unchained Melody, Stairway to Heaven, power-cord slow dance. All my life I’ve made mistakes. Small and cruel. I made my plans. I never arrived. I ate my food. I drank my wine. The slow dance doesn’t care. It’s all kindness like children before they turn four. Like being held in the arms of my brother. The slow dance of siblings. Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him, one of my great loves, he is absolutely human, and when he turns to dip me or I step on his foot because we are both leading, I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer. The slow dance of what’s to come and the slow dance of insomnia pouring across the floor like bath water. When the woman I’m sleeping with stands naked in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, the slow dance of ritual is being spit into the sink. There is no one to save us because there is no need to be saved. I’ve hurt you. I’ve loved you. I’ve mowed the front yard. When the stranger wearing a shear white dress covered in a million beads comes toward me like an over-sexed chandelier suddenly come to life, I take her hand in mine. I spin her out and bring her in. This is the almond grove in the dark slow dance. It is what we should be doing right now. Scrapping for joy. The haiku and honey. The orange and orangutan slow dance.

But as she rounded the last turn before the hall landing, she nearly collided with Sir Ian, carrying his mother’s shawl. “Oh!” Lina exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt a step above his. “Rather careless of you to leave this behind,” he said. He was too close. “Aye, it was,” she agreed, stepping back up a step to gain more space. His eyes danced. “Mayhap I should demand a penance before returning it.” “You dare,” she said, stiffening and wishing he were not so fiendishly beguiling with that boyish gleam of mischief in his eyes. He was definitely not just a mischievous boy anymore, though. And, for a lady to encourage such behavior . . . He looked up, as if to heaven, and murmured, “Just one wee ki—” “Shame on you, Sir Ian Colquhoun,” she interjected, thinking she sounded just like her mother. “Galbraith cannot know that you are on this stairway.” “Once again, you are wrong, lass,” he said, his eyes still alight. “He is still with Lizzie on the dais—giving her a well-deserved scolding, I trust. I saw that you had left the shawl and offered to find a maidservant to return it to you. But this is much better. I do think you should thank me prettily for taking so much trouble.” “I will thank you. After you have returned it to me.” Cocking his head, he held the shawl higher, so she’d have to reach for it. When she did, he moved it back out of her reach. Lina lowered her outstretched hand to her side and eyed him sternly from her slightly superior height. “I thought you sought my approval.” He stepped up to the stair below hers, putting the shawl out of reach again. His face was now inches higher than hers and his body again much too close for comfort. “I’d prefer something else just now,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. Reaching with his left hand for her right wrist, he held it firmly. Apparently oblivious of her attempt to snatch it free, he pressed the shawl into her hand and let go of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers. She waited to see what he would do next. He smiled then, wryly, as if he dared her to walk away. His lips were tantalizingly close. Lina shut her eyes. “Coward,” Ian murmured, enjoying himself. Her eyes flew open. Then, to his astonishment, she learned forward, brushed her lips against his right cheek, and whirled, snatching up her skirts in her free hand as first her right foot and then her left blindly sought the next stair upward. Reaching out, he easily caught her arm. “Not so fast,” he said, turning her back to face him. “You must not kiss and run, lass. That’s against the rules.” “The lady makes the rules, sir. Let go of me.” She was two steps above his again, looking disdainfully down her nose at him. She did not try to pull away. She was testing him, he knew. But she was right about who made the rules. Even so, the urge was strong to seize her and teach her what kissing was all about. However, he also wanted to make her desire that kiss enough to abandon her disapproval. And that was the greater challenge. Sakes, if he were seeking a wife and had no royal duty commanding him . . . Shifting his grip to her hand, he drew it to his lips and slowly kissed each knuckle. Then he kissed the silky skin above them, turned her trembling hand palm up long enough to breathe gently into that tender palm . . . and released her. With a barely discernable gasp, she turned away, her dignity apparently still—or again—intact. He enjoyed watching her move, so he stood where he was to savor the sight. His reward came when she stopped before vanishing around the next curve and looked back. Her lips parted slowly, invitingly, in surprise. He bowed and had the delight of seeing her whirl again and hurry away. “I shall win this battle, I think,” he murmured to himself.

My life is a stairway to heaven, not a 'decline into decrepitude.

business is a part of my life,business is my stairway to heaven, I will be the successful businessman

I’d write and read and let myself, a little at a time, step down into myself- like a stairway down into a dark, intimate kiva- where the work of vigil is taking place, the necessary attending. I imagine there’s a little fire burning in there, a few steadily glowing embers, and a quiet chant going on, from me, from some singer in me, honoring and accompanying W’s soul, which is with him as he is making his passage. ..there’s a leavetaking in process, a movement towards increasing simplicity, away from complexity, activity, expectation. The bout of paranoia, with a childlike quality of being threatened, seems part of that-like a day or two when he couldn’t just let go and float on the energies of other people, who are bearing him up-but had to doubt them, struggle. So much better when he can trust and float. There’s enough love around him to carry him now…

The only way Father is going to be upset in this case, is with the way the two of you are behaving toward one another. We are family, whether you believe it or not. Your lack of faith in Lucifer is what will do the damage in the long run. It has nothing at all to do with the time I spend with him.

. I was feeling like an old puzzle that someone put away, the kind that’s missing pieces so it never gets looked at. It isn’t until I came across the woman that now holds my last name that I see it clearly. She’s the collection of pieces that are missing from my box. She completes it and turns it into the most beautiful picture.

I have climbed the stairway to heaven, huffing and puffing all the way to the top and knocked on heaven’s door. I have lived in hell and danced with the devil. I have played with monsters and lived in fantasy worlds of my own making. I have worked hard and loved freely. I have spent too many years living behind walls to protect my tender heart. I have felt alone and have been lonely. Now I ask you to visit me here, be my friend and share my journey.-- Ty*

But the best thing about living with the guys was the “Stairway” Clean. The deceptively simple goal of the “Stairway” Clean was to clean the entire apartment in the eight minutes it took to listen to “Stairway to Heaven” at a ridiculously loud volume on Bajir’s record player. In situations of extreme filth (i.e., always), playing the song multiple times was allowed, although a two- or three-“Stairway” Clean was considered a failure.

I was seemingly still lowest of the low. Going back to the airport analogy, I was apparently still stuck in the European departure lounge of Terminal 5 with my luggage on its way to Los Angeles; this with my empty wallet in a waste bin and my passport, cash and credit cards concealed in a pickpocket’s pantyhose. Theologically speaking, as far as the stairway to Heaven was concerned, I hadn’t even made the first step yet.

It’s a song called Stairway to Heaven. Thomas

Though he was gone, Stairway to Heaven lingered in the gentle breeze. Sartre and Freya, while holding hands, began to sway back and forth until they found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms. Starting in Gimli, everyone followed their lead. Soon, across the whole world, and like the last song at a high school homecoming in the late 70s, people slow danced with each other.

Mr. Crabtree looked at him for a moment, blinked, nodded, then turned back to Sophie. “Why’re you dressed like that?” Sophie looked down and realized with horror that she’d completely forgotten she was wearing men’s clothes. Men’s clothes so big that she could barely keep the breeches from falling to her feet. “My clothes were wet,” she explained, “from the rain.” Mr. Crabtree nodded sympathetically. “Quite a storm last night. That’s why we stayed over at our daughter’s. We’d planned to come home, you know.” Benedict and Sophie just nodded. “She doesn’t live terribly far away,” Mr. Crabtree continued. “Just on the other side of the village.” He glanced over at Benedict, who nodded immediately. “Has a new baby,” he added. “A girl.” “Congratulations,” Benedict said, and Sophie could see from his face that he was not merely being polite. He truly meant it. A loud clomping sound came from the stairway; surely Mrs. Crabtree returning with breakfast. “I ought to help,” Sophie said, jumping up and dashing for the door. “Once a servant, always a servant,” Mr. Crabtree said sagely. Benedict wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Sophie wince. A minute later, Mrs. Crabtree entered, bearing a splendid silver tea service. “Where’s Sophie?” Benedict asked. “I sent her down to get the rest,” Mrs. Crabtree replied. “She should be up in no time. Nice girl,” she added in a matter-of-fact tone, “but she needs a belt for those breeches you lent her.” Benedict felt something squeeze suspiciously in his chest at the thought of Sophie-the-housemaid, with her breeches ’round her ankles. He gulped uncomfortably when he realized the tight sensation might very well be desire. Then he groaned and grabbed at his throat, because uncomfortable gulps were even more uncomfortable after a night of harsh coughing. “You need one of my tonics,” Mrs. Crabtree said. Benedict shook his head frantically. He’d had one of her tonics before; it had had him retching for three hours. “I won’t take no for an answer,” she warned. “She never does,” Mr. Crabtree added. “The tea will work wonders,” Benedict said quickly, “I’m sure.” But Mrs. Crabtree’s attention had already been diverted. “Where is that girl?” she muttered, walking back to the door and looking out. “Sophie! Sophie!” “If you can keep her from bringing me a tonic,” Benedict whispered urgently to Mr. Crabtree, “it’s a fiver in your pocket.” Mr. Crabtree beamed. “Consider it done!” “There she is,” Mrs. Crabtree declared. “Oh, heaven above.” “What is it, dearie?” Mr. Crabtree asked, ambling toward the door. “The poor thing can’t carry a tray and keep her breeches up at the same time,” she replied, clucking sympathetically. “Aren’t you going to help her?” Benedict asked from the bed. “Oh yes, of course.” She hurried out. “I’ll be right back,” Mr. Crabtree said over his shoulder. “Don’t want to miss this.” “Someone get the bloody girl a belt!” Benedict yelled grumpily. It didn’t seem quite fair that everyone got to go out to the hall and watch the sideshow while he was stuck in bed.

Are you willing to enter the divine realm? Are you willing to participate in God’s suffering? The Devil is the reification of God’s torment and rage against what he has had to endure, the cosmic pain he has felt over so many millennia. God suffered the ultimate fragmentation. He was torn into as many pieces as there are monads. No one was ever more torn asunder, more split apart, than God. And then he had to put himself together again. Hell is another dimension of heaven, not a separate location.

... but when Martha left, I stayed. I thought that because I was drunk, maybe everything would be different, that as the night waned, Cross would eventually come to me. But instead, when the DJ played "Stairway to Heaven" as the last song of the night, Cross slow-danced with Horton Kinnelly and then the song ended and they stood side by side, still close together, Cross rubbing his hand over Norton's back. It all felt both casual and random--in the last four minutes they seemed to have become a couple. And though they had not interacted for the entire night, I understood suddenly that just as I'd been eyeing Cross over the last several hours, he'd been eyeing Horton, or maybe it had been for much longer than that. He too had been saving something for the end, but the difference between Cross and me was that he made choices, he exerted control, his agenda succeeded. Mine didnt. I waited for him, and he didn't look at me. And that was what the rest of senior week was like, though it surprised me less each time, at each party, and by the end of the week, Cross and Horton weren't even waiting until it was late and they were drunk--you'd see them entwined in the hammock at John Brindley's house in the afternoon, or in the kitchen at Emily Phillip's house, Cross sitting on a bar stool and Horton perched on his lap.

Life doesn’t go in a straight line from leaving school, to making money, to having a family and retiring. And because of this—because of how we thought our lives would go and what we felt entitled to—we feel like we’re doing things wrong, like we’ve made a mistake. Things are not working out, and it’s our fault. But that’s a trap. And it’s totally demoralizing and unmotivating. You’re riding a wave between storms, not climbing the stairway to heaven. Got it?

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell. We stand in front of those two possible apertures at all times; choose which one to go through

I would call celebrity worship a new form of religious culture, fans may not even know the fallen celebrit[ies], yet they draw quite a bit of meaning from them." - Gary Laderman, a professor of religion at Emory University

Hope builds a stairway to Heaven. Fear opens an abyss to Hell. We stand in front of those two possible apertures at all times; choose which one to go through.

Suddenly at the end of the great couloir my vision is sharpened by a pale disjunctive shudder as a bar of buttercup-yellow thickening gradually to a ray falls slowly through the dark masses of cloud to the east. The ripple and flurry of the invisible colonies of birds around us increases. Slowly, painfully, like a half-open door the dawn is upon us, forcing back the darkness. A minute more and a stairway of soft kingcups slides smoothly down out of heaven to touch in our horizons, to give eye and mind an orientation in space which it has been lacking.

This short story is a rat trap strapped to your face as you descend to the depths of Dante's 'Inferno' while being entertained by hooded throat singers chanting 'stairway to heaven' on your way to a candle lit blind date with cthulhu himself. This story should have never been written. You should probably never read it, and it will probably be banned soon due to its traumatizing effect on the mind, but...there is a happy ending.

The chamber has come to be known as the "Queen's Chamber"; but the name is based on romantic notions and not on any shred of evidence

You think you’re going to open the right-wrong door and see your stairway to Heaven on the other side, and then it’s one step, two step, how d’you do step, and you’re right back in your story.

and my heart is hammering away in my chest so hard it feels like it’s building something. Maybe my heart is building a stairway for himself all the way to heaven, since he knows he’ll explode and die the second these jeans slide off.

When something is meant for you—it will find you, even if you were to hide in the depths of the ocean. And if it's meant to go elsewhere, then it will slip right through your fingers, even if you were to forcefully make it yours. This is the Qadr of Allah.

On another note,” began Tao, roasting marshmallows, “is your father an art thief, Mila? Because you’re a total masterpiece.” Chuckling along with the others, Trick said, “I was wondering if your father was an alien, because there’s nothing like you on Earth.” Another round of chuckles. “I was thinking of calling God and telling him I found his missing angel,” said Marcus. “Seriously, Mila, is that a ladder in your pants or a stairway to heaven?” Dominic glared at his laughing pack mates. “I knew you’d all be assholes.” Marcus shrugged a shoulder. “We’re just getting some payback.

The mirror ball has danced all the way up to my Heaven!

Escalera al Cielo.” “Stairway to Heaven,

...and it makes me wonder.

Within their white-cat brains, the world was only the forest of Kaniburrha. They walked the streets of heaven, and it was the jungle trails they trod. If the gods stroked their fur as they passed them by, it was as the winds laying hands upon them. Should they climb a broad stairway, it was a rocky slope they mounted. The buildings were cliffs and the statues were trees; the passers-by were invisible. Should one from the City enter the true forest, however, cat and god then dwelled upon the same plane of existence – the wilderness, the balancer.

The stairway to heaven and the highway to hell are actually the same place. Stay sharp.

Those who barely climb the difficult stairs today will be able to climb the more difficult stairs much easier tomorrow!

Let It Grow,” and it was several years before I realized that I had totally ripped off “Stairway to Heaven,” the famous Zeppelin anthem, a cruel justice seeing as how I’d always been such a severe critic of theirs.

I thought that it was supposed to bring you happiness and fulfillment. But with each step up the stairway to heaven, Nick stopped loving, stopped smiling, and stopped laughing. I guess he had reached the final stage of process: he was the bishop. Now he had perfected these gifts inside himself he would be able to teach others to stop loving, stop smiling, and stop laughing.

This huge tower would become the new cosmic mountain of the gods. They would engage in an occultic ceremony that would transform the ziggurat into a portal, a literal stairway to heaven that would enable the pantheon to recruit from the myriads of Elohim’s heavenly host to join their revolution. The original two hundred had accomplished much since the days of Noah. They eagerly imagined what they could do with thousands or even millions.

Неземните ултратънки лазерни лъчи разсичат въздуха, докато трае шоуто на Джими с лъка, а Плант вкарва откъси от "Woodstock". Представлението завършва със "Stairway to Heaven", последвана от бисовете "Whole Lotta Love" и "Black Dog". И така - пет поредни вечери.

Then, the music began. “Stairway to Heaven.” The Dolly Parton version.

Chorus: The Kings are our dear fathers Under whose care we live in peace The Kings are our dear fathers Under whose care we live in peace Marat: And the children repeated the lesson they believed it As anyone believes What they hear over and over again And over and over again the priests said Our love embraces all mankind Of every colour race and creed Our love is international universal We are all brothers every one And the priests looked down into the pit of injustice And they turned their faces away and said Our Kingdom is not as the kingdom of this world Our life on earth is out a pilgrimage The soul lives on humility and patience At the same time screwing from the poor their last centime They settled down among their treasures And ate and drank with princes And to the starving they said Suffer Suffer as he suffered on the cross For it is the will of God And anyone believes what they hear over and over again So the poor instead of bread made do with a picture Of the bleeding scourged and nailed-up Christ And prayed to that image of their helplessness And the priests said Raise your hands to heaven bend your knees And bear your suffering without complaint For prayer and blessing are the only stairways Which you can climb to Paradise And so they chained down the poor in their ignorance So that they wouldn't stand up and fight their bosses Who ruled in the name of the lie of divine right Chorus: Amen

Except that Jesus says he himself is that stairway. Earth and heaven meet in him. And for a moment on the mountain at the transfiguration, that truth became visible as heavenly glory streamed down to earth through Jesus. Jacob’s vision was accompanied by a promise from God: “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go” (v 15). Remember that promise today. Let Jesus say to you, “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go”.

Sure enough, a door opened to a narrow stairwell exactly where he’d expected it. A patch of light flooded from above like a stairway to heaven. He half expected angels to sing. Or at least Led Zeppelin.