Unlock The Key To My Heart Quotes

Lord Jesus,' Christy whispered, 'I want You to hold the key. I want You to decide what should happen in my heart's garden. I want You to let in or send out anything or anybody You want. Especially with guys. I don't want to ever unlock that gate again. I want you to open it only when the right man comes along. Take the key, Lord. Take all my keys. I'll wait for you.

I only want you", she groaned. "Only you. Promise me that I can keep you. Promise me." My heart...shit, my heart. It unlocked. The padlock fell free. Her words were a key. Her forgiveness, and love and strength and everything that made her pure stole me from my life of pain. She changed me. Right there. Right then. I became hers. Irreversibly.

i would say you held the key to my heart, but you never needed it. - from the beginning i knew i could leave it unlocked for you.

Within my heart a garden grows, wild with violets and fragrant rose. Bright daffodils line the narrow path, my footsteps silent as I pass. Sweet tulips nod their heads in rest; I kneel in prayer to seek God's best. For round my garden a fence stands firm to guard my heart so I can learn who should enter, and who should wait on the other side of my locked gate. I clasp the key around my neck and wonder if the time is yet. If I unlocked the gate today, would you come in? Or run away?

She thinks about Christ. How she'd like to lay everything down at his feet. "Here you go," she'd say, dropping everything down like a pile of wood. "You gave me this, and I have no idea what to do with it." Then she'd take out a key, a big, clunky, golden key and she'd reach to unlock her heart with it. Her heart would open up and all kinds of wondrous things would come spilling out - maybe rushing forth like a waterfall, or maybe fluttering out gently like a butterfly. "Here it is," she'd tell him. "Everything that's in my heart, for you and me to see.

Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hate. Forgiveness breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness. While dying on the cross, Jesus said, “Forgive them” — the Roman soldiers, the religious leaders, his disciples who had fled in darkness, even you and me who have denied him so many times — “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

I would say I you held the key to my heart, but you never needed it. -from the beginning I knew I could leave it unlocked for you.

/A weekend toward the end of September, the bell above the door rang and there he was in the shop. Same old feeling in my guts. I’ll go if you want me to, he said. I smiled, I was so fucking happy to see him. You’ve only just got here, you twat, I said. Now give us a hand with this, and he took the other end of the trestle table and moved it over to the wall. Pub? I said. He grinned. And before I could say anything else he put his arms around me. And everything he couldn’t say in our room in France was said in that moment. I know, I said. I know. I’d already accepted I wasn’t the key to unlock him. She’d come later. It took a while to acknowledge the repercussions of that time. How the numbness in my fingertips traveled to my heart and I never even knew it. I had crushes, I had lovers, I had orgasms. My trilogy of desire, I liked to call it, but I’d no great love after him, not really. Love and sex became separated by a wide river and one the ferryman refused to cross. The psychiatrist liked that analogy. I watched him write it down. Chuckle, chuckle, his pen across the page.

I—I only want you,” she groaned. “Only you. Promise me that I can keep you. Promise me.” My heart…shit, my heart. It unlocked. The padlock fell free. Her words were a key. Her forgiveness and love and strength and everything that made her pure stole me from my life of pain. She changed me. Right there. Right then. I became hers. Irreversibly. “I promise,

I stopped by the super for the new key, climbed to my apartment, and studied my new lock. Big, metal, and shiny. Not a scratch on it. Even the key itself had a bizarre groove carved into it, which made the whole setup supposedly completely burglar proof. Pick that, Your Majesty. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind me. I kicked my shoes off, wincing at the hint of ache in my stomach. It would take a long time before it healed completely. At least I no longer bled. Tension fled from me. Tomorrow I would worry about Hugh d’Ambray and Andrea and Roland, but now I was simply happy. Aaahh. Home. My place, my smells, my familiar rug under my feet, my kitchen, my Curran in the kitchen chair . . . Wait a damn minute. “You!” I looked at the lock; I looked at him. So much for the burglar-proof door. He calmly finished writing something on a piece of paper, got up, and came toward me. My heart shot into overdrive. Little golden sparks laughed in his gray eyes. He handed me the piece of paper and smiled. “Can’t wait.” I just stared like an idiot. He inhaled my scent, opened the door, and left. I looked at the paper. I’ll be busy for the next eight weeks, so let’s set this for November 15th. Menu. I want lamb or venison steak. Baked potatoes with honey butter. Corn on the cob. Rolls. And apple pie, like the one you made before. I really liked it. I want it with ice cream. You owe me one naked dinner, but I’m not a complete beast, so you can wear a bra and panties if you so wish. The blue ones with the bow will do. Curran. Beast Lord of Atlanta.

The Portal Potion Success! After weeks and weeks of trying, I’ve finally discovered the correct ingredients for the potion I’d hoped to create for my son! With just a few drops, the potion turns any written work into a portal to the world it describes. Even with my ability to create portals to and from the Otherworld, I never thought it would be possible to create a substance that allowed me passage to any world I wished. My son will get to see the places and meet the characters he’s spent his whole childhood dreaming about! And best of all, I’ll get to watch his happiness soar as it happens! The ingredients are much simpler than I imagined, but difficult to obtain. Their purposes are more metaphysical than practical, so it took some imagination to get the concoction right. The first requirement is a branch from the oldest tree in the woods. To bring the pages to life, I figured the potion would need the very thing that brought the paper to life in the first place. And what else has more life than an ancient tree? The second ingredient is a feather from the finest pheasant in the sky. This will guarantee your potion has no limits, like a bird in flight. It will ensure you can travel to lands far and wide, beyond your imagination. The third component is a liquefied lock and key that belonged to a true love. Just as this person unlocked your heart to a life of love, it will open the door of the literary dimensions your heart desires to experience. The fourth ingredient is two weeks of moonlight. Just as the moon causes waves in the ocean, the moonlight will stir your potion to life. Last, but most important, give the potion a spark of magic to activate all the ingredients. Send it a beam of joy straight from your heart. The potion does not work on any biographies or history books, but purely on works that have been imagined. Now, I must warn about the dangers of entering a fictional world: 1. Time only exists as long as the story continues. Be sure to leave the book before the story ends, or you may disappear as the story concludes. 2. Each world is made of only what the author describes. Do not expect the characters to have any knowledge of our world or the Otherworld. 3. Beware of the story’s villains. Unlike people in our world or the Otherworld, most literary villains are created to be heartless and stripped of all morals, so do not expect any mercy should you cross paths with one. 4. The book you choose to enter will act as your entrance and exit. Be certain nothing happens to it; it is your only way out. The

How great His patience to knock and knock again, and to add His voice to His knockings, beseeching me to open to Him! How could I have refused Him! My heart is base; I blush and without excuse! But the greatest kindness of all is this, that He becomes His own porter and unlocks the door Himself. Blessed is the hand that condescends to lift the latch and turn the key. Now I see that nothing but my Lord’s own power can save such a naughty mass of wickedness as I am; ordinances fail, and even the Gospel has no effect upon me, until His hand is stretched out.

I walk over to the passenger side, put my hand on the cool handle and wait for him to unlock the doors. Chase gives me a funny look which makes me feel even more self-conscious. What is it with him? “Here, let me get that for you,” he says with a hint of laughter and walks over to me. I frown and take a step back. He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket, manually unlocks the door, and swings it open. I guess chivalry isn’t dead.

placing her because of the way she said “my boys” as the heart and soul of the school, the Woman Who Knew Everybody And Everything. He always felt blessed when he met up with such women because they were generally the key to unlocking the secret doors to an institution.

I used to think that a story was something special. That it was the one key that could unlock the broken places in us. What you hold in your hand is the story of a broken writer who attempted to kill himself and failed who meets a broken actress who attempted to kill herself and failed and somewhere in that intersection of cracked hearts and shattered souls, they find that maybe broken is not the end of things, but the beginning. Maybe broken is what happens before you become unbroken. What's more, maybe our broken pieces don't fit us. Maybe all of us are standing around with a bag of the stuff that used to be us and were wondering what to do with it and until we meet somebody else whose bag is full and heart empty we can't figure out what to do with our pieces. And standing there, face to face, my bag of me over my shoulder, and your bag of you over your shoulder, we figure out that maybe my pieces are the very pieces needed to mend me but until we've been broken we don't have the pieces to mend each other. Maybe in the offering we discover the meaning, and value, of being broken. Maybe checking out and retreating to an island is the most selfish thing the broken can do because somewhere on the planet is another somebody standing around holding a bag of all the jagged pieces of themselves and they cant get whole without you. There was a time in my life when I unselfishly offered my gift. Risked everything. Emptied myself. And when I did, I found that more bubbled up. The well never ran empty. But then, life tore my heart in two and I swore I'd never never offer it again. That I'd never risk that. Maybe love, the real kind only wished for in whispers and the kind our hearts are hardwired to want, is opening up your bag of you and risking the most painful statement ever uttered between the stretched edges of the universe: "This was once me." Maybe that in and of itself is the story.

Hell. I swallowed hard and traced a finger along one of the cuff bracelets. The color of platinum. “My God, Lee.” I picked one of them up and felt the weight of it in my hand. Such a simple design, straight lines, gleaming metal, about four or five millimeters wide, maybe two millimeters thick. Both had the same engraving. The Property and Love of Master Kingsley. Lee’s arms appeared under mine, and he placed a tiny screwdriver of sorts next to the box. It was the key, I realized. He was collaring me—permanently. Fuck. I wasn’t gonna cry, I wasn’t gonna cry. “Wear my collar,” he whispered in my ear. “For the rest of your life.” I nodded jerkily as my throat closed up. Holy shit, this was happening. “Always, Master.” He pressed himself closer to my back and took the first cuff from me. And he used the little screwdriver, in the same material, and unlocked the tiny lock. “Have you heard of cobalt chrome before?” he asked quietly. I shook my head, unable to stop staring at the cuffs. “Long before we started marketing it as an alternative for gold in wedding rings, we’ve used it for artificial joints, implants, and prosthetics because of how our bodies accept the metal.” He attached the first cuff around my left wrist, and it snapped into place with the faintest snick. Then he used the tool to secure the locking mechanism. “You’ll wear them day and night. You’ll shower with them. They’ll weather every storm, every fight-fuck in the woods, every flame from my Kevlar flogger, and any insecurity we might face together.” I sniffled and blinked past the sting in my eyes. “They’ll always be with you.” He moved on to the second cuff. “By default, I will always be with you too. They’re not just proof of my ownership—they’re a reminder that Master is one call away. And only he has the key.” My chest seized up, and the second both cuffs were locked into place, I spun in his embrace and threw my arms around his neck. I couldn’t fucking find my words. I just felt how full my heart was, how joy surged through me, how comfort threw a giant blanket over my existence. Lee tightened his arms around me and squeezed me so hard. “They’re never coming off.” “Good,” I croaked. “I love you so much.” Stronger than titanium. Like our love.

You’ll remember. I genuinely believe that.” “The memories are asleep in my heart, and when awakened, I worry I’ll be overwhelmed.” “Almost like you’ve been in love before.” “In another life. If I’m lucky, my soul will find it’s mate again. I just have to wait.” “Maybe you don’t wait. Maybe you just need a key.” “A key to unlock the past? I prefer that rather than sitting around. How do you suggest I get started?” “I think you’ll know it when you see it.” “I like your faith.

Very often, the title given to an artwork is the key to unlocking its hidden meanings. For example, for centuries no one could discover the true identity of the Mona Lisa. In the year 2006, however, experts were finally able to solve the mystery, thanks to the real title of the painting—La Gioconda. Historians had thought that gioconda, or “joyous woman,” referred to her enigmatic smile. Instead they definitively established that she was the bride of a rich merchant named Giocondo. Leonardo had made a pun on her new married name. Artists gave a great deal of thought to the title they would bestow on their work. It presented them with an opportunity succinctly to convey to the viewer their message and purpose. A name proclaims, “This is what I had in mind when I put all of my effort into this piece.

CHRIST, OUR SOURCE OF UNITY Today Christians argue about doctrines and divide over perceptions of end-time events. Yet let us look at the deeper issue: Do we each love Jesus Christ? If so, our love for Him is the result of His love for us. Even if we disagree with one another on minor doctrines, we should treat each other with reverence, for Christ has personally loved us. You see, the proof that we truly know Jesus Christ is not measured by the degrees we post on a wall but by the degree of love for Him that burns in our hearts. Do you not love Him? Your love is a response to the relentless warmth of God’s love for you, and His love has proven itself irresistible. He says, “You did not choose Me, but I chose you” (John 15:16). Again He says, “No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him” (John 6:44). Even our coming to Him is a product of His love for us. When I say, “I love You, Jesus,” it is because at some point long before I knew Him, before I could discern His voice or recognize His influence in my life, a power born of His love was drawing me to Him. Yes, I know I am not worthy, but still Christ loved me. True, I have no righteousness of my own, but I imagine there was a moment in Heaven when the Son turned to the heavenly Father and said, “I love Francis. I will bring him to Myself, show him My ways, and become the strength of his life.” BEHOLD HOW HE LOVES US Our capacity to actually dwell in Christ’s presence is based upon knowing the true nature of God. If we see Him as a loving Father, we will draw near; if He seems to be a harsh judge, we will withdraw. Indeed, everything that defines us is influenced by our perception of God. If we do not believe God cares about us, we will be overly focused on caring for ourselves. If we feel insignificant or ignored by Him, we will exhaust ourselves seeking significance from others. Once we accept the profound truth that God loves us, that He desires we draw near to Him, a door opens before us into His heart. Here, in the shelter of the Most High, we can find rest and renewed power for our souls. Our Lord is not distant from us, for He is actually “touched with the feeling of our infirmities” (Heb. 4:15, KJV). He feels the pain of what we experience on earth. He participates in the life we live, for “in him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28, KJV). He is not removed from our need; we are His body. The

I was almost done shaving when I heard the door open. “Uh … Bree?” I heard the toilet seat close and someone sit down on it. “Nope, just me.” “Chase! What the heck are you doing in here?” I tried to cover different body parts, but my chest alone needed two arms to cover everything, so it wasn’t working out too well. “Calm down Princess, I won’t peek.” “I could’ve sworn I locked that door.” “You do realize how easy it is to unlock my bathroom door when I have the key right?” “Can you please leave so I can get out of here?” I whined as I shut off the water. A towel was thrust through the side of the curtain and I gladly wrapped myself in it, but still didn’t open the only thing separating us. “Answer one thing first, and I’ll leave.” He waited for my reply, but went on when he didn’t receive any, “Are you going out with him tonight?” “Yes Chase, I am.” “Is that what you want to do, or are you trying to get back at me for telling you not to?” “I thought I only had to answer one question?” “Harper.” He deadpanned. “Ugh, no I’m not doing it to get back at you. Yes, I really want to go out with Brandon tonight. And if he asks me out again after tonight, I’m telling you right now I will say yes. I don’t see why I shouldn’t go out with him, and since you clearly don’t want me, I don’t think you’re allowed to have a say in the matter. He flung the curtain open and I jumped back, almost slipping in the tub. “I didn’t say I don’t want you. I said I don’t deserve you.” “That’s practically the same thing.” I glowered at him, “We both know how you are Chase, you screw every female you come in contact with. I don’t want to be just another girl to someone, and when it comes to Brandon, I won’t be.” I waited for a response from him, but didn’t receive any. “If you can convince me right now, that I have a reason to not be with him, then start talking. Otherwise, you and your confusing words need to stop.” “As long as he is what you want, I’ll stop bothering you.” He reached out to brush his fingers across the main bruise and I watched as his eyes clouded over. Like that wasn’t confusing. He leaned in to press his lips to the finger marks, then on my left shoulder and finally my right. Chase’s eyes were dark by the time he looked back into my eyes. “I’m so sorry Harper.” he whispered and leaned in close to kiss the corner of my mouth. My knees started shaking but I somehow managed to stay standing. “Get my number from Bree, I have to go into work tonight but if anything happens, call me and I’ll be there.” I just nodded and watched him walk out. I didn’t even know he had a job, but I was positive I wouldn’t be calling him tonight. Nothing good would come of it if I did. If my heart was already twisting from what just happened, he would surely break it when I saw him with his next girl. I couldn’t let myself get any closer to him. No matter how much I wished he was different, he wasn’t, and he would probably never change.

i would say you held the key to my heart, but you never needed it. - from the beginning i knew i could leave it unlocked for you.

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