Every living creature is the son of the supreme Lord, and He does not tolerate even ants being killed
A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami PrabhupadaRead
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Every living creature is the son of the supreme Lord, and He does not tolerate even ants being killed
I don't have a college degree, and my father didn't have a college degree, so when my son, Zachary, graduated from college, I said, 'My boy's got learnin'!'
The Father willed that his blessed and glorious Son, whom he gave to us and who was born for us, should through his own blood offer himself as a sacrificial victim on the altar of the cross. This was to be done not for himself through whom all things were made, but for our sins.
When you become an instrument in God's hands as He transfers someone from the realm of darkness into the kingdom of His Son, you make a difference in the person's eternal destiny. Not only that, but Satan also receives a devastating blow.
Having my son has changed so much of what I dream about. It used to be about business, business, what's the next deal? What's the next movie? Now it's about him.
Each one of us sees Jesus in a different way. To some, He was prophet, for they needed to know the kingdom was at hand. But most of all, He was the son of God, and He came to experience the consequences of the curse the Father had put upon mankind when Adam and Eve disobeyed.
Dependence is not patriotism. A man does not love his mother if he hangs about her to the point of burdening her with a weak, feckless son.
If I want to tuck my son into bed and read him a story, but that means I have to take a red-eye to get to a concert - which I would never think of doing otherwise - that's just the way it is. Even if I can't hit the note that night, I got to tuck my child in!
I want to live in a world where my son will not be presumed guilty the moment he is born, where a toy in his hand isn't mistaken for anything other than a toy.
You, Eternal Trinity, are my Creator, and I am the work of Your hands, and I know through the new creation which You have given me in the blood of Your Son, that You are enamored of the beauty of Your workmanship.
Son, always tell the truth. Then you'll never have to remember what you said the last time.
Are you not moved to tears and bitter compassion, when you behold the only Son of God seized by the most impious, dragged away, mocked, scourged, buffeted, spit upon, crowned with thorns, hung upon the infamous cross between two thieves, finally in such a horrible and execrable manner suffering death, for your salvation and that of the world?
Your son and your daughter needs an excellent father more than an excellent college.
My mother carried me for 10 months. I asked her 'Mother, you had an extra month, why you didn't make me a beautiful face?' and mother told me, 'My son, I was busy making your beautiful hands and heart.'
I wish I were as good a man as my son is.
For God so loved the World that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
A man can know his father, or his son, and there might still be nothing between them but loyalty and love and mutual incomprehension.
This pleased Onyango, for to him knowledge was the source of all the white man's power, and he wanted to make sure that his son was as educated as any white man.
I don't care what is written," Meyer Landsman says. "I don't care what supposedly got promised to some sandal-wearing idiot whose claim to fame is that he was ready to cut his own son's throat for the sake of a hare-brained idea. I don't care about red heifers and patriarchs and locusts. A bunch of old bones in the sand. My homeland is in my hat. It's in my ex-wife's tote bag.
Kings built tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry or in high cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the kingdom of Gondor sank into ruin, the line of kings failed, the white tree withered and the rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men.
I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son; she is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.
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