Keep A Quiet Heart Quotes

It is through the tender austerity of our troubles that the Son of Man comes knocking. In every event He seeks an entrance to my heart, yes, even in my most helpless, futile, fruitless moments. The very cracks and empty crannies of my life, my perplexities and hurts and botched-up jobs, He wants to fill with Himself, His joy, His life ... He urges me to learn of Him: 'I am gentle and humble in heart. ~ Elisabeth Elliot

Happy is the person who can keep a quiet heart, in the chaos and tumult of this modern world. ~ Patience Strong

I need to learn to keep a quiet heart. To trust that if God has allowed an interruption in my day, it serves a purpose. To believe that the time to finish what work I thought needed to be done will be given. To accept that He is diverting me from my 'plan A' to His greater plan. ~ Karen Ehman

He ran from her suddenly, swift and quiet like a mountain cat among the high peeks of Eld mountain. She watched him dive in among the trees, and the autumn winds shoke suddenly at his heels. She sad down on a fallen trunk and dropped her head among the knees. A great soft warmth shiled her from the wind, and she looked up and saw into Gules Lyons quiet, golden eyes.
What is it, white one?
She knelt suddenly and flung his arms around the great mane, and burried her face against him.
I wish that I had wings and could fly and fly and never come back.
What has troubled you, Orams powerful child? What can trouble you? What can such a small one as Coren of Sirle say to touch you?
For a long moment she did not answer. And then she said, her fingers tight around the gold tangeled fur.
He has taken my heart and offered it back to me. And I thought he was harmless. ~ Patricia A. McKillip

An estimated two thirds of the women who got criminal abortions were married. This means that up to two thirds of the botched abortions were done on married women; up to two thirds of the dead were married women; perhaps two thirds of the survivors are married women. This means that most of the women who risked death or maiming so as not to bear a child were married - perhaps one million married women each year. They were not shameless sluts, unless all women by definition are. They were not immoral in traditional terms - though, even then, they were thought of as promiscuous and single. Nevertheless, they were not women from the streets, but women from homes; they were not daughters in the homes of fathers, but wives in the homes of husbands. They were, quite simply, the good and respectable women of Amerika. The absolute equation of abortion with sexual promiscuity is a bizarre distortion of the real history of women and abortion - too distorted to be acceptable even in the United States, where historical memory reaches back one decade. Abortion has been legalized just under one decade. The facts should not be obliterated yet. Millions of respectable, God-fearing, married women have had illegal abortions. They thank their God that they survived; and they keep quiet. ~ Andrea Dworkin

Baby's World
I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very
own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never
could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with
trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby's mind,
and out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms
of kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, the Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city. At all hours it was necessary to keep a lamp lighted, and Mrs. Miller lost track of the days: Friday was no different from Saturday and on Sunday she went to the grocery: closed, of course. ~ Truman Capote

Don't think because I like to tease you that I don't take you seriously," he said in a quiet voice. "It is an honor to know what's in your heart, Marianne. ~ Julianne Donaldson

Thanks for helping me clean up. Still can't understand a man willing to help out in the kitchen, though. You sure it wasn't just so you could question me?"
"I'm sure. Why do you find that so hard to believe?"
He stood directly in front of her, so close Willow could feel his warm breath on her cheek. "I..." Her heart burst into a drumroll. A rush of hot blood spilled into all the places she'd always considered private. What was this magic? Without so much as a light caress, he stole her senses and left her trembling with an unnameable desire.
She struggled against the sudden heightening of her senses. What was it I'd been about to say? Oh,yes. "Well," she began, "you're a man."
Rider chuckled softly, the sound rippling down her spine. "You noticed that, did you?"
She exhaled in exasperation. "Be quiet and let me finish. And stand back." She pushed against his chest, then yanked her hands away as if burnt. "I can't breathe with you caging me in like this."
He arched a dark eyebrow but politely stepped to her side and leaned his shoulder against the house. "Better?"
"It'll do." He was still too close as far as Willow was concerned, but she'd be damned if she'd let him know how he affected her. "You got me off the subject, Sinclair."
"I did?"
"Yes,you...Never mind. ~ Charlotte McPherren

I'm never going to be the lead actor guy. I'm real quiet and real happy and real fortunate to keep working. It's what I do. It's like the circus. I ran away and joined it a long time ago. ~ Michael Ironside

Galen slides into his desk, unsettled by the way the sturdy blond boy talking to Emma casually rests his arm on the back of her seat.
"Good morning," Galen says, leaning over to wrap his arms around her, nearly pulling her from the chair. He even rests his cheek against hers for good measure. "Good morning...er, Mark, isn't it?" he says, careful to keep his voice pleasant. Still, he glances meaningfully at the masculine arm still lining the back of Emma's seat, almost touching her.
To his credit-and safety-Mark eases the offending limb back to his own desk, offering Emma a lazy smile full of strikingly white teeth. "You and Forza, huh? Did you clear that with his groupies?"
She laughs and gently pries Galen's arms off her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the eruption of pink spreading like spilled paint over her face. She's not used to dating him yet. Until about ten minutes ago, he wasn't used to it either. Now though, with the way Mark eyes her like a tasty shellfish, playing the role of Emma's boyfriend feels all too natural.
The bell rings, saving Emma from a reply and saving Mark thousands of dollars in hospital bills. Emma shoots Galen a withering look, which he deflects with that he hopes is an enchanting grin. He measures his success by the way her blush deepens but stops short when he notices the dark circles under her eyes.
She didn't sleep last night. Not that he thought she would. She'd been quiet on the flight home from Destin two n ~ Anna Banks

A believer is an evangelist primarily by who he is and how he lives-not by what he says. What he says is important; but unless his speaking tallies with what he is and does, he had better keep quiet. ~ Joseph Sittler

I think maybe God was trying to tell me that gentleness begins with strength, quietness with security. A great tree is both moved and unmoved, for it changes with the seasons, but its roots keep it anchored in the ground. Mastering a gentle and quiet spirit didn't mean changing my personality, just regaining control of it, growing strong enough to hold back and secure enough to soften. ~ Rachel Held Evans

There's more than one way to share pleasure."
She was quiet for a long moment. "How many ways?"
He rolled onto his side to face her, skimming a single finger from her breastbone to her belly. Here's an idea. I'll demonstrate them, and you keep count. ~ Tessa Dare

Why?" He tilted his head. "That's a tricky one. Could it be your serenity, your quiet manner, your flawless fashion sense?" It did his heart good to see her quick, amused grin. "No, I must be thinking of someone else. It must be your courage, your absolute dedication to balancing scales, that restless mind, and that sweet corner of your heart that pushes you to care so much about so many."
"That's not me."
"Oh, but it is you, darling Eve. ~ J.D. Robb

It as an argument between the world of emotion versus the world of the intellect. It's the idea that you can suppress a person's mind and a person's experiences, mentally, psychologically and intellectually, but you can't completely quiet them to the point of dormancy and the emotionally life a person. You still have the heart and what the heart remembers and what the heart experiences. And even that isn't important that that comes across. ~ Colin Farrell

I am being a minister of light and a destroyer of ignorance and I shall never keep quiet until this horrendous mountain is pulled down in my country, in the church of Christ and in my continent. ~ Sunday Adelaja

So i sneak out to the garden to see you, we keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew, so close your eyes, escape this town for a little while. ~ Taylor Swift

Death is only an old door/Set in a garden wall. ~ Nancy Byrd Turner

Sometimes, Arin almost understood what Kestrel had done. Even now, as he felt the drift of the boat and didn't fight its pull, Arin remembered the yearning in Kestrel's face whatever she'd mentioned her father. Like a homesickness. Arin had wanted to shake it out of her. Especially during those early months when she had owned him. He had wanted to force her to see her father for what he was. He had wanted her to acknowledge what she was, how she was wrong, how she shouldn't long for her father's love. It was soacked in blood. Didn't she see that? How could she not?

Once, he'd hated her for it. Then it had somehow touched him. He knew it himself. He, too, wanted what he shouldn't. He, too, felt the heart chooses its own home and refuses reason. Not here, he'd tried to say. Not this. Not mine. Never. But he had felt the same sickness.

In retrospect, Kestrel's role in the taking of the eastern plains was predictable. Sometimes he damned her for currying favor with the emperor, or blamed her playing war like a game just because she could. Yet he thought he knew the truth of her reasons. She'd done it for her father. It almost made sense. At least, it did when he was near sleep and his mind was quiet, and it was harder to help what entered. Right before sleep, he came close to understanding. But he was awake now. ~ Marie Rutkoski

A second later, Douglas Bruce entered. Rushing to Leslie he caught her to his breast roughly, while with a strong hand he pressed her ear against his heart. 'Now you listen, my girl!' he cried, 'Listen at close range.'

Leslie remained quiet a long second, then she lifted her face: adorable misty-eyed, and tenderly smiling. 'Douglas, I never listened to a heart before. How do I know what it is saying? I can't tell whether it is talking about me, or protesting against the way you've rushed around. ~ Gene Stratton-Porter

I will paint you
With a subtle shade of sadness
Sitting on a blue chair
In a long forgotten room
Surrounded by four walls of regret
And one open door

I will paint you
With another lost opportunity
Disguising broad strokes of desperation
And muted tones of quiet fear
Just below the shallow surface
Of enduring regrets

I will paint you
With a broken piece of me
On an autumn day
Beneath a hundred trees
And except for the sorrowful cries
Of recalling long abandoned places
I will paint you
With no sound of waking life
Or what might have been

I will paint you
With just a single tear
Fallen from this broken heart
For all the things lost on earth ~ Alacazam

Dearest Jesus, holy child, make thee a bed, soft, undefiled, within my heart, that it may be a quiet chamber kept for thee. ~ Martin Luther

As usual, Junko thought about Jack London's 'To Build a Fire.' It was the story of a man traveling alone through the snowy Alaskan interior and his attempts to light a fire. He would freeze to death unless he could make it catch. The sun was going down. Junko hadn't read much fiction, but that one short story she had read again and again, ever since her teacher had assigned it as an essay topic during summer vacation of her first year in high school. The scene of the story would always come vividly to mind as she read. She could feel the man's fear and hope and despair as if they were her own; she could sense the very pounding of his heart as he hovered on the brink of death. Most important of all, though, was the fact that the man was fundamentally longing for death. She knew that for sure. She couldn't explain how she knew, but she knew it from the start. Death was really what he wanted. He knew that it was the right ending for him. And yet he had to go on fighting with all his might. He had to fight against an overwhelming adversary in order to survive. What most shook Junko was this deep-rooted contradiction.
The teacher ridiculed her view. 'Death is really what he wanted? That's a new one for me! And strange! Quite 'original,' I'd have to say.' He read her conclusion aloud before the class, and everybody laughed.
But Junko knew. All of them were wrong. Otherwise how could the ending of the story be so quiet and beautiful? ~ Haruki Murakami

He looked back at the mirror. "I know it's completely ridiculous, but I can't keep quiet about it any longer. Your closet looks like it was put together by a blind nun, and your brother acts like a cross between a monkey and a go-kart, and you have the social skills of a rock. But I like you, Amy. Quite - quite a bit." He paused. "So, congratulations. ~ Clifford Riley

There's a simple elegance in the silent space between Leah and me. ~ Dave Cenker

A woman ... all beautiful and accomplished will, while her hand and heart are undisposed of, turn the heads and set the circle in which she moves on fire. Let her marry, and what is the consequence? The madness ceases and all is quiet again. Why? Not because there is any diminution in the charms of the lady, but because there is an end of hope. ~ George Washington

He helped me into the bathtub, where I sat, letting my underwear get soaked. He searched the cabinet under the sink, scattering a straight razor, an empty bottle with a worn label, and a comb with broken teeth before he found a lump of soap, and offered it to me.
He was quiet, setting his hand on me to suppress the currentshadows while I scrubbed streaks of red from my body. The worst part was probing the edges of the silverskin to wash away a few days' worth of gore, so I did it first, biting down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. Then his thumb was pressing, working a knot from my shoulder, from my neck. Goose bumps spread up and down my arms.
His fingers fluttered over my shoulders, finding places to soothe. His eyes, when they found mine, were soft and almost shy, and I wanted to kiss him until he blushed again.
Later. ~ Veronica Roth

Fine. But remember, little rabbit, not a word to anyone." He moved close enough that the dark heat of him lapped against her in a quiet threat that made her glad for the blade. "I'm not a nice man when I'm angry."
She held her position, a ragged attempt to erase the humiliation of the panic attack. "I'm fairly certain you're not a nice man at all."
His answer was a slow smile that whispered of silk sheets, erotic whispers, and sweat-damp skin. The unhidden intent of it had her heart slamming hard against her ribs. "No" she said. Voice raw.
"A challenge." He wasn't touching her and yet she felt caressed by a thousand ropes of fur, soft and lush and unmistakably sexual. "I accept ~ Nalini Singh

When the whole world is writing letters, it's easy to lap into the quiet within, tell the story of an hour, keep alive the narrating inner life. To be alone in the presence of one's thought is not a value, only a common practice. ~ Vivian Gornick

We who were formerly no people at all, and who knew of no peace, are now called to be ... a church ... of peace. True Christians do not know vengeance. They are the children of peace. Their hearts overflow with peace. Their mouths speak peace, and they walk in the way of peace. ~ Menno Simons

It's a quiet thing when your heart breaks. I thought it would be loud, ... I thought it would drown everything else out. But it happened like a whisper. A small, clean split. It broke in a second, and the pain was little more than a pinprick. It's the echo that kills you ... that tiny little sound kept bouncing around the cavern of my ribs, getting louder and louder. It multiplied until I heard a hundred hearts breaking, a thousand, more. All of them mine. ~ Cora Carmack

You build a relationship on laughing together, discovering new things you never even imagined you might like, Pride and Prejudice for example, and being welcomed into the heart of each other's families. And, say, you find a woman who likes quiet and won't hold your hand and doesn't believe in love...well, when she finally lets you hold her hand, you'll do anything, anything, to persuade her that love can actually be rather wonderful. ~ Annie Darling

If you see a thing that looks like a cross between a flying lobster and the figure of Abraxas on a Gnostic gem, do not pay it the least attention, never mind where it is; just keep quiet and hope it will go away - for that's your best chance; you have none in a stand-up fight with a good thorough-going African insect. ~ Mary Kingsley

When he heard that she was thinking of carrying on with her career in parallel with Peter's, he exclaimed in surprise: "But who's going to take care of the kids?"She really did try to keep quiet. Well, maybe not really, but in hindsight she thinks she did try at least. Eventually she turned to the president and pointed at his greasy, sausage like fingers, which were clutching a prawn sandwich, than at his stomach, which was straining against the buttons of his shirt, and said, "I thought maybe you could take care of them. You have got bigger breasts than me, after all. ~ Fredrik Backman

Rocking Chair
Sad is.
Scared is.
That is all.
The rocking chair I live in rocks like a paper boat. Sometimes I am all words, and no boot.
No muster. No yes. All lag and tired pray,
all miss my hometown. Miss the woods
and the quiet porch and the talking slow.
I caught the snow on my tongue.
Snow angel, I.
My heart a blue lamp.
My mother calling me home.
We cannot be called home enough times in our lives.
Dear lonely,
what is your name?
I will open my front door
and ring it through the streets. ~ Andrea Gibson

We reached the bushes beside the porch without being seen. Crouched in the dirt, we were so close I could have reached up and grabbed Hannah's ankle. To keep from giggling, Theo pressed his hands over his mouth.
Sick with jealousy, I watched John put his arm around Hannah and draw her close. As his lips met hers, I felt Theo jab my side. I teetered and lost my balance. The bushes swayed, the leaves rustled, a twig snapped under my feet.
"Be quiet," Theo hissed in my ear. "Do you want to get us killed?"
We backed out of the bushes, hoping to escape, but it was too late. Leaving John in the swing, Hannah strode down the porch steps, grabbed us each by an ear, and shook us like rats. "Can't a body have a second of privacy?"
Theo and I begged her to forgive us, but Hannah's dander was up. If she hadn't noticed the fireflies under our shirts, I don't know what she would've done to us.
Snatching my jar, she gazed at my captives. The flickering glow lit her face. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, I wanted to tell her I'd love her forever, but all I could say was "These are for you, I caught them just for you, Hannah."
"Poor things," she said softly, her temper gone without a trace. "I'll have to let them go, Andrew. They'll die if I don't."
Before I could stop her, she removed the lid and held the jar high over her head. "Fly away, fly away," she cried. Like sparks from a bonfire, the fireflies escaped in a sparkling green mist.
Theo han ~ Mary Downing Hahn

Rest forever, tired heart.
The final illusion has perished.
The one we believed eternal is gone.
Just like that. Out the door desire
follows hope. Rest forever.
Enough throbbing. Nothing deserves your attention
nor is the earth worth a sigh.
Bitterness and boredom is life,
nothing else ever, and the world is mud.
Quiet now. Despair for the last time.
Fate gives us dying as a gift.
Now turn from the hills, the ugly hidden power
which rules for the common evil
and the infinite vanity of it all. ~ Giacomo Leopardi