Quotes about confessions

Yes, I’ve killed! I’ve killed as indiscriminately as God! And yes, I will kill again. I must.

It's not the right word, Eva," he pressed on stubbornly, his lips at my ear. "That's why I haven't said it. It's not the right word for you and what I feel for you.""Shut up. If you care about me at all, you'll just shut up and go away.""I've been loved before--by Corinne, by other women...But what the hell do they know about me? What the hell are they in love with when they don't know how fucked up I am? If that's love, it's nothing compared to what I feel for you.

I wish I had heard him more clearly: an oblique confession is always a plea.

Everyone has two memories. The one you can tell and the one that is stuck to the underside of that, the dark, tarry smear of what happened.

Pedro Algorta, a lawyer, showed me the fat dossier about the murder of two women. The double crime had been committed with a knife at the end of 1982, in a Montevideo suburb. The accused, Alma Di Agosto, had confessed. She had been in jail more than a year, and was apparently condemned to rot there for the rest of her life. As is the custom, the police had raped and tortured her. After a month of continuous beatings they had extracted several confessions. Alma Di Agosto's confessions did not muc

All writers of confessions from Augustine on down, have always remained a little in love with their sins.

I thought I understood what was best. I knew too little and believed too soon.

It was better with the subs than it was with the gold diggers or the hookers. These were real people, with real lives, real jobs, real hearts. It meant something when they submitted to my demands. It meant trust, and trust meant love. I got that--I mean, I understood that. And, oh, Lisa, how I needed that—but I didn’t know how to deal. I was too broken.

Self-destruction is inevitable because existence is a full-time job.

Fantastic,” I said without an ounce of enthusiasm. “I’m just one more embarrassing confession away from taking over the world.” --Spencer Nye

Real artist cannot be blackmailed. I suspect they've been confessing shit all their life.

He was clearly not the murderer whom Hawksmoor was seeking, but it was generally the innocent who confessed: in the course of many enquiries, Hawksmoor had come across those who accused themselves of crimes which they had not committed and who demanded to be taken away before they could do more harm. He was acquainted with such people and recognised them at once - although they were noticeable, perhaps, only for a slight twitch in the eye or the awkward gait with which they moved through the wor

Incredible how quickly a world can change. How my entire person, our friendship, can be reduced to nothing, with just one confession.

Telling Sam and Daneca feels like peeling off my own skin to expose everything underneath. It hurts.

To fall in love with God is the greatest romance; to seek him the greatest adventure; to find him, the greatest human achievement.

Although I was able to maintain a pleasant expression, I was mentally throwing up in her face.

Who knew there were still people like that in this world, though? Everybody wants to talk about themselves, and everybody wants to hear everybody else's story, so we take turns playing reporter and celebrity. 'It must have made you very sad when your own father raped you - can you describe some of your feelings at the time? Yes, I wept and wept, wonder why something like this had to happen to me'. It's like that. Everyone's running around comparing wounds, like bodybuilders showing off their mus

Confess your sins, pray towards the Heavens and be set free from all bondages.

Once I am alive, I still have the chance to live rightly for the rest of my life.

I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.”“I didn’t want —”“— to worry or frighten them?” said Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away.

The explanation has been written already in the three words that were many enough, and plain enough, for my confession. I loved her.

Words are confessions of your actions. Choose them wisely.

You don’t want a cheap Strat. Everybody has it. What you want is a rare model. The one that’s very hard to get. And only a guitar you’ve put a lot of effort into buying would end up being the most important in your collection. Do you get it?

Life is a misery, death an uncertainty. Suppose it steals suddenly upon me, in what state shall I leave this world? When can I learn what I have here neglected to learn? Or is it true that death will cut off and put an end to all care and all feeling? This is something to be inquired into.But no, this cannot be true. It is not for nothing, it is not meaningless that all over the world is displayed the high and towering authority of the Christian faith. Such great and wonderful things would never

You have what I can afford to give. You are a panhandler, begging for anything, and I am the man walking briskly by, tossing a quarter or so into your paper cup. I can afford to give you this. This does not break me.

some people are so deepyou fall into themand you never stop falling.

i just want to be honest about my feelings without destroying everything.

He’s a steamroller in my life and I like to be laid out flat. I like his hands on my chest, pushing me down whenever my back turns to the span of a bridge. His hands on my thighs, forcing me flat, flat, flat. Yes. Yes, I like that.

We deny more than we confess. We hide more than we reveal. We assume because it makes us feel exposed if we have to ask. It's easier to say "I feel nothing" than to admit "I feel something." It takes no courage to say, "I hate you" but it takes a great deal of moxie to declare its opposite. Masks are elaborate and everyone has one. It takes a while to get to know people. This doesn't make them special, it makes them like everyone else. Sometimes our hearts scream yes while our heads say run; and

If you can confess before a friend, you don't need a priest.

It has become fashionable in the last several years for the media to minimize and even dissemble about the data which so strongly support the existence of ritual abuse. Amazingly, this has happened even in relation to ritual abuse cases in which criminal convictions have been obtained. Parenting magazine (Ruben, 1994), for example, asserted that “far more cases (of ritual abuse) end in acquittal” than in conviction.In fact, 58% of the ritual abuse cases in the Finkeihor (1988) study that went to

Not only do skeptics such as Lanning choose to ignore eyewitness/victim accounts of ritual criminal activity, they apparently also choose to overlook the significant number of cases of ritual abuse in which perpetrators have confessed to their crimes. In the Bottoms et al. (1991; 1993) study of 2,292 cases of ritual abuse, perpetrators in 30% of the child cases confessed to abusing one or more children, and perpetrators in 15% of adult cases confessed to perpetrating as well. In the case studied