The den Quotes

“Daniel in the den”

“Daniel in the den”

“The Den, the best horror - You never know who is the Original!”

“Instead of the church in Africa to be a place for eradicating darkness by beaming out light, she has unfortunately become the den of robbers as Jesus put it.”

“Let men position you in the den, God will make you a Daniel in the den. Let men position you to face Goliath, God will make you a David. Let men subject you to undue pressure, torture and pain, blindfold you and lead you into the dungeon, God will make you a Samson there! Let men sell you into indentured servitude, God will make you Joseph. Let men build a death trap for you, God shall turn it into the days of Mordecai and Haman and you shall only see with your eyes the destruction of evil conspirators who would never repent! Let all odds be against you, God will make you Job. And when though fear grips your heart because of the storm you see, God will empower you and make you more than Peter. Stay hopeful! Trust in God!”

“The den of the Devil is no place for the innocent.”

“If you like tiger cubs,you got to get into the den!”

“In the future we would have total storage, all of us would, our media libraries would dematerialise and just float above us, books would no longer sit on the shelves reminding us that we had not read them, music and TV and film formats would no longer clutter the den reminding us of all we had not yet listened to or watched.”

“Are you still running that bar?” Maureen’s voice dropped to a shocked whisper on the last word and Hope rolled her eyes, working the pick through Maureen’s thick hair.“The Cue Club? Yes, ma’am, I am.” Angel leaned forward with her best devilish wink. “But I’m thinking of changing the name to the Den of Iniquity and getting some exotic dancers. You know, strippers.”Miss Maureen’s eyes widened, pencil-thin brows nearly reaching the salt and pepper curls falling onto her forehead.”

“He found Granny on the porch, asleep. Her chin sat on her chest, rising and falling with her breath. He gathered her up in his arms, light as a girl, and carried her inside to her room. He covered her in her old handed-down quilt. The outer layers were burnished to a luster over decades of sleeping flesh, the inner batting composed of older blankets still. He tucked it under her feet, her elbows and shoulders, and went out into the den and opened the door of the wood stove. A mouth of red coals. He added two lengths of the seasoned white oak they kept stacked on the porch, hot-burning wood for cold nights, and stoked it to a fury before stepping outside.”

“I’m a maker of ballads right prettyI write them right here in the streetYou can buy them all over the cityyours for a penny a sheetI’m a word pecker out of the printersout of the dens of Gin LaneI’ll write up a scene on a counter- confessions and sins in the main, boysconfessions and sins in the mainThen you’ll find me in Madame Geneva’skeeping the demons at bayThere’s nothing like gin for drowning them inbut they’ll always be back on a hanging day, on a hanging dayThey come rattling over the cobblesthey sit on their coffins of blackSome are struck dumb, some gabbletop-heavy on brandy or sackThe pews are all full of fine fellowsand the hawker has set up her shopAs they’re turning them off at the gallowsshe’ll be selling right under the drop, boysselling right under the dropThen you’ll find me in Madame Geneva’skeeping the demons at bayThere’s nothing like gin for drowning them inbut they’ll always be back on a hanging day, on a hanging day”