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“I just predicted whose son will be taken in Storm of Century By Stephen King it was Ralph Emerick 'Ralphie' Anderson. Isn't it interesting that I gues who will be taken??”
Deyth Banger“For something to be useful to the spirit is not very valuable to get your covered wagon across the desert. We have adopted that attitude so thoroughly that any American father whose son tells him he wants to write poetry will be embarrassed.”
Miller Williams“You matter, Mama repeated. Not because of whose son you are. Because of who you are. You're as important as every other human being that ever was or ever will be. Everyone matters.”
Kimberley Brubaker Bradley“Ultimately, every human being must face this question: What do you think of Christ? Whose Son is He? We must answer this question with belief and action. We must not only believe something about Jesus, but we must do something about Him. We must accept Him or reject Him.”
Billy Graham, Billy Graham in Quotes“Heaven on Earth, we need it nowI'm sick of all of this hanging aroundSick of sorrow, sick of the painI'm sick of hearing again and againThat there's gonna be peace on Earth......Tell the ones who hear no soundWhose sons are living in the groundPeace on EarthNo whos or whysNo one cries like a mother criesFor peace on Earth”
U2“In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.”
John Clare, The Village Minstrel, and Other Poems“Ribs closing on his heart, Will battled internal sirens whose song he couldn’t yet decipher. During his childhood, ‘sin’ had been such an abstract word. It denoted getting your Sunday best dirty and torn, or lying to have your brother punished for things you’d done yourself. But now, on the cusp of adulthood, the word seemed to grow and change, to acquire terrifying shades of darkness. He was beginning to understand that there was more to it. That there were things the human body longed for that were infinitely worse than playing in mud and telling fibs.”
Ingela Bohm, Rebel Hand