Real loneliness is not necessarily limited to when you are alone.
To experience real agony is something hard to write about, impossible to understand while it grips you; you’re frightened out of your wits, can’t sit still, move, or even go decently insane.
A dangerous quality, if real; and a not less dangerous one, if feigned.
And there is the point exactly, we are all the time blaming difficulties on to something else. Our real trouble is that we are too soft to solve the problem.
The only real argument against the Bible is an unholy life. When a man argues against the Word of God, follow him home, and see if you cannot discover the reason of his enmity to the Word of the Lord. It lies in some sort of sin.
Another proof of the conquest of a soul for Christ will be found in a real change of life. If the man does not live differently from what he did before, both at home and abroad, his repentance needs to be repented of and his conversion is a fiction.
We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them.
It would be very difficult to draw a line between holy wonder and real worship; for when the soul is overwhelmed with the majesty of God’s glory, though it may not express itself in song, or even utter its voice with bowed head and humble prayer, yet it silently adores.
May your convictions be deep, your love real, and your desires earnest.
You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.
Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.
Take me to the Brig. I want to see the “real Marines”.
Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish.
Novelists should never allow themselves to weary of the study of real life.
I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitments, awaited those who had the courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.
I felt something growing in me that was strong and real.
The obliterated place is equal parts destruction and creation. The obliterated place is pitch black and bright light. It is water and parched earth. It is mud and it is manna. The real work of deep grief is making a home there.
And the more she could imagine this island, the less she liked the real world. The more she could imagine the people, the less she liked any real people.
You can spend your whole life building a wall of facts between you and anything real.
Reality means you live until you die. The real truth is nobody wants reality.