Love is not about property, diamonds and gifts. It is about sharing your very self with the world around you.
God is resplendently reflected in the souls of His chosen ones, and these pure souls, these images of God, like the transparent glass, shine forth like gold in the sun, like diamonds of the purest water, but they shine for God and the angels, not revealing their brightness to men, although at times, by God's ordering, they do shine even for them, by the light of their faith, their virtues, when necessary, similar to a candle put on a candlestick in a room, and lighting the room with all those who are in it. (cf. Mt. 5:15).
I've walked these streets, in a carnival of sights to see. All the cheap thrill seekers, the vendors & the dealers, they crowded around me. Have I been blind? Have I been lost, inside myself and my own mind? Hypnotized, mesmerized, by what my eyes have seen? I've walked these streets, in a spectacle of wealth & poverty. In the diamond market, the scarlet welcome carpet that they just rolled out for me.
Divorce too often is the bitter fruit of anger. A man and a woman fall in love, as they say; each is wonderful in the sight of the other; they feel romantic affection for no one else; they stretch their finances to buy a diamond ring; they marry. All is bliss-that is, for a season. Then little inconsequential activities lead to criticism. Little flaws are magnified into great torrents of faultfinding; they fall apart, they separate, and then with rancor and bitterness they divorce.
To talk of comparing the Bible with other "sacred books" so called, such as the Koran...or the book of Mormon, is positively absurd. You might as well compare the sun with a rushlight, or Skiddaw with a molehill, or St. Paul's with an Irish hovel, or the Portland vase with a garden pot, or the Kohinoor diamond with a bit of glass. God seems to have allowed the existence of these pretended revelations, in order to prove the immeasurable superiority of His own Word.
Is a diamond less valuable because it is covered with mud? God sees the changeless beauty of our souls. He knows we are not our mistakes.
Come up and be a kite, On a diamond flight!
In Shakespeare the birds sing, the bushes are clothed with green, hearts love, souls suffer, the cloud wanders, it is hot, it is cold, night falls, time passes, forests and multitudes speak, the vast eternal dream hovers over all. Sap and blood, all forms of the multiple reality, actions and ideas, man and humanity, the living and the life, solitudes, cities, religions, diamonds and pearls, dung-hills and charnelhouses, the ebb and flow of beings, the steps of comers and goers, all, all are on Shakespeare and in Shakespeare.
I don't really regret anything I've done, even if it's bad. I mean, I have a $100,000 Chopard watch. I don't need a $100,000 watch, but I like it. It's all diamonds. That's a little extreme, but I don't care.
You expect a basketball player to come with a white button-down, Balmain jeans, and Balenciagas. You expect that. But when I come with an extended button-down, camos, no socks, Louboutins that have spikes on them, and a bow tie with diamonds, you'll be like, "What? Who dressed him?"
I always see those of whom I have heard well with a slight disappointment. They are so much better than the great herd, and yet the heavens are not shivered into diamonds over their heads.
Once you start carrying your own suitcase, paying your own bills, running your own show, you've done something to yourself that makes you one of those women men like to call 'a pal' and 'a good sport,' the kind of woman they tell their troubles to. But you've cut yourself off from the orchids and the diamond bracelets, except those you buy yourself.
Under the beautiful moonlight, there remains no ugly reality; even muds turn into the diamonds!
Between my potential and the deep blue sea, There's a rock and a diamond either side of me. Between our potential and the break of day, There is nothing at all in our way.
Why are there not positive mysteries? It's always who stole the diamond, or who killed the butler? How about... who made cookies, somebody cleaned my room.
It's fine, precise, detailed work, the infinitely small motor management of diamond cutters and safecrackers that we do in our heads.
Last night, I went to a birthday party, and this girl brought a cake and a cheesecake. And the other girls that lived in the apartment, I swear to God, all night long: 'You're taking that cake with you when you go. That cake's not staying in this house.' Like it's this evil, Hope Diamond, nuclear, horrifying cursed thing.
Most people in the country would think the diamond jubilee is a wonderful occasion for us to celebrate together as a community and as a nation. But I suspect that most people in the country would think, given that there is very little money around, that this probably would not be the top of their list of priorities for the use of scarce public resources.
If diamonds are a girl's best friend, I wonder if blood diamonds are a girl's best friend 5 days out of the month?
Some ladies got the shower massager. Oh, man, you better buy her a diamond 'cause if she got a shower massager, she don't really need you anymore. That shower massager makes a woman shake like a car on bad gas going up a hill.
Diamonds cut diamonds.
The fire of the diamond of true Identity is always there; it just needs the Master's crafting to reveal it.
The ability to talk well is to a man what cutting and polishing are to the rough diamond. The grinding does not add anything to the diamond. It merely reveals its wealth.
Little lies are very dangerous, because there are so many of them, and because each one of them scours upon the character as diamond-pointed.
Great thoughts in crude, unshapely verse set forth lose half their preciousness, and ever must, unless the diamond with its own rich dust be cut and polished, it seems little worth.
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