flesh

The soul is a magician. Only living flesh hampers it.

There is a face beneath this mask, but it isn't me. I'm no more that face than I am the muscles beneath it, or the bones beneath that.

Humility is by far the most spiritual virtue of the lot. The only way by which one may cease obsessing over himself is to wholly step outside his flesh. But who could do this by himself? And who would really want to under his natural pretense? And even if somehow he could and he succeeded, would not it be artificial? Would not he seem far too aware of his own talents of achieving humility for it to be such? Alternatively, he would need a distraction, something else to love; it is not that the Humbleman thinks poorly of himself, nor highly for that matter, but rather he does not think of himself at all - and this is because he is too busy loving something or someone else to do it. For the humility of this kind 'rears its head' as the most love-driven and free, spiritual of virtues; whereas its opposite, pride, the most self-imprisoning human vice.

It__ something of a cliché, at least among war correspondents, that war makes people unusually horny; what it actually does is make you want to touch as much flesh as you can get your hands on.

The mind and soul are formed when the spirit and flesh meet

The pain is real. Flowing as a brook beneath my flesh. I am broken, and yet, I still breathe.

The flesh is sad, alas, and I have read all the books.

And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for awhile; and shall later on be my companion and my helper.

What lies beneath this envelope of flesh and blood, hmm? Is it something special? Perhaps, when I peel it open, I will be able to see. Perhaps your screams will tell me everything I need to know.

Once you__e gotten used to a certain kind of smell from a certain kind of flesh, whether it__ a lover or a rotting corpse, you long for it when it__ not around. Or maybe it__ just me.

Consider that fact that, being nothing in ourselves, we cannot, without divine assistance, accomplish the smallest good or advance the smallest step toward Heaven.

I am a beast until I love as God doth love.

The ego hates losing _ even to God.

A man who does not know God lives guided by the desires of his flesh.

So bloody massacre, so nasty, so brutal he just starts to eat alive people flesh.

It's not what you have on the outside that glitters in light, it's what you have on the inside that shines in the dark.

They buried him in dirt that smelled like broken batteries, and crouched in a fiberglass shed while the acid rain poured down to dissolve his flesh and bleach his bones.

Meltwater (from the book Blue Bridge)Up here. A faceLoses its linesI look to seeThe colour of your eyes _They have turnedTo water.I lean forwardTo catchThe scent of your hair __ll I smell is heather.I touch your handAnd all I feel is earth and stones.There is nothing leftBut the hillside__ breastYour flesh and bonesHave vanished.