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Jolene Perry Click to tweet. The universal brotherhood of man is our most precious possession. Mark Twain Click to tweet. There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young! Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr Click to tweet. See also: family quotes , sister quotes , gratitude quotes. If thy brother wrongs thee, remember not so much his wrong-doing, but more than ever that he is thy brother. My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Harmon Kellebrew. When your son grows up, become his brother.

Arabic proverb Click to tweet. True brothers are never blood-related. But born of the spirit. Lailah Gifty Akita Click to tweet. Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk.

The Best Brother Quotes Ever

Susan Scarf Merrell. Once a brother, always a brother, no matter the distance, no matter the difference and no matter the issue. Byron Pulsifer. Richard Bach. Do you know what friendship is… it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling, two fingers on one hand. Victor Hugo. The bond that binds us is beyond choice.

We are brothers. We are brothers in what we share. Ursula K. Le Guin Click to tweet. Equality lies only in human moral dignity… Let there be brothers first, then there will be brotherhood, and only then will there be a fair sharing of goods among brothers. Fyodor Dostoyevsky. He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal. Gregg Levoy. We may look old and wise to the outside world. But to each other, we are still in junior school. Charlotte Gray. A brother is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit.

Unknown This is one of my favorite brother quote. Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. Hebrews Click to tweet. As the family goes, so goes the nation and so goes the whole world in which we live. John Paul II. We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.

Soul Keeping: Caring for the Most Important Part of You | CT Pastors | Christianity Today

Martin Luther King Jr. Brotherhood is a two-way street. Malcolm X. Vincent Van Gogh. Oh, brothers! Oscar Wilde. Most families had four, five brothers. But because it was just me and Darryl, we had to be twice as strong. Barry White. John F. Prince Harry. William Shakespeare. Man lives freely only by his readiness to die, if need be, at the hands of his brother, never by killing him. Mahatma Gandhi. Liam Gallagher Oasis. Eli Manning. One liners, short brother quotes, thoughts and captions for your bio, social status, self-talk, motto, mantra, signs, posters, wallpapers, backgrounds, tattoos, SMS, Facebook, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Tumblr, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, etc.

A brother is a friend given by Nature. Jean Baptiste Legouve Click to tweet. Unknown Submitted by the Wisdom Quotes Community. More short quotes You may also like: inspirational quotes motivational quotes happiness quotes love quotes life quotes.

Hindu proverb Click to tweet. Treat your superior as a father, your equal as a brother, and your inferior as a son. Persian proverb. To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys.

We live outside the touch of time. He will make you cry but also make you laugh. He will make you scream but also dream. I believe in one thing, that only a life lived for others is a life worth living. Albert Einstein. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of distance and closeness, warmth, loyalty and distrust. Erica E. Leonardo DiCaprio.

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three. We cannot live only for ourselves.

He's the Keeper of My Soul

A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects. Herman Melville. Sisters and brothers are the truest, purest forms of love, family and friendship, knowing when to hold you and when to challenge you, but always being a part of you.

Carol Ann Albright Eastman. Desmond Tutu Click to tweet. Grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years — a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds. Stephen Vincent Benet. Son, brother, father, lover, friend. There is room in the heart for all the affections, as there is room in heaven for all the stars.

And your best teams are your friends and your siblings. Deepak Chopra. Will you be there for him if he needs you? Of course.


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Should you love him without question? David Levithan. We should all lend a helping hand to those in need as we are all brothers and sisters. Catherine Pulsifer. I can get another husband but never another brother. Corsican proverb Click to tweet. You and I are brothers. Always remember that if you fall, I will pick you up… after I finish laughing.

My other brother-in-law died. He was a karate expert, then joined the army. The first time he saluted, he killed himself. Henny Youngman. Brothers are children of the same parents, each of whom is perfectly normal until they get together. Sam Levenson. Unknown See also: smiling quotes. It is impossible to keep a small boy in the house, even in the worst weather, unless he has a sister to torment. Mary Wilson Little.

My sister was drowning in the ocean once, and my brother and I dove in and saved her. True story. She owes us her life. Matt Barr. When I look at each of my brothers, I see two things. First, I see the next place I want to leave a rosy welt. Second, I see a good man who will always be there, no matter how hard life gets for me or him. Dan Pearce. Winston Pendelton. None of you believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself. Prophet Muhammad. You can swim towards your brother but the river of life will decide whether or not you get closer.

Just try Him. Things started to change. For the next 2. Jesus is now my first response and not my last resort. My life is not my own, to Him I belong. Binging and purging was my life. I was alone and lonely. I became a stranger in the mirror. It was hard for me to focus. I was still going to praise him. God is so good! I started coming to Turning Point in June I started coming because I wanted my children to be around saved young people. I never knew God will heal me while attending Turning Point. In March , I experienced a lot of depression in my life.

I was tired of feeling down and depressed, so I went to my doctor and told her the different symptoms I was experiencing and she gave me two prescriptions. This calms you all the way down when having extreme anxiety and depression. While at one of the services at Turning Point in November, God came by and healed me. He let me know that whatever life experience I was having, whether it is bills, kids, being lonely, or life in general, I could come to him.

He is my provider, he is my healer, he is my friend, and he is my everything. I began to trust God and walk in my healing. I went back to my doctor that week, she asked me how things were going with my meds and I told her I was not taking the medicine anymore. After being on the medication for 9 months, she asked me what happened. I told her God happened. She said fair enough. Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you give love!

We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land,. Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves,. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation,. Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them? I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.

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Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent,. Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a wonder,. The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time abso- lutely. This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches,. This is the geologist, this works with the scalpel, and this is a mathematician.

And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication,. And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt,.

The Walt Whitman Archive

And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them,. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the cur- rent and index. By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their coun- terpart of on the same terms. And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff,. I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,. Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from,. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,. Root of wash'd sweet-flag! Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.

I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish,. Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friend- ship I take again. A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics of books. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding,. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction,. We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the day- break. With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.

Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation,. My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things,. Happiness, which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day. My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am,. To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.

I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals,. Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,. Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals,. The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,. The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronoun- cing a death-sentence,.

The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters,. The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streak- ing engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,. The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,. The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two,.

Books by Whitman

They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin. I hear the violoncello, 'tis the young man's heart's complaint,. It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them,. It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves,. Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death,.

If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand. My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself,. Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture- fields,. They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me,. I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor,.

I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch! Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch! Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital,. And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other,. And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific,. I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,.

And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots,. In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,. In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,. I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd,.

Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,. Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,. They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses,.

Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning. By the city's quadrangular houses—in log huts, camping with lumbermen,. Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed,. Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests,. Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river,. Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter,.

Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish,. Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tail;. Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field,. Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and slender shoots from the gutters,.

Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the delicate blue-flower flax,. Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest,. Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze;. Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs,. Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush,. Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great gold- bug drops through the dark,.

Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow,. Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shud- dering of their hides,. Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters;. Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders,.

Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs,.

JUANITA BYNUM LIVE - TO BE KEPT BY JESUS 1

Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, floating in it my- self and looking composedly down,. Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand,. Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water,. Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupt- ing below;. Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,. Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,.

Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball,. At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter,. At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw,. At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings;. Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps,. Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,. Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,.

Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks,. Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie,. Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near,. Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long- lived swan is curving and winding,. Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh,. Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds,.

Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out,. Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs,. Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well,. Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves,.

Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the office or public hall;. Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with the new and old,. Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously,. Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preach- er, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting;.

Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,. Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach,. My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle;. Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, behind me he rides at the drape of the day,. Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the moccasin print,. By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,.

Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;. Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,. Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side,. Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles,. Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly,. My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike- pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.

Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty,. The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions,. The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them,. We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged,. We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution,. The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.

My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs,. How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,. How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faith ful of days and faithful of nights,. And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you;. How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and would not give it up,. How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the side of their prepared graves,. How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp- lipp'd unshaved men;.

All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,. The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on,. The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blow- ing, cover'd with sweat,. The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the mur- derous buckshot and the bullets,. Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marks- men,. I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin,. Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person,. Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my com- rades,. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake,. White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps,. They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explo- sion,.

Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand,. He gasps through the clot Mind not me—mind—the entrench- ments. Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks,. Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance,. They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.

The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer,. Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight,. A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together,. The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw hem there,.

These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets,. A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him,. That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me. His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;. On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.