“You and I are just like a blade of grass sitting here; we are going to wither and die.”

I would rather stand alone in the light of truth than in the crowd filled with error.

Indeed, your scars may be your greatest ministry. Just as the scars of Jesus convinced Thomas, perhaps your scars will convince someone today.

There must be a law if there is to be liberty. Try to play a piano and you will run into laws as fixed as the decrees of the Medes and Persians.

Our scars may be our greatest ministry.

It’s what you sow that multiplies, not what you keep in the barn.

The government cannot give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody else.

Study the Bible to know about God. Obey the Bible to really know God.

You can’t really live until you are no longer afraid to die.

And the Bible is not primarily a book of history. It is “His story,” the story of God.

Ruled by the prince of darkness and the master of deception who wears many disguises and has many aliases.

The church persecuted is the church pure, and the church pure is the church powerful.

Friend, you cannot legislate the poor into freedom by legislating the wealthy out of freedom.

Faith comes out of the heart not the head.

God put a cross between you and hell. If you want to go to hell, you will have to crawl over the cross of Jesus.

You can save a lot of time waiting on God.

The government can’t give to anybody anything that the government does not first take from somebody.

Tories never actually talk about getting rid of their leader, then suddenly there us a flash of steel between he shoulder-blades and rigormortis sets in.

I write what I see, the endless procession to the guillotine. Were all lined up, waiting for the crunch of the blade…

How can one come to possess great faith? Now listen, here is the answer to that: First, the blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear. Faith must grow by soil, moisture, and exercise.

Be humble as the blade of grass that is being trodden underneath the feet. The little ant tastes joyously the sweetness of honey and sugar. The mighty elephant trembles in pain under the agony of sharp god.

No blade can puncture the human heart like the well-chosen words of a spiteful son.

I’ve been rapping since I was 18 years old, with a crew called Blades.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.