#hell

The bitterest hardships, the most daunting trials; none of these are burdens if it means being with you. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#happiness #hardship #love #richelle #richelle-goodrich

I write because I love it, not because I excel at it.  But because I write, I shall slowly excel at it. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#author #excell #richelle #richelle-goodrich #talent

A single act of kindness is like a drop of oil on a patch of dry skin - seeping, spreading, and affecting more than the original need. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#charity #compassion #giving #kindness #love

To love her was to taste sweet surrender. For had she not entered his life, he would have sought the wonders of both Heaven and Earth. But she surpassed them all and, by her pleasing nature, stayed him. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#enchanted #love #love-story #lovers #richelle

He made a commitment, Eena.” “And you believe this commitment,” she spoke the word detestably, “is more important than true love?” “Yes.” “No,” she stubbornly disagreed. “Yes,” Ian insisted as he put his finger to her lips, preventing her from arguing any further. “Love grows and wanes, Eena, but honor, duty, and commitment, those things are constant and stable. They define who you are.” “They define who you are?” she repeated. “You mean miserable?” “Content,” he retorted. “Lonely,” she argued. “Faithful,” he insisted, his eyes widening to emphasize the importance of the word. “Empty, regretful, and…” “Hopeful,” Ian whispered in her ear. This word caught her off guard. At present, hope was probably all any of them could cling to. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#eena #honor #ian #love #richelle

What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? ↗

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

#to-a-skylark #love

The sun, moon, and stars God gave to the world, but He embedded their glories in your countenance just for me. Woven in your hair are the sun's shimmering golden rays. From your face glows the pale luminescence of the moon. And in your eyes God sprinkled a million stars to twinkle against a backdrop of endless night. You are my celestial light. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#love #moon #richelle #richelle-goodrich #stars

The fires of hell may be made of the very love of God, experienced as torture by those who hate him: the very light of God's truth, hated and fled from in vain by those who love darkness. ↗

— Peter Kreeft

#hell #love

Here, her hand in mine was the one reality that severed us from the cold click-clack of Hell. I rubbed her hand and she sighed; wasn’t that meaning? Wasn’t that something we could cling to? I could be with this other. I could form no other relation, but maybe her hand in mine was enough, both sufficient and necessary. In Hell there was no sense of place, because all places were the same. Uniform monotony. A place without place. A place without context. But, here, now, I could rub her hand and she would sigh. She was a difference. Perhaps each person was the only difference in all these halls of unchanging ranks of books, kiosks, clocks, and carpet, and that, and that, at least, we had to hold to. ↗

— Steven L. Peck

#existence #hell #love #meaning #love

Its ghetto paradise for some and hell on earth for others! ↗

— Habeeb Akande

#ghetto #hell-on-earth #paradise #tribulation #love