angel

A woman is a loving mother, a gorgeous daughter, and beautiful angel of imagination.

A man wants to see a woman as an angel of imagination, but a woman wants to prove that she is a person.

Once an angel said to the dreamer, "You will get whatever you want in your life in this world and from this world".

I can__ look people in the eye and tell them that they__e going to die anymore.

You are my angel.

You are a most effective killer, Michel. Is it true you wept like a child when they killed your sister? That you cried out in agony as if the sword had pierced your own heart? Such compassion. Does your handiwork not bring you to tears as well?

It's amazing to me; when your mind is fixed on one thing, you forget everything. You forget to eat and drink and care. The only thing I could never forget was him.

Only through forgiving can we understand that there is nothing and no one to forgive. And that we too, if we have hurt someone, have been for them, nothing more than an instrument of Love in the same way they have been for us. In the Oneness there is no separation, no judgment, and everything happens in Divine Perfection.

To forgive others, in order to forgive ourselves, because in their roles as our mirrors, they have been nothing other than a tool to our lack of self-love, a lack of self-recognition, and a lack of self-respect.

God would not have brought you to this place to leave you here without the archangel's help.

Your partner is your deepest mirror: do not expect them to change. Healing yourself, you heal your relationship.

You must trust in your inner being of light, the angel you already are.

When your ego surrenders to the Higher Self, you become a Human Angel: a radiating center of Light, an active and conscious part of the Uni-versal project of Love.

There is no dark, darker than the distorted great light.

There is always a demon inside every angel. And there is an angel inside every demon. All they need is a bit of darkness and light together to see each other's face.

This was the first time I thought of S_ that day. Her music was beautiful, her voice was beautiful, her body was beautiful. Even the dirty little pads of her feet were beautiful. I cursed myself then. For once, heaven had sent me Beauty in its most perfected form and I abandoned it. She might not have been a girl after all but an angel: a force to guide me on this hazardous path of life I hurry down. How can life be hazardous if it can only end in death?

I beg you, help me, in angelic charity,Pray my efforts will reflect your mastery!

I__ like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel.A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, __od . . . help me!_ The next thing she remembers__ust as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness__as a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant__ lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God__ angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. __ou probably shouldn__ be walking through here this late at night,_ was all he said as he turned away.__ait! What__ your name?_ she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground.All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, __ob__ as good as any. . . ._ An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple __o_ on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God. God is very objective; He wants to make us think, to engage the faculties we have been given, and to learn from the messengers he sends us. He wants us in the ark before the flood; he could come himself__r send a Noah__ut most of the time he sends Bob. Bob is in you, Bob is in me, Bob is in the emotionalized, sarcastic, mocking, patronizing, proud or foolish person which points out meaningful things to us in the worst possible moments, or in the worst possible way.