The word fate. . . is the refuge of every self-confessed failure.
Confession frees, but power reduces one to silence; truth does not belong to the order of power, but shares an origincal affinity with freedom: traditional themes in philosophy, which a political history of truth would have to overturn by showing that truth is not by nature free--nor error servile--but that its production is thoroughly imbued with relations of power. The confession is an example of this.
Resolved, never to count that a prayer, nor to let that pass as a prayer, nor that as a petition of a prayer, which is so made, that I cannot hope that God will answer it; nor that as a confession, which I cannot hope God will accept.
London is like a woman with too many years to encourage confession.
Uncalled for excuses are practical confessions.
My prayer is that people will not being ashamed to know that confession is not the end of the world and it actually brings healing.
The man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing," mused the Inspector, "Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times. . . What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off the treasure! How's that?" "On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on the inside," said Holmes.
Faith never makes a confession.
All philosophy is a form of confession.
Prayer is a confession of one's own unworthiness and weakness.
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
True repentance is no light matter. It is a thorough change of heart about sin, a change showing itself in godly sorrow and humiliation - in heartfelt confession before the throne of grace - in a complete breaking off from sinful habits, and an abiding hatred of all sin. Such repentance is the inseparable companion of saving faith in Christ.
A work of art is a confession.
Christianity did not begin with a confession. It began with an invitation into friendship, into creating a new community, into forming relationships based on love and service.
The great modern novel of the comic-pathetic illusion of freedom is Confessions of Zeno.
So much of my life has been about self-effacement, pretense, masquerading, concealment, and indirection.
I have a terrible confession to make, sort of like those people who say that they've been mispronouncing a word all their life: I've never read Ways of Seeing all the way through. I'm sure I carried it around with me in art school.
Do not spread the compost on the weeds.
I wrote in Les Mots that "I have often thought against myself. " That sentence has not been understood either. Critics have seen in it a confession of masochism. But that is how one should think: revolting against everything "inculcated'' that one may have within oneself.
Acting is a form of confession.