The act of tattooing one's skin was a tranformative declaration of power, an announcment to the world: I am in control of my own flesh.
Christ held Himself in His hands when He gave His Body to His disciples saying: 'This is My Body. ' No one partakes of this Flesh before he has adored it.
Sin is more dangerous than wild bears, more deadly than blazing forest fires. Ask Nebuchadnezzar, who lost his mind because he refused to deal with his pride. Ask Samson, who was reduced to a pathetic shred of a man because he never got control over the lusts of his flesh. Ask Achan and Ananias and Sapphira, who all lost their lives over “small,” secret sins.
It was love that motivated His self-emptying, that led Him to become a little lower than angels, to be subject to parents, to bow His head beneath the Baptist's hands, to endure the weakness of the flesh, and to submit to death even upon the cross
A man is a fool who leans on the arm of flesh when he can be supported by the arm of Omnipotence.
To say revelation is to say, 'the Word became flesh. . . '
Words are sexier than flesh.
My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of me.
Miracle woman. . . Your mouth is wine, and all your tender flesh An easeful meadow for my weariness.
The bones and flesh and legal statistics are the garments worn by the personality, not the other way around.
Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh, for the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on without many things.
Meditation did not relieve me of my anxiety so much as flesh it out. It took my anxious response to the world, about which I felt a lot of confusion and shame, and let me understand it more completely. Perhaps the best way to phrase it is to say that meditation showed me that the other side of anxiety is desire. They exist in relationship to each other, not independently.
Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame —
At the same time I really enjoy painting flesh.
Then, brothers, it came. Oh, bliss, bliss and heaven. I lay all nagoy to the ceiling, my gulliver on my rookers on the pillow, glazzies closed, rot open in bliss, slooshying the sluice of lovely sounds. Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh.
Are men truly such idiots that they cannot resist two orbs of flesh?
The flesh had infinity in it. I must know every inch by touch yet every inch renewed its mystery the instant my hand moved on. Delightful endless futility.
There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope. The death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender.
The place whereon the priest formerly raveled out the small intestine of the sacrificial victim for purposes of divination and cooked its flesh for the gods. The word is now seldom used, except with reference to the sacrifice of their liberty and peace by a male and a female fool.