Religion Quotes

Say what you will about the doctrine of papal infallibility, but when I saw Pope John Paul II skiing on television, he didn't fall even once.
I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?

Religious Wars

People are stupid. Many agree that there is one creator, but they see each other as enemies because of the names they use to point to that creator. Can they not imagine that a creator of that magnitude would be equally misrepresented by all names?


I have discovered a definable crack
that weaves its way through the compasses of both our
subjective moralities,
I have been tracing it
over the years, trying to discover
where our divinities started to diverge
and I’ve discovered that there is a difference
in our most beloved of definitions.

You see,
The difference between your redemption and
is that mine was gutted and earned
Mine was dragged from the shivering depths
that you won’t visit
Out of fear of what those depths will illicit
and mine is pure
As the sun that keeps on rising through the
shadowy badlands of my heart.

The difference between your strength and
mine is that yours is contingent on a power that you do not possess,
Mine is woven through my chest,
Mine can’t be stripped or denied or laid down to die because I built
it with my own two calloused hands,
with a bold faith in the strength beneath my skin.

The difference between your paradise and mine is that mine cannot
be lost,
No matter how many serpents slither in, no matter how many sins
cake my skin,
No matter how many floods and plagues and betrayals come to
threaten this
Utopia of peace
that I’ve constructed in my mind.

The difference between your virtue and mine is that I’d eat that
apple, every damn time
If it was the only way for me to get to you.

I’d be thrown out of that garden, I’d swallow the poison of pride, I’d
risk the sins of all of mankind
To bask in the simple sin of loving you, time after time after time.

The difference between your purity and my pleasure is that the
badlands always suited me better and your
was not my kind of paradise at all.

—Heidi Priebe, Eden Was Not My Kind of Paradise






Format © dontsellyourselfshort




Are gods really gods if no one believes in them anymore?
Zeus takes walks in the rain and tries to talk up joggers in central park. When they bolt, or only return his advances with polite smiles that look like fence posts too high for even him to jump, he sighs. He tells them he is a god, and his words echo back to him, accompanied by laughter. No one believes him He picks up his wife, who might be his sister in this time, in a beat up car with a beautiful flame job, Hera is a marriage counselor with peacock feather bags under her eyes, her advice falls on her own deaf ears as her jealous eyes roam over every girl they pass, and she is right to. She knows this. She has always known.
Poseidon’s hands are rough and calloused, he raises cargo too heavy for a man his age, the young ones say. He laughs his fisherman’s laugh, all depths and riptide, because no one should be his age. He reminds himself he is one of the lucky ones, he gets to be around what he loves. He may not have his dominion any more, but salt water and sun still weather his face.
Hades stalks the streets at night, women cross the street to avoid him, and he smiles with his needle-teeth, they are right to. This winter he is without a bride, and he still wants to usher souls into the afterlife, the pistol hangs heavy in his pocket, his tongue glints gold, the coin to pay his Charon, his most loyal employee. He brings knives to gunfights and guns to fistfights, he stands with his arms out like their new God, these fickle humans, he welcomes the bullets. He dares them to kill him. They try.
Ares and Athena spit curses laced with whiskey from across dive bar floors, they are moving human pawns across a chessboard. They were strategists before they were gangsters, but it doesn’t matter now.
Apollo sings in a nightclub, his crooning voice from a forgotten time. He has his sister’s blood under his fingernails, from stitching up wound after wound, Artemis forgets she is not invincible anymore. He sings about the moon and wonders where she is, picking a fight with some would-be rapist, maybe it’s Zeus. It’s probably Zeus. Again.
Dionysus drinks away their shared pain, dealing LSD in dark alleyways, he whispers sweet promises and his followers believe him, he was human once and he can be again, like wine, he knew nothing so sweet could have lasted forever. Icarus sidles up to his side, asking if he’s got anything that can make you feel like you can fly. In this life, he is a junkie, and Daedalus watches with ancient, sad eyes. Icarus is melting and Dionysus is letting him.
Hestia sits by the hearth and waits for her family to come home. And she listens while they all curse their immortality. She shakes her head slow and clicks her tongue, I know, my darlings, I know.
Are gods really gods if no one believes in them anymore? Does it matter? 

"Are the gods really gods?"
Marissa dakin, 2015

And I really do think humankind was made for worship. And I also really believe that if your soul can't quench that thirst at a temple, mosque or church, it'll seek for it in different places. For instance at a concert. That seems like the least likely place, but when you think about it, some people really do worship their favourite artists. Like in my religion, Islam, we like to, and it's also encouraged, to memorise verses from our holy book. I find that act similar to how people will memorise verses from their favourite musician's album. The same goes for football or cricket matches. There's no lyrics to memorise there, but people attend their favourite teams matches religiously. They schedule and make time for it- like concerts too. At places like that everyone is so full of passion, so alive. Because the soul is doing something it's been craving to do ever since it was created, and that's worship.

You tell me to be a biblical woman.

You tell me to be a biblical so that I might become silent, complicit, weak.

Become a biblical woman. Become complacent with the authority of a man.

I am a biblical woman.

I am Deborah with the power to control the armies, the wisdom to prophesy. I do not tolerate the cowardice of men. I will give victory and honor where it is due: to the woman who is brave enough to stand.

I am Jael. I have the blood of the enemy on my hands. I saw a victory for my people and I took it. I took with a warm glass of milk and a tent peg to his head.

I am a biblical woman.

I am Esther, who stood up to the men in power and saved my people. I used my beauty and my position to do what is right. I am a queen.

I am Ruth, a foreigner who left everything she had for the sake of loyalty to family. I seduced the man who I knew could provide for me. I worked hard to provide for myself and for my family.

I am a biblical woman.

I am Bathsheba, who was taken advantage of by the king. I am more than just a bathing woman on the roof. He objectified me. He murdered my husband. And he was the one who paid the price.

I am Abigail, whose wit and wisdom prevented violence. I rescued my husband from his own foolishness, and I prevented the King from acting rashly and violently. I am brilliant.

I am a biblical woman.

I am Rahab, the prostitute.
I am Mary, the pregnant teenager.
I am Junia, the female apostle.
I am Dorcas, the woman who served the poor.
I am the woman at the well. An outsider welcomed into the kingdom of God.

You think that I must be silent and meek to become a biblical woman?

You do not know what a biblical woman is.

olivia //
for all the men who have made biblial women out to be nothing but silent property


And thus God said unto Abraham, "Abraham."
And Abraham replied, "What."

God said to John "Come forth and recieve eternal life."
But John came fifth and won a toaster.

And Judas approached the rabbis and Pharisees

"The one whom I kiss is the one you seek."
To which they responded "Gay."

And thus God made Eve, and she was Bammin' Slammin bootylicious.
See you all in hell.


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