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Isaiah Quotes

Browse 66 quotes about Isaiah.

Isaiah Quotes

“His hands go to my waist—my waist! And they feel so right. I like this closeness. Maybe I like it too much. A guy has never been this close to me. Never. And I can’t believe it’s happening, even if it is to keep from being arrested. My heart beats frantically. Isaiah is hot and scary and hot. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be anywhere near a girl like me? It’s the adrenaline rush. That’s what it is. I like how he feels because I’m still experiencing the adrenaline rush from Isaiah’s NASCAR driving skills. His arm shifts, and I love how that movement causes his muscles to flex. Stop it, Rachel. It’s not real. Focus.”

“With silver ink, the scribe had copied one verse from the prophet Isaiah. Yet you, LORD, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. "How beautiful. I don't know how to thank you, my lady." "No need for thanks." Esther smiled. "As a potter, you must be familiar with this verse." "I have heard it a time or two, lady." "Yes. But I want you to set your gaze upon the first line. How can you be an orphan when you have a Father in God? As a potter, you might appreciate the allusion and understand the rest of the verse better than most. But as an orphan girl, you have to learn all about the first claim. Seek your Father, that he may heal you.”

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old." Jadon added his voice to hers, reciting the words from memory. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." His intonation, deep and thoughtful, brought the promise to life. She pondered the words. Could God do a new thing in the midst of this wilderness that her life had become?”

“Whoever will take the trouble of reading the book ascribed to Isaiah, will find it one of the most wild and disorderly compositions ever put together; it has neither beginning, middle, nor end; and, except a short historical part, and a few sketches of history in the first two or three chapters, is one continued incoherent, bombastical rant, full of extravagant metaphor, without application, and destitute of meaning; a school-boy would scarcely have been excusable for writing such stuff; it is (at least in translation) that kind of composition and false taste that is properly called prose run mad.”

“My mind is confused, I shudder in panic. My night of pleasure has turned into terror. Setting the table to let the watchmen watch, eating and drinking, “Arise, officers, anoint the shield.” For thus said my Lord to me: Go, station the lookout, and let him tell what he sees. He will see a pair of horsemen...and he will call out like a lion. My lord, I stand on the lookout constantly during the day, and I am stationed at my post all the nights. Behold, it is coming: a chariot with a man, a pair of horsemen. Each says loudly, “It has fallen! Babylonia has fallen!”

“Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath: for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner: but my salvation shall be for ever, and my righteousness shall not be abolished. (Isaiah 51:6)”

““Rachel...you need help.” I laugh and it’s the same bitter laugh I remember him giving when we met so many weeks ago. “So do you.” “I love you.” Isaiah says it so simply that my heart soars and sinks at the same time. “I love you,” I whisper. “Did you ever think that loving someone could hurt so bad?” Isaiah shakes his head and stares out the window. “What’s going to happen to us?” I ask. Because I don’t know how the two of us can continue forward. Isaiah refuses to let me in. It’s sort of cruel. He’s brought me close with his stories of his childhood and with his words of love, but he can’t relinquish control. I refuse to be with someone who won’t treat me as an equal.”

“Who’s winning?” “I don’t have a f*cking clue nor do I f*cking care.” Echo’s head ticks back. “Back off, Beth.” I cross the room, drop a kiss on the curve of Echo’s neck and whisper in her ear, “She’d rip me to pieces, too, right now. She’s a b*tch when the Yankees play.” Her eyebrows rise. “Is she a Red Sox fan?” Isaiah chuckles and we both throw him a glare, but he doesn’t notice as he’s absorbed in a car manual. “Beth hates baseball.” Echo’s eyes dart from Beth to the television to me then she waves her hand in the air for an explanation. “She watches,” I explain. “Yankees only. It’s what she does and there are some things we don’t question about each other.” “Just the Yankees?” Echo whispers. “Just the Yankees,” I repeat. “And she hates baseball?” “With a passion.” “That’s...” Echo says in a hushed tone. “That’s messed up.”