Charles R. Swindoll Quotes

Anxiety is our agitated soul scrambling for control.

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

When a condition or a problem becomes too great, humans have the protection of not thinking about it. But it goes inward and minces up with a lot of other things already there and what comes out is discontent and uneasiness, guilt and a compulsion to get something--anything--before it is all gone.

Minds that are ill at ease are agitated by both hope and fear.

Unrest of spirit is a mark of life.

Most people can’t stomach silence; it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

Too sick and freaked out not to want a bullet for every passer by, too sick and freaked out to breathe, too sick and freaked out to care, too sick and freaked out to think of anything but the annihilation of my mind and denial of my life. So sick and freaked out that I think everyone is my friend.

I don't think secrets agree with me, I feel rumpled up in mind since you told me that.

But Mr. Hale resolved that he would not be disturbed by any such nonsensical idea; so he lay awake, determining not to think about it.

I go back to my room and lie under the covers, trying not to think of Gale and thinking of nothing else.

It is not tricks of sense But the time's fright within me which distracts Least fancies into violence

Part of me was saying if you say that she's alive, what would everybody think? What are you going to tell everybody who followed you, who you've inspired? What are you going to say? I was scared. That's the truth. I was just scared, and I didn't know what to do.

It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.

I am burdened with what the Buddhists call the 'monkey mind' -- the thoughts that swing from limb to limb, stopping only to scratch themselves, spit and howl.

The always-connected culture isn't as much a contributor as Grace might think. The nervous mind, the monkey mind, will create its own noise. It doesn't need a new toy.

What anxiety means is it's as though the world is knocking at your door, and you need to create, you need to make something, you need to do something. I think anxiety, for people who have found their own heart and their own souls, for them it is a stimulus toward creativity, toward courage. It's what makes us human beings.

Worry is the activity of a mind which does not understand its connection with Me.

I can't sleep with you tonight, baby, my head's all messed up, you've no idea. It's somewhere else and it's full of voices and songs and bad things.

It may be the coldest day of The year, what does he think of That? I mean, what do I? And if I do, Perhaps I am myself again.

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.

Would you please tell me what you are thinking? Before I go mad?

When I think I've made an error, it can cause me a sleepless night. But that only happens rarely.

She sifted, sighed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about anything but Lord Maccoon, her current predicament, or Lord Akeldama's safety. Which meant she could do nothing but reflect on the complex plight of her mama's more recent embroidery project. Thins, in itself, was a worse torture than any her captors could devise.

There's no such thing as mental illness. We're all mentally ill and we're all haunted by something, and some people manage to find a way to ride it out so that they don't wind up needing extra help. So I think that "mental illness," as a term, is garbage. Everybody is in various states of needing to transcend something.