John Masefield Quotes

You will put on a dress of guilt and shoes with broken high ideals.

Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, gnawing and creeping into it, as that does which at last eats out the very heart and substance of the metal.

I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed. You were just a painted face on a trip down to suicide road.

Fear and Guilt are the only enemies of man.

Shame is the dying embers of virtue.

As you sell your soul and sow your seeds, and you wound yourself and your loved ones bleed. And your habits grow and your conscience feeds, on all that you thought you should be.

Guilt stirs me, but only to self-pity.

Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

Even without them touching me, I feel dirty about what I do. Alex does even filthier things but says it all washes off with soap. I don’t believe that. I think it all leaves stains. Indelible stains.

How awful is that hour when con, science stings.

My arms are up to the elbows in blood. That is the most terrible thing that lies in my soul.

I felt for my crime a just terror; I looked on my life with hate, and my passion with horror.

The desire for success lubricates secret prostitution in the soul.

There are ten commandments, I've only broken three.

Yes, there is something in me hateful, repulsive," thought Ljewin, as he came away from the Schtscherbazkijs', and walked in the direction of his brother's lodgings. "And I don't get on with other people. Pride, they say. No, I have no pride. If I had any pride, I should not have put myself in such a position".

Excess of trouble may, for a time, distract and overwhelm the soul. Our Lord himself seems to have experienced somewhat of this. Our prayers, perhaps, are never more acceptable, than when they are offered in broken accents, in sighs, and groans.

Do you absolutely despise me, Walter?" "No." He hesitated and his voice was strange. "I despise myself.

Remember the pain?' thought Artemis. I hate myself. I really do.

If I cried me a river of all my confessions, would I drown in my shallow regret?

When Jared smiled, his teeth were stained with fresh scarlet. "Don't you hate me?" he demanded. "I'd hate me." "You just tried to drown yourself," Ash said. "You seem to hate yourself plenty already.

I no longer knew whether it was raindrops or my own tears that were flowing down my cheeks, and I hated to have to drag along this relic of a sniveling child.

But it was not the room’s disorder which was frightening; it was the fact that when one began searching for the key to this disorder, one realized that it was not to be found in any of the usual places. For this was not a matter of habit or circumstance or temperament; it was a matter of punishment and grief.

His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield.

The wounds of conscience always leave a scar.

When we sin, we are often upset, not because we have grieved the Spirit but because our pride has been injured.