A baby is an angel whose wings decrease as his legs increase.
My new tattoo is Jesus being carried by three cherubs. Obviously the cherubs are my boys. At some point they are going to need to look after me. That's what they're doing in the picture. It means a lot.
What's that?" he asked, when I stood beside him again. "Halos," I said with a grin. "For heavenly creatures like us." "That might be a stretch.
They say that shoulder blades are where your wings were, when you were an angel," she said. "They say they're where your wings will grow again one day.
The angels had guitars before they had wings.
Since the Middle Ages, people have been writing about angels. Angelology was actually at one point a scholastic discipline.
I don't think there are actually any theologians practicing angelology or studying angels anymore, but it's definitely in a lot of religious literature. It's still out there, and people are still interested. Even in the more secular way, books about angels are everywhere.
With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.
I am a believer in angels, though not the picture-book kind with wings and harps. Such angelic accoutrements seem as nonsensical to me as devils sporting horns and carrying pitchforks. To me, angel wings are merely symbolic of their role as divine messengers.
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
I'd rather be a rising ape than a falling angel.
I would say my favorite tattoo is my first tattoo of my father, you know, just the remembrance of him, his legacy and impact that he's had on my life. He passed away when I was a kid, you know, I got the halo with the angel wings on my back.
You insisted on thinking of them as angels, even if they were fallen angels.
