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I know not how to express better, what my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon infinite, and multiplying infinite by infinite . . . when i look into my heart and take a view of my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper than hell.

-Jonathan Edwards

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I Know Not How To Express Better,

Jonathan Edwards

I know not how to express better, what my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon infinite, and multiplying infinite by infinite . . . when i look into my heart and take a view of my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper than hell.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"i know not how to express better, what my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon infinite, and multiplying infinite by infinite . . . when i look into my heart and take a view of my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper than hell."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Jonathan Edwards</footer>
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Heart Views Looks

More From Jonathan Edwards

What you and i need to do is learn to forget our differences. when we come together, we don't come together as baptists or methodists. you don't catch hell 'cause you're a baptist, and you don't catch hell 'cause you're a methodist... you don't catch hell because you're a democrat or a republican. you don't catch hell because you're a mason or an elk. and you sure don't catch hell 'cause you're an american; 'cause if you was an american, you wouldn't catch no hell. you catch hell 'cause you're a black man. you catch hell, all of us catch hell, for the same reason.

All that syrio forel had taught her went racing through her head. swift as a deer. quiet as shadow. fear cuts deeper than swords. quick as a snake. calm as still water. fear cuts deeper than swords. strong as a bear. fierce as a wolverine. fear cuts deeper than swords. then man who fears losing has already lost. fear cuts deeper than swords. fear cuts deeper than swords. fear cuts deeper than swords.

Men perish with whispering sins-nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often with crying sins; and in hell there shall meet as many men that never thought what was sin, as that spent all their thoughts in the compassing of sin.

We are not to look upon our sins as insignificant trifles. on the other hand, we are not to regard them as so terrible that we must despair. learn to believe that christ was given, not for picayune and imaginary transgressions, but for mountainous sins; not for one or two, but for all; not for sins that can be discarded, but for sins that are stubbornly ingrained.

A bath in ganges undoubtedly absolves one of all sins; but what does that avail? they say that the sins perch on trees along the banks of the ganges. no sooner does the man come back from the holy waters that the old sins jump on his shoulders from the trees. the same old sins take possession of him again. he is hardly out of the waters before they fall upon him.

The anchor of meaning resides in an abyss, deeper than the reach of despair. yet the abyss is not not infinite; its bottom may suddenly be discovered within the confines of a human heart or under the debris of might doubts. this may be the vocation of man: to say "amen" to being and to the author of being; to live in defiance of absurdity, notwithstanding futility and defeat; to attain faith in god even in spite of god.

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I sit in my new room and write everything down. my heart never stops talking.

Though i am young, and cannot tell either what death or love is well, yet i have heard they both bear darts, and both do aim at human hearts. and then again, i have been told love wounds with heat, as death with cold; so that i fear they do but bring extremes to touch, and mean one thing. as in a ruin we it call one thing to be blown up, or fall; or to our end like way may have by a flash of lightning, or a wave; so love’s inflamèd shaft or brand may kill as soon as death’s cold hand; except love’s fires the virtue have to fight the frost out of the grave.

Fathers die.you keep on loving them in any way you can.you can't hide him away in your heart.

Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; home-keeping hearts are the happiest, for those that wander they know not where are full of trouble and full of care; to stay at home is best.

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