#prophetic

Mrs. White, in my opinion, made false statements. She misused what she claimed was the prophetic gift she had. ↗

— Walter Martin

#false #gift #had #in my opinion #made

True artists are prophets. I don't want to be that prophetic in that sense because it's so lonely. ↗

— Yoko Ono

#because #i #lonely #prophetic #prophets

For if the mystery concealed of old is made manifest to the Apostles through the prophetic writings, and if the prophets, being wise men, understood what proceeded from their own mouths, then the prophets knew what was made manifest to the Apostles. ↗

— Origen

#being #concealed #knew #made #manifest

The past is prophetic in that it asserts loudly that wars are poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows. ↗

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

#carving #loudly #out #past #peaceful

When a scientist is ahead of his times, it is often through misunderstanding of current, rather than intuition of future truth. In science there is never any error so gross that it won't one day, from some perspective, appear prophetic. ↗

— Jean Rostand

#any #appear #current #day #error

The apostolic writings are of three kinds: historical, didactic, and prophetic. ↗

— Philip Schaff

#didactic #historical #kinds #prophetic #three

Blake has always been a favorite, the lyrics, not so much the prophetic books, but I suppose Yeats influenced me more as a young poet, and the American, Robert Frost. ↗

— Anne Stevenson

#american #been #blake #books #favorite

I thought some of Mrs. White's material was prophetic. I felt some of her insights were extremely helpful and I regarded her as a sister in the Lord. I wasn't out to attack Ellen White's character. ↗

— Walter Martin

#character #ellen #extremely #felt #helpful

And when Franz Ferdinand pays, everybody pays! ↗

— Thomas Pynchon

#humor #prophetic #humor

The industrial towns were far away, a smudge of smoke and misery hidden by the curve of the earth's surface. Down here it was still the England I had known in my childhood: the railway-cuttings smothered in wild flowers, the deep meadows where the great shining horses browse and meditate, the slow-moving streams bordered by willows, the green bosoms of the elms, the larkspurs in the cottage gardens; and then the huge peaceful wilderness of outer London, the barges on the miry river, the familiar streets, the posters telling of cricket matches and Royal weddings, the men in bowler hats, the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, the red buses, the blue policemen—all sleeping the deep, deep sleep of England, from which I sometimes fear that we shall never wake till we are jerked out of it by the roar of bombs. ↗

— George Orwell

#men