Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I do suspect that this world is hell.
I've learned during my life that if I am in hell, I make my own glory. I've also been in glory, and perhaps I've made my own hell, but I certainly don't take anyone down with me.
The world is in your hands, now use it.
The world, we are told, was made especially for man - a presumption not supported by all the facts. A numerous class of men are painfully astonished whenever they find anything, living or dead, in all God's universe, which they cannot eat or render in some way what they call useful to themselves.
I'm so close to Heaven, this Hell cannot be mine.
No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.
When there is a ring on my finger, which is actually given to me, then I'll tell the world. Till then, no one can claim me.
You're a song written by the hands of God.
You, Eternal Trinity, are my Creator, and I am the work of Your hands, and I know through the new creation which You have given me in the blood of Your Son, that You are enamored of the beauty of Your workmanship.
All the plots of hell and commotions on earth have not so much as shaken God's hand to spoil one letter or line he has been drawing.