Home > Topic > footstool
1 " I have lived long enough to see God make my enemies my footstool not even footsteps. "
― Patience Johnson, , Why Does an Orderly God Allow Disorder
2 " Your country can be a footstool for God, if he finds people in all spheres of life who will prepare their bodies for the Great King "
―
3 " as if a round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe, golden apple with a soft, cool, velvety skin - thus the world presented itself to me - as if a tree nodded to me, a wide-branching, strong-willed tree, bent for reclining and as a footstool for the way-weary: thus the world stood upon my headland - as if tender hands brought me a casket - a casket open for the delight of modest, adoring eyes: thus the world presented himself before me today - not so enigmatic as to frighten away human love, not so explicit as to put to sleep human wisdom - a good, human thing was the world to me today, this world of which so many evil things are said! "
4 " Or maybe I am justoutside enough,being the footstool observing from the corner,that I have a view of reality. "
― Thalia Chaltas , Because I Am Furniture
5 " Man in his usual perversity turns the footstool into a throne from whence he would feign direct the Almighty as to what He ought to do, giving the onlooker the impression that if God had half the compassion that those who pray (?) have, all would quickly be right "
― Arthur W. Pink
6 " Temperance Dews stood with quiet confidence, a respectable women who lived in the sewer that was St. Giles. Her eyes had widened at the sight of Lazarus, but she made no move to flee. Indeed, finding a strange man in her pathetic sitting room seemed not to frighten her at all.Interesting.“I am Lazarus Huntington, Lord Caire,” he said.“I know. What are you doing here?”He tilted his head, studying her. She knew him, yet did not recoil in horror? Yes, she’d do quite well. “I’ve come to make a proposition to you, Mrs. Dews.”Still no sign of fear, though she eyed the doorway. “You’ve chosen the wrong woman, my lord. The night is late. Please leave my house.”No fear and no deference to his rank. An interesting woman indeed.“My proposition is not, er, illicit in nature,” he drawled. “In fact, it’s quite respectable. Or nearly so.”She sighed, looked down at her tray, and then back up at him. “Would you like a cup of tea?”He almost smiled. Tea? When had he last been offered something so very prosaic by a woman? He couldn’t remember.But he replied gravely enough. “Thank you, no.”She nodded. “Then if you don’t mind?”He waved a hand to indicate permission.She set the tea tray on the wretched little table and sat on the padded footstool to pour herself a cup. He watched her. She was a monochromatic study. Her dress, bodice, hose, and shoes were all flat black. A fichu tucked in at her severe neckline, an apron, and cap—no lace or ruffles—were all white. No color marred her aspect, making the lush red of her full lips all the more startling. She wore the clothes of a nun, yet had the mouth of a sybarite.The contrast was fascinating—and arousing.“You’re a Puritan?” he asked.Her beautiful mouth compressed. “No. "
― Elizabeth Hoyt , Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane, #1)
7 " Courage is the footstool of the Virtues upon which they stand. "