In old time we had treen chalices and golden priests, but…

What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with golden chalices when your brother is dying of hunger. Start by satisfying his…

— Saint John Chrysostom

“I swiped the Communion chalices to use as pimp cups for my cocktails. That”

— Duff McKagan

This supernatural bread and this consecrated chalice are for the health and salvation of mankind.

— Cyprian

O Lord, we cannot go to the pool of Siloe to which you sent the blind man. But we have the chalice of Your…

— Ephrem the Syrian

I started my career giving a clinic in bad acting in the film, "The Silver Chalice," and now I'm playing a crusty old man…

— Paul Newman

“MOTHER IS WATER I wish I could Shower your head with flowers And anoint your feet with my tears, For I know I have…

— Suzy Kassem

“He took the sacramental chalice, and stretching forth his bare arm, cried in a loud voice, 'Come ye viewless ministers of this dread hour!…

— William Mudford

When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June…

— William C. Bryant

The Christian, like a chalice without a base, cannot stand on his own nor hold what he has received any longer that God holds…

— William Gurnall

You can tell the real Christians by their acts. They are the ones serving, the ones loving, the ones sharing whatever they have. They…

— Jan Phillips

“About the same time one Purderve was put to death, for saying privately to a priest, after he had drunk the wine, "He blessed…

— John Foxe

Buttercups, bright eyed and bold, hold their chalices of gold to catch the sunshine and the dew.

— Julia Caroline Dorr

“The Holy Grail ’neath ancient Roslin waits. The blade and chalice guarding o’er Her gates. Adorned in masters’ loving art, She lies. She rests…

— Dan Brown

“Now, perhaps nowhere as poignantly as in the omnipresent theme of Christ dying on the cross, the central image of art is no longer…

— Riane Eisler

I take the seashell from my jeans pocket and rub my fingers across its silken, indented surface, shallow as my own open hand. This…

— Katrina Kenison