Oliverb > Oliverb's Quotes

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  • #1
    Alan             Moore
    “I still can't believe it . . . him comin' here everyday, nobody realizin'. Still, that's life: lotta stuff happens under the waterline.”
    Alan Moore, Watchmen

  • #2
    Tom Robbins
    “The trouble with you is that the only way you can communicate is through art. You’ve never learned to communicate your feelings to a man. You don’t even want to communicate in a relationship. You think that if you open up to love, you’ll lose your independence or your self-expression or creativity or whatever you call all that passionate, wonderful stuff that makes you feel alive inside.”
    Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All

  • #3
    Sara Teasdale
    Winter Stars

    I went out at night alone;
    The young blood flowing beyond the sea
    Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings—
    I bore my sorrow heavily.

    But when I lifted up my head
    From shadows shaken on the snow,
    I saw Orion in the east
    Burn steadily as long ago.

    From windows in my father's house,
    Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
    I watched Orion as a girl
    Above another city's lights.

    Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
    The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,
    All things are changed, save in the east
    The faithful beauty of the stars.”
    Sara Teasdale, Flame and Shadow

  • #4
    George Meredith
    “just got back from a beautiful eve of winter solstice snowshoeing. my heart was lost and enlivened by both the hush of the mountainous snow world and a very fun irreverence with friends. i shared a solstice quote but did not share this one.

    so in the spirit of the year--happy solistice! may there be ever present and growing light in your life as nature unfolds the same in the upcoming months.

    "sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive leap off the rim of earth across the dome. it is a night to make the heavens our home. more than the nest whereto apace we strive. lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive, in swarms outrushing from the golden comb. they waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam: you throb in me, the dead revive. yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath, life glistens on the river of death. it folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt, or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs of radiance, the radiance enrings: and this is the soul's haven to have felt." --from _winter heavens_”
    George Meredith

  • #5
    Mark Twain
    “If we hadn’t our bewitching autumn foliage, we should still have to credit the weather with one feature which compensates for all its bullying vagaries-the ice storm: when a leafless tree is clothed with ice from the bottom to the top – ice that is as bright and clear as crystal; when every bough and twig is strung with ice-beads, frozen dew-drops, and the whole tree sparkles cold and white, like the Shah of Persia’s diamond plume. Then the wind waves the branches and the sun comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops to prisms that glow and burn and flash with all manner of colored fires, which change and change again with inconceivable rapidity from blue to red, from red to green, and green to gold-the tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very explosion of dazzling jewels; and it stands there the acme, the climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature, of bewildering, intoxicating, intolerable magnificence. One cannot make the words too strong.”
    Mark Twain

  • #6
    John Muir
    “Long, blue, spiky-edged shadows crept out across the snow-fields, while a rosy glow, at first scarce discernible, gradually deepened and suffused every mountain-top, flushing the glaciers and the harsh crags above them. This was the alpenglow, to me the most impressive of all the terrestrial manifestations of God. At the touch of this divine light, the mountains seemed to kindle to a rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed like devout worshippers waiting to be blessed.”
    John Muir, The Wild Muir: Twenty-Two of John Muir's Greatest Adventures

  • #7
    Dylan Thomas
    “The crisp path through the field in this December snow, in the deep dark, where we trod the buried grass like ghosts on dry toast.”
    Dylan Thomas, Quite Early One Morning

  • #8
    Emily Brontë
    “The Night Is Darkening Round M

    The night is darkening round me,
    The wild winds coldly blow;
    But a tyrant spell has bound me,
    And I cannot, cannot go.

    The giant trees are bending
    Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
    The storm is fast descending,
    And yet I cannot go.

    Clouds beyond clouds above me,
    Wastes beyond wastes below;
    But nothing drear can move me;
    I will not, cannot go.”
    Emily Brontë

  • #9
    Edward Lear
    “The Jumblies



    I

    They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
    In a Sieve they went to sea:
    In spite of all their friends could say,
    On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
    In a Sieve they went to sea!
    And when the Sieve turned round and round,
    And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!'
    They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
    But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
    In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.


    II

    They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
    In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
    With only a beautiful pea-green veil
    Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
    To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
    And every one said, who saw them go,
    'O won't they be soon upset, you know!
    For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
    And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
    In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.


    III

    The water it soon came in, it did,
    The water it soon came in;
    So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
    In a pinky paper all folded neat,
    And they fastened it down with a pin.
    And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
    And each of them said, 'How wise we are!
    Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
    Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
    While round in our Sieve we spin!'
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.


    IV

    And all night long they sailed away;
    And when the sun went down,
    They whistled and warbled a moony song
    To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
    In the shade of the mountains brown.
    'O Timballo! How happy we are,
    When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
    And all night long in the moonlight pale,
    We sail away with a pea-green sail,
    In the shade of the mountains brown!'
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.


    V

    They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
    To a land all covered with trees,
    And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
    And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
    And a hive of silvery Bees.
    And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
    And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
    And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
    And no end of Stilton Cheese.
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.


    VI

    And in twenty years they all came back,
    In twenty years or more,
    And every one said, 'How tall they've grown!
    For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
    And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
    And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
    Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
    And every one said, 'If we only live,
    We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
    To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
    Far and few, far and few,
    Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
    Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
    And they went to sea in a Sieve.”
    Edward Lear

  • #10
    Walter Benjamin
    “A Klee painting named 'Angelus Novus' shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.”
    Walter Benjamin

  • #11
    Percy Bysshe Shelley
    “To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
    To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
    To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
    To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates
    From it's own wreck the thing it contemplates;
    Neither to change, not falter, nor repent;
    This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be
    Good, great and joyous,beautiful and free;
    This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory”
    Percy Bysshe Shelley

  • #12
    Victor Hugo
    “Human thought has no limit. At its risk and peril, it analyzes and dissects its own fascination. We could almost say that, by a sort of splendid reaction, it fascinates nature; the mysterious world surrounding us returns what it receives; it is likely that contemplators are contemplated.”
    Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

  • #13
    W.B. Yeats
    “Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.”
    William Butler Yeats

  • #14
    David Hume
    “Beauty in things exists in the mind which contemplates them”
    David Hume

  • #15
    Giacomo Leopardi
    “What do you do there, moon, in the sky? Tell me what you do, silent moon. When evening comes you rise and go contemplating wastelands; then you set.”
    Leopardi

  • #16
    Percy Bysshe Shelley
    “There is eloquence in the tongueless
    wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the
    reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something
    within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless
    rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like
    the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved
    singing to you alone.”
    Percy Bysshe Shelley

  • #17
    Leonardo da Vinci
    “I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death”
    Leonardo da Vinci

  • #18
    Oscar Wilde
    “Beauty is a form of Genius--is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in the dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have it.”
    Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

  • #19
    Rainer Maria Rilke
    “I love the dark hours of my being.
    My mind deepens into them.
    There I can find, as in old letters,
    the days of my life, already lived,
    and held like a legend, and understood.”
    Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

  • #20
    Emma Goldman
    “If I can't dance to it, it's not my revolution.”
    Emma Goldman

  • #21
    James Joyce
    “Beware the horns of a bull, the heels of the horse, and the smile of an Englishman.”
    James Joyce, Ulysses

  • #22
    Thomas Dekker
    “Long hair will make thee look dreafully to thine enemies, and manly to thy
    friends: it is, in peace, an ornament; in war, a strong helmet; it...
    deadens the leaden thump of a bullet: in winter, it is a warm nightcap; in summer,
    a cooling fan of feathers.”
    Thomas Dekker, The guls horne-booke, 1609

  • #23
    Epictetus
    “[Do not get too attached to life] for it is like a sailor's leave on the shore and at any time, the captain may sound the horn, calling you back to eternal darkness.”
    Epictetus

  • #24
    Oliver Goldsmith
    “In all my wanderings through this world of care,
    In all my griefs -- and God has given my share --
    I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
    Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
    To husband out life's taper at the close,
    And keep the flame from wasting, by repose:
    I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
    Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill,
    Around my fire an evening group to draw,
    And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;
    And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
    Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
    I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
    Here to return -- and die at home at last.”
    Oliver Goldsmith

  • #25
    Oscar Wilde
    “We caught the tread of dancing feet,
    We loitered down the moonlit street,
    And stopped beneath the harlot's house.

    Inside, above the din and fray,
    We heard the loud musicians play
    The 'Treues Liebes Herz' of Strauss.

    Like strange mechanical grotesques,
    Making fantastic arabesques,
    The shadows raced across the blind.

    We watched the ghostly dancers spin
    To sound of horn and violin,
    Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

    Like wire-pulled automatons,
    Slim silhouetted skeletons
    Went sidling through the slow quadrille,

    Then took each other by the hand,
    And danced a stately saraband;
    Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

    Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
    A phantom lover to her breast,
    Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

    Sometimes a horrible marionette
    Came out, and smoked its cigarette
    Upon the steps like a live thing.

    Then, turning to my love, I said,
    'The dead are dancing with the dead,
    The dust is whirling with the dust.'

    But she--she heard the violin,
    And left my side, and entered in:
    Love passed into the house of lust.

    Then suddenly the tune went false,
    The dancers wearied of the waltz,
    The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

    And down the long and silent street,
    The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
    Crept like a frightened girl.”
    Oscar Wilde

  • #26
    Walt Whitman
    “Re-examine all you have been told. Dismiss what insults your soul.”
    Walt Whitman

  • #27
    Susan B. Anthony
    “I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.”
    Susan B. Anthony

  • #28
    Stephen Chbosky
    “And I thought about how many people have loved those songs. And how many people got through a lot of bad times because of those songs. And how many people enjoyed good times with those songs. And how much those songs really mean. I think it would be great to have written one of those songs. I bet if I wrote one of them, I would be very proud. I hope the people who wrote those songs are happy. I hope they feel it's enough. I really do because they've made me happy. And I'm only one person.”
    Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

  • #29
    Harold Monro
    “Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn:
    It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond
    Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond
    Stares. And you sing, you sing.

    That star-enchanted song falls through the air
    From lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,
    Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground;
    And all the night you sing.

    My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee
    As all night long I listen, and my brain
    Receives your song, then loses it again
    In moonlight on the lawn.

    Now is your voice a marble high and white,
    Then like a mist on fields of paradise,
    Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,
    Then breaks, and it is dawn.”
    Harold Monro, Collected poems;

  • #30
    Sara Teasdale
    “You bound strong sandals on my feet,
    You gave me bread and wine,
    And sent me under sun and stars,
    For all the world was mine.

    Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
    You know not what you do;
    For all the world is in your arms,
    My sun and stars are you.”
    Sara Teasdale, The Collected Poems
    tags: song, world, you



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