The Sublime Quotes

“When nature no longer enchants us, we must face disenchantment, the sense that the world has lost its wonder. If we suffer from the loss of authentic experience, it is because beauty has been commodified or simulated, and the sublime has become unreachable. (“Absence of Beauty is like Hell“ ).”
― Erik Pevernagie

“The last captain called to sea again
Sails intrepid forward
The waves they rock
But he cares not
He need only follow the stars

Looking down at that compass
Would just lead him astray
His great old vessel
Done in by monsters, maelstroms,
Tidal waves
Foundering toward lost Atlantis

But by ancient stars
Burning oh so bright
And sails high and strong
He’ll catch the gale
That will take him there
Out where he belongs

Not a distant shore
But heaven’s door
One with the sublime
Another bright light
In the starry night
Shining with
True greatness”
― A.D. Aliwat, In Limbo

“What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I secure my prey!'

As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He rolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested on the river's banks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where He had first fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching beams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his body, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures the most exquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal, and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormented him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled beside him, but strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed, helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of death destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm arose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was now black with clouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in torrents; It swelled the stream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosio lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the Corse of the despairing Monk.”
― Matthew Lewis

“When one is alone at night in the depths of these woods, the stillness is at once awful and sublime. Every leaf seems to speak.”
― John Muir, John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir

“Standing there with our heads tilted back to the sky, our faces lit by ancient starlight and the dying fires of those fragments of a planet broken up long ago, I forgot where I was, what I had gone through, what I had lost.”
― Tan Twan Eng, The Garden of Evening Mists