Quotes About Echoes

A broken heart in real life isn't half as dreadful as it is in books. It's a good deal like a bad tooth, though you won't think THAT a very romantic simile. It takes spells of aching and gives you a sleepless night now and then, but between times it lets you enjoy life and dreams and echoes and peanut candy as if there were nothing the matter with it.

Suddenly he screamed, and it was as though this scream were being tossed from one tree to another, as its echoes returned, then, as though the trees themselves were crowding nearer, huddled together, closing over him, pitying …

The past has a way of walking around in the present, behaving as if it were alive.

They passed the hall, that echoes still, Pass as lightly as you will. The brands were flat, the brands were dying, Amid their own white ashes lying; But when the lady passed, there came A tongue of light, a fit of flame; And Christabel saw the lady's eye, And nothing else saw she thereby

We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.

Who me? I play scales. The scales of dead fish of oil-slicked seas. My sister blows wind through the hollows of fallen trees. And we are the echoes of eternity. Maybe you've heard of us. We do rebirths, revolts, and resurrections.

These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside.

The differences have poison within it, which bites, and signs its sign. Conversely, antipathy echoes and claps, as thunders that rain or no rain; however, in both ways that blow over.

observed: "The petitions of true disciples are echoes (so to speak) of Christ's words. As He has spoken so they speak. Their prayer is only some fragment of His teaching transformed into a supplication, and so it will necessarily be heard."[50]

I always knew I would come to London. I loved Glasgow, but it seemed filled with echoes of my parents' lives, and sometimes you just want a city of your own.

When I am all alone, I often, very often, say your name aloud…

Marriage has a unique place because it speaks of an absolute faithfulness, a covenant between radically different persons, male and female and so it echoes the absolute covenant of God with his chosen, a covenant between radically different partners.

As all historians know, the past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes.

As all historians know, the past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes. Voices may reach us from it; but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our day.

We may call Eurydice forth from the world of the dead, but we cannot make her answer; and when we turn to look at her we glimpse her only for a moment, before she slips from our grasp and flees. As all historians know, the past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes. Voices may reach us from it; but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and, try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our own day.

The past is a great darkness, and filled with echos. Voices may reach us from it; but what they say to us is imbued with the obscurity of the matrix out of which they come; and, try as we may, we cannot always decipher them precisely in the clearer light of our own day.

Now, it's full night, clear, moonless and filled with stars, which are not eternal as we once thought, which are not where we think they are. If they were sounds, they would be echoes, of something that happened millions of year ago: a word made of numbers. Echoes of light, shining out of the midst of nothing. It's old light, and there's not much of it. But it's enough to see by.

I am like a room where things once happened and now nothing does, except

Now it's full night, clear, moonless and filled with stars, which are not eternal as was once thought, which are not where we think they are. If they were sounds, they would be echoes, of something that happened millions of years ago: a word made of numbers. Echoes of light, shining out of the midst of nothing. It's old light, and there's not much of it. But it's enough to see by.

Hell's Bells ringing, my secret music...

Hauntings only repeat what occurred once upon a time.

Mindy had explained that a lot of things had ghosts, not just people. Animals, machines, even things as vast as a paved-over forest or as humble as the smell of good cooking could leave traces of themselves behind. The world was haunted by the past.

Once we're grown, all we can hear are what the poet described: the echoes, dying.

The great eventful Present hides the Past; but through the din Of its loud life hints and echoes from the life behind steal in.