Quotes About Surrender

Love, My Goddess loves us all, and she gave up Bhelliom willingly out of that love. Bhelliom can't begin to understand love. In the end that may be our only defense against it.

Since there was absolutely nothing he could do about his circumstances, chewing on them would only leave a sour taste in his mouth.

We are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe. God or Satan, politics or grammar, topology or philately - the object seemed incidental to this will to give ourselves away, utterly. To games or needles, to some other person. Something pathetic about it. A flight-from in the form of a plunging-into. Flight from exactly what? These rooms, blandly filled with excrement and heat? To what purpose?

What if sometimes there is no choice about what to love? What if the temple comes to Mohammed? What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?

Everything I've ever let go of had claw marks on it.

JAY: No really. Be secure. Pretend I'm a sperm cell. Here. I take the string out of the... hood of my sweatshirt, affix it to my behind for a tail, like so... LENORE: What in God's name are you doing? JAY: Pretend, Lenore. Be an ovum. Be strong. Let me hypothetically batter at you. Batter batter. Surrender to the unreal of the real interior. LENORE: Are you supposed to be a sperm, wriggling your sweatshirt-string like that? JAY: I can feel the strength of your membrane, Lenore.

Surely we all dealt with and reconciled ourselves to a life many of whose features were out of our control. It was part of living in a world full of other people with other interests.

Y qué pasa cuando a veces no hay opción sobre lo que amar? ¿Y si el templo va a Mahoma? ¿Y si simplemente amas? ¿Sin decidirlo? Lo haces simplemente: la ves y en ese instante te olvidas de la contabilidad y lo único que puedes elegir es amarla...

Then Poor Tony's body began to swell. He watched his limbs become airy white dirigibles and felt them deny his authority and detach from him and float sluggishly up snout-first into the steel-mill sparks the ceiling rained. He suddenly felt nothing, or rather Nothing, a pre-tornadic stillness of zero sensation, as if he were the very space he occupied.

We are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe. God or Satan, politics or grammar, topology or philately—the object seemed incidental to this will to give oneself away, utterly. To games or needles, to some other person.

We are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe. God or Satan, politics or grammar, topology or philately - the object seemed incidental to this will to give oneself away, utterly. To games or needles, to some other person. Something pathetic about it. A flight-from in the form of a plunging-into. Flight from exactly what? These rooms blandly filled with excrement and meat? To what purpose?

mein kinder. Mein kinder, well it sort of means my family. He eyeballs me right square in the eye and says it's about how to reach down into parts of yourself you didn't know were there and get down in there and live inside these parts. And the only way to get to them: sacrifice. Suffer. Deny. What are you willing to give.

Lucien finally dies, rather a while after he's quit shuddering like a clubbed muskie and seemed to them to die, as he finally sheds his body's suit, Lucien finds his gut and throat again and newly whole, clean and unimpeded, and is free, catapulted over fans and the Convexity's glass palisades at desperate speeds, soaring north, sounding a bell-clear and nearly maternal alarmed call-to-arms in all the world's well-known tongues.

351. As in a combination of the First and Twelfth Steps, goes the AA joke: 'My Life is Unmanageable and I'd Like to Share it With You.

No, she simply felt - at times, mind you, not all the time, but at sharp and distinctive intuitive moments - as if she had no real existence, except for what she said and did and perceived and et cetera, and that these were, it seemed at such times, not really under her control. There was nothing pure.

Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks in it.

It's the sort of love whose measure is what it has cost, what one's given up for it. Whether there's choice involved is, at a certain point, of no interest... since it's the very surrender of choice and self that informs the love in the first place.

What the hell are they all looking for? A way out. A way to the right way out. A way to leave. A way to go. A way to have had it, to have had enough of it, to be done with it. A decent way to give it all over to the giver of it all

I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!

Come, sir, come, I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love. Look, here I have you, thus I let you go, And give you to the gods.

My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

Come, Lady, die to live.

To give yourself away keep yourself still, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.