Quotes About Life

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God the herdsman treads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

We can only begin to live when we conceive life as Tragedy.

Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.

The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.

The intellect of man is forced to choose Perfection of the life, or of the work And if it take the second must refuse A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.

I am still of [the] opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood--sex and the dead.

I think all happiness depends on the energy to assume the mask of some other life, on a re-birth as something not one's self.

Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all.

All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it

The intellect of man is forced to choose Perfection of the life, or of the work.

By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.

One often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or a dog that howls at something a man's eyes cannot see, and men who live primitive lives where instinct does the work of reason are fully conscious of many things that we cannot perceive at all. As life becomes more orderly, more deliberate, the supernatural world sinks farther away.

The living can assist the imagination of the dead...

When I think of life as struggle with the Daimon who would ever set us to the hardest work among those not impossible, I understand why there is a deep enmity between a man and his destiny, and why a man loves nothing but his destiny.

I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.

When I think of all the books I have read, wise words heard, anxieties given to parents, ... of hopes I have had, all life weighed in the balance of my own life seems to me a preparation for something that never happens.

They must go out of the theatre with the strength they live by strengthened from looking upon some passion that could, whatever its chosen way of life, strike down an enemy, fill a long stocking with money or move a girl's heart.

We have to do so much, especially in my own country, that our minds gradually cease to be creative, and yet we cannot help it. If our life was a continual Warfare, we would not have taste, we would not know what is good, we would not find hearers and readers.

Both men lost speech in their last days and hours. Both died at age sixty-three, Lee long since weary of life, and Grant ready to live it again. Their war made them national icons, and their war reputations dictated the balance of their lives, careers, and posterity.

The questions involved for the habit of discernment are: • Am I becoming more present to the triune God in all of life? • What is my sense of attentiveness to God? • What is my sense of distraction from God? • What is my belief about God's active involvement in the present moment?

Old age isa flight of smallcheeping birdsskimmingbare treesabove a snow glaze.

It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.