Quotes About Heart

Chains...They bind us, whether we want them to or not. But a heart without chains would have nothing to hold it, might simply blow away.

Over all this lay Hoppie's dictum: First with the head and then with the heart. Winning was something you worked at intellectually, emotion clouds the mind and is its natural enemy. This made for a loneliness which often let me aching to share an emotion but equally afraid that if I did so I would reveal a weakness which could later be used against me.

It's who you is when folks knocks at the door of your heart what counts. Hide the past and it gives them what's jealous of you the power to bring you undone.

He had given me the power of one, one idea, one heart, one mind, one plan, one determination. Hoppie had sensed my need to grow, my need to be assured that the world around me had not been specially arranged to bring about my undoing. He gave me a defence system and with it he gave me hope.

When you ask "Is it true?" for example, you may not really want to know. It could be that you'd rather stay with your statement than dive into the unknown. Blocking means rushing the process and answering with your conscious mind before the gentler polarity of mind (I call it "the heart") can answer.

Agile Soffits: Sacred Defoliacity" Moon! Crown of an immense head, which you keep shedding in golden shadows! Red crown of a Jesus who thinks tragically sweet of emeralds! Moon! Maddened celestial heart —why are you rowing like this, inside the cup full of blue wine, toward the west, such a defeated and aching stern? Moon! And by flying off in vain, you holocaust into scattered opals: perhaps you are my gypsy heart wandering the blue weeping verses!

Moon! Maddened celestial heart -why are you rowing like this, inside the cup full of blue wine, toward the west, such a defeated and aching stern? Moon! And by flying off in vain, you holocaust into scattered opals: perhaps you are my gypsy heart wandering the blue weeping verses! from "Agile Soffits

As C. S. Lewis said, Christ "wants a child's heart, but a grown-up's head. He wants us to be simple, single-minded, affectionate, and teachable, as good children are; but he also wants every bit of intelligence we have to be alert at its job, and in first-class fighting trim.

Remember that yours is not the only heart that may be wishing for love.

Okay, so yours is not a map of blood. But can't you see? This is a map of love.

Porque quien no ama, tampoco se arriesga a perder.

His heart definitely had a longer memory than his mind.

But literature is unique. To understand literature, you read it with your head, but you interpret it with your heart. The two are forced to work together-and, quite frankly, they often don't get along.

I have been quiet today because fear in my heart has been fighting with frustration in my brain, leaving little energy for my mouth.

The heart wants what the heart wants, she says, somewhat cryptically. I purse my lips in disapproval. You'd think the heart would know better.

Love isn't about thinking. You should know that by now.

Detective Karl Rolvaag belonged in the Midwest. This he knew in his heart, and he was reminded of it every day when he went to work.

There are already cardiac pacemakers that can sense the beat of the human heart; only when there is the slightest hint of fibrillation does the pacemaker stimulate the heart. This is a mild but very useful sort of machine intelligence. I cannot imagine the wearer of this device resenting its intelligence. I

There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always. If the music dies down there is a silence. Almost the same as the movement of music. To know silence perfectly is to know music.

Time is short and it doesn't return again. It is slipping away while I write this and while you read it, and the monosyllable of the clock is Loss, Loss, Loss, unless you devote your heart to its opposition.

The carrion birds have tried to peck out my eyes and my tongue and my mind, but they've never been able to get at my heart.

Time is short and it doesn't return again. It is slipping away while I write this and while you read it, and the monosyllable of the clock is Loss, Loss, Loss, unless you devote your heart to its opposition.

We sometimes think of life as a conflict between the head and the heart, but in such a situation there is no unity of the human being, but only truces, compromises, and temporary victories of parties with divergent interests. The virtuous soul, on the contrary, blends all its parts in the act of choice.

I am . . . sure that the answer to all of the mysteries that disequilibrate our view of the world are to be understood by looking within ourselves. When we look within ourselves with psilocybin, we discover that we do not have to look outward toward the futile promise of life that circles distant stars in order to still our cosmic loneliness. We should look within; the paths of the heart lead to nearby universes full of life and affection for humanity.