Quotes About Heart

To watch us dance is to hear our hearts speak.

Our heart dies with us But our soul lives on Born into weightless spirit Becoming colors of the dawn

It was not very long before that room again knew her, often; sitting there alone, as patient and as mild as when she had watched beside the little bed. When any sharp sense of its being empty smote upon her, she could kneel beside it, and pray GOD — it was the pouring out of her full heart — to let one angel love her and remember her.

Farewell, then, — for awhile, farewell — Pride of my heart! It cannot be that long we dwell, Thus torn apart; Time's shadows like the shuttle flee; And dark howe'er life's night may be, Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee...

Fairies glitter our hearts with giggles.

Spring itself is Faith. In all its glory and color the true nature of our being is being reborn. Faith roots in our souls and grows in our hearts. Faith is the very beat of our hearts. Faith is the air we breathe. Faith is the lump in our throats and the tears we shed. Faith is the first rose that blooms.

Your heart is a sun— Joy its stars, Faith a moon, shining in your darkness...

Let your faith have the same beat as your heart.

A coward's heart panteth in his breast...

The best way to a fisherman's heart is through his fly.

The strawberry, in the main, repeats the form of the human heart, and perhaps, of all the small fruits known to man, none other is so deeply and fondly cherished, or hailed with such universal delight, as this lowly but youth-renewing berry.

A garden of love grows in a grandmother's heart.

A grandma's heart is a patchwork of love.

As each day comes to us refreshed and anew, so does my gratitude renew itself daily. The breaking of the sun over the horizon is my grateful heart dawning upon a blessèd world.

Gratitude is the music of the heart, when its chords are swept by the breeze of kindness.

Grief is historian of the heart.

My heart grows light so fast that I could mount a grasshopper and gallop around the world, and not fatigue him any!

Happiness pulses with every beat of my heart.

Hating withers your heart. Hearts that don't pump love, atrophy.

His heart beats only love — not a drop of hate-tinged blood in his body.

Ephemeral, eternal heart!

My heart got to thumping. You can't reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and thumps about things which the intellect scorns.

Every beat of your heart is a rhythm of your soul.

It is in the heart that the values lie. I wish I could make him understand that a loving heart is riches, and riches enough, and that without it intellect is poverty.