Quotes About Heart

The Wild Geese (excerpt) Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear. What we need is here.

But good farming is first and last an art, a way of doing and making that involves human histories, cultures, minds, hearts, and souls. It is not the application by dullards of methods and technologies under the direction of a corporate-academic intelligentsia.

No one has made the art by which one makes the works of art. Each one who speaks speaks as a convocation. We live as councils of ghosts. It is not human genius that makes us human, but an old love, an old intelligence of the heart we gather to us from the world, from the creatures, from the angels of inspiration, from the dead-- an intelligence merely nonexistent to those who do not have it, but -- to those who have it more dear than life.

We must take love to the limit of time, because time can not limit it. A life cannot limit it. Maybe to have it in your heart all your life in this world, even while it fails here, is to succeed. Maybe that is enough.

Unlike corn or other insipid foods, meat rouses the demon in the heart of a warrior.

Goodbye, my mistress, I whispered. Farewell, my heart.

Devo manter meu coração cheio de amor hoje pois de que outra maneira poderei suportar mais este dia?

But let my death be memoried on this disc. Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed. But let thy heart-beat kiss it night and day, Until the name grow vague and wear away.

The small pulse of the life within me, and the great heart of the city around me, seemed to be sinking in unison.

The grandest mountain prospect that the eye can range over is appointed to annihilation. The smallest human interest that the pure heart can feel is appointed to immortality.

Lo que no está en mi corazón, no lo escribirá mi pluma.

Did you fall asleep? No. I couldn't sleep that night. You were restless? I was thinking of you. The answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone, even more than in the words, went straight to my heart. It was only after pausing a little first that I was able to go on.

My dear friend! what is there extraordinary in that? They are all in love with some other man. Who gets the first of a woman's heart? In all my experience I have never yet met with the man who was Number One. Number Two, sometimes. Number Three, Four, Five, often. Number One, never! He exists, of course—but, I have not met with him.

Observe, dear lady, what a light is dying on the trees! Does it penetrate your heart, as it penetrates mine?

Well may your heart believe the truths Well may your heart believe the truths I tell; 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.

The tone in which those words were spoken might have melted a stone. But, oh dear, what is the hardness of stone? Nothing, compared to the hardness of the unregenerate human heart!

The kind sorrowful eyes looked at me, for a moment, with the prescient sadness of a coming and a long farewell. I felt the answering pang in my own heart—the pang that told me I must lose her soon, and love her the more unchangeably for the loss.

On hearing these dreadful words my daughter Penelope said she didn't know what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought privately it might have been her stays.

The woman never lived yet who could cast a true-love out of her heart because the object of that love was unworthy of her. All

some to business, some to pleasure take, But every woman is at heart a rake.' The

How could this sense of right survive if it were not that in our hearts we feel this life to be only a part of life, this earthly dream only an embryonic prelude to a new birth, a new awakening;

Ruin, comes when the trader, whose heart is lifted up by wealth, becomes ruler

Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face; Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge. - A DIVINE IMAGE

Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face;