Quotes About Ecstasy

Your ecstasy is a movement towards the height and your meditation is a movement towards the depth. And once you have both, your life becomes a celebration.

One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal Green - one more, and my bosom Feels new life with an ecstasy.

For some of us life is so fantastic we can't stand it.

Human beings have illusions. The enlightened don't have illusions. They see things as they are, and in that seeing, they see ecstasy and joy. They see the play of life.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.

What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

To make delicious moanUpon the midnight hours.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!

Fleeting joy and fading ecstasy, here it goes again, oh, Sneaking fruit from the forbidden tree, sweet taste of sin

There is a supernal intelligence behind sexual arousal, the true purpose of which is to create for us ecstatic experiences of our own divinity.

She wanted his touch, wanted him to find that spot where her need left her begging and hungry. Anxious and half mad. And when he touched her, teased her open, slid his finger over the wetness and inside her, her hips arched up, welcoming his touch. "Oooh," she gasped, as his finger slid over her again, swirling in a circle and then pressing down right where it was the tightest and vibrating against her until she was nearly at her peak. "Please-

And then later, as the ambulance went faster, Abel felt not fear but a strange exquisite joy, the bliss of things finally and irretrievably out of his control, unpeeled, unpeeling now. Yet there was a streak of something else, as though just outside his reach was the twinkle of a light, as though a Christmas window was there; this puzzled him and pleased him, and in his state of tired ecstasy it seemed almost to come to him.

sin is an effort to gain the ecstasy and the knowledge that pertain alone to angels, and in making this effort man becomes a demon.

The arts, then, are man's difference, that which makes him to be what he is; and when he speaks through them he is using the utterance which is proper to him, as man. For, if we once set aside the "does it pay" nonsense, which is evidently nonsense and pestilent nonsense at that, we come clearly and freely to the truth that man is concerned with beauty, and with the ecstasy or rapture that proceeds from the creation of beauty and from the contemplation of it.

Holiness requires as great, or almost as great, an effort; but holiness works on lines that were natural once; it is an effort to recover the ecstasy that was before the Fall. But sin is an effort to gain the ecstasy and the knowledge that pertain alone to angels, and in making this effort man becomes a demon.

Is it possible to become ecstatic amid destruction, rejuvenate oneself through cruelty?

Grab your parachute because this woman will fly you to the peaks of ecstasy and drive you crazy enough to make you jump off.

He salutes ingratitude as an experience which shall enrich his soul. His ecstasy is terrifying at times, but it is still happiness, because it is the continual adoration of truth.

At that time of ecstasy there is no thought of others; there is NO THOUGHT. Thither I go and none may lead.

Self-love in complete perspective, serves its own invincible purpose of ecstasy. Supreme bliss simulating opposition is its balance. It suffers no hurt, neither does it labour. Is it not self-attracting and independent? Assuredly we cannot call it balance.

Find expression for a sorrow and it will become dear to you. Find expression for a joy, and you will intensify its ecstasy.

Heaven, on the other hand, is a perfect, indescribable ecstasy that never ceases.

I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!

I have sometimes thought that the reason the trees are so quiet in the summer is that they are in a sort of ecstasy; it is in winter, when the biologists tell us they sleep, that they are most awake, because the sun is gone and they are addicts without their drug, sleeping restlessly and often waking, walking the dark corridors of forests searching for the sun.