Quotes About Contemplation

You see, one loves the sunset when one is so sad.

She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars.

I was always sad as a child, for as long as I can think back. I hated crowds of people, and used to sit in a corner by myself, just thinking.

Was this the bright vastness the poet Bash? saw when he wrote of the Milky Way arched over a stormy sea?

His practice was to listen noncommittally with half his mind, while he allowed the other half to lose itself in utterly unrelated , often deeply lonely musings. From the speaker's perspective it was like sticking a lance into something again and again with no result...

The quietest of people have the loudest of minds.

Our master Caesar is in the tent Where the maps are spread, His eyes fixed upon nothing, A hand under his head. Like a long-legged fly upon the stream His mind moves upon silence.

Meditation is a silent way of looking at resistance. You're not running away from it -- you're sitting with the resistance ... basically you're trying to follow the resistance. And I think that's very interesting.

Even if a person excels in Torah and good deeds more than all his contemporaries, if he has not learned the secrets of Torah and the wisdom of truth, he must reincarnate in the world (...) Now the matter is clarifiedthe whole part of the revealed Torah is but a preparation to become worthy and merit attaining the concealed part. It is the concealed part that is very wholeness and the purpose for which man is created.

My dear, you are a mathematician. You're even more, you're a philosopher of mathematics. So do this for me: Tell me the final number.

Imagine yourself standing on a shore: waves rhythmically rising, rising, and then suddenly they stay there, they set, they freeze.

The speed of a tongue should always go some seconds behind the speed of thought, never the other way around.

But, my dear friends, you must try to think a little now—it will help matters.

She was looking down at something; her eyes were lowered, like blinds. I thought suddenly of how you walk along the avenue around 22:00 hours, and among the brightly lit cages there are some dark ones, with the blinds lowered...What was going on there in her head, behind her blinds? ... Then she raised the blinds, looked up...

I am alone. It is evening. There is a light fog. The sky is covered by a thin milky-golden tissue. If I only knew what is there—higher. If I only knew who I am. Which I am I?

the speed of the tongue should always be some seconds behind the speed of thought, but certainly not the other way around.

Reading Turgenev":

Reading, however, is a kind of private freedom: out of time, out of place.

Where did that dog Waga ie no that used to be here go? inu wa izuko ni I thought about him yukinuramu once again tonight koyoi mo omoi before I went to bed. idete nemureru How is a person's poetry

Being alone is very difficult.

Would one not say that these lines had been written yesterday ? More than ever our age of unrest makes us the prey of impulses, and to the majority of our contemporaries, the robe, half green and half yellow (by recalling to them the worship of common sense), will become a fetish, more precious than all the amulets with which superstition loves to adorn logic, or to incorporate fantastic outline in the classic setting of beautiful jewels.

The pleasantest of all diversions is to sit alone under the lamp, a book spread out before you, and to make friends with people of a distant past you have never known.

In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom; but he who reflects not, never reaps.

A month alone behind closed doors forgotten books, remembered, clear again. Poems come, like water to the pool Welling, up and out, from perfect silence