Quotes About Contemplation

Si uno busca tranquilidad, silencio y serenidad, que no lo busque en su vida ya que encontrará todo y más en el cementerio.

Wpatrzony w ciemniejÄ…ce niebo, w gwiazdy, które byÅ'y tylko widmowym cieniem ziemskich gwiazd, staÅ'em bez ruchu, a w pustce, która zastÄ™powaÅ'a gonitwÄ™ myÅ›li sprzed chwili, rosÅ'a bez sÅ'ów martwa, obojÄ™tna pewno??, ?e tam, dokÄ…d nie mogÅ'em siÄ™gn??, wybraÅ'em ju? i udajÄ…c, ?e nic siÄ™ nie staÅ'o, nie miaÅ'em nawet tyle siÅ'y, ?eby sobÄ… wzgardzi?.

You sit at the board and suddenly your heart leaps. Your hand trembles to pick up the piece and move it. But what chess teaches you is that you must sit there calmly and think about whether it's really a good idea and whether there are other, better ideas.

If man merely sat back and thought about his impending termination, and his terrifying insignificance and aloneness in the cosmos, he would surely go mad, or succumb to a numbing sense of futility.

E penso a te che mi hai ascoltato. E mi hai reso diverso, nei mille pezzi di specchio, perchè sarò diverso ogni volta che mi rileggerai, e diverso per ognuno che mi leggerò, svogliato o rapito.

On the whole, Flora liked it better when they were silent, though it did rather give her the feeling that she was acting in one of the less cheerful German highbrow films.

This morning, she still seemed distant, but more in the manner of planning

In biblical times, Hope was an Oasis in the Desert. In medieval days, a shack free of Plague. Today, Hope is no longer a place for contemplation—litigation being the preferred new order of the day.

To meditate is not to empty the mind and gape at things in a trancelike stupor. Nothing significant will ever be revealed by just staring blankly at an object long and hard enough. To meditate is to probe with intense sensitivity each glimmer of color, each cadence of sound, each touch of another's hand, each fumbling word that tries to utter what cannnot be said. The

By meditating on death, we paradoxically become conscious of life.

Solitude is good for great minds but bad for small ones. It troubles brains that it does not illuminate." Yet Hugo was unable to go as far as his older English contemporary William Wordsworth, for whom solitude was a "bliss" that filled the heart with joy. Largely avoiding its extremes of hell and bliss, here I will explore the middle ground of solitude, which I consider a site of autonomy, wonder, contemplation, imagination, inspiration, and care.

This deep not-knowing, in this case the Second Patriarch's inability to find his anguished mind, takes the notion of agnosticism down to another depth. One might call it a contemplative depth. Such deep agnostic metaphors are likewise found in such terms as wu hsin (no mind), and wu nien (no thought), as well as in the more popular "don't know mind" of the Korean Zen master Seung Sah?

Sculpting the very earth. That boast stuck in a corner of my mind, though I wasn't sure why, at the time. Perhaps in retrospect what I can only call my revelation was already stirring, like a seed in the watered ground. As I will relate in its place.

What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Sometimes, I look outside, and I think that a lot of other people have seen this snow before. Just like I think that a lot of other people have read those books before. And listened to those songs. I wonder how they feel tonight.

Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.

I just laid around in my bed, looking at the ceiling, and i smiled because it was a nice kind of quiet.

I know we didn't accomplish anything, but it felt great to sit there and talk about our place in things.

I wonder what my speech would be.

After I finished, I just laid around in my bed, looking at the ceiling, and I smiled because it was a nice kind of quiet.

I look at people holding hands in the hallways, and I try to think about how it all works.

I guess that's natural, but I'm not sure why.

I put the book down and went to the window. I stared at my reflection and the trees behind it for a long time. Not thinking anything. Not hearing the record.

Do you always think this much, Charlie?