Quotes About Contemplation

Si tu te sens seul lorsque tu es seul, tu es en mauvaise compagnie.

Now I think of no one anymore. I don't even bother looking for words. It flows in me, more or less quickly. I fix nothing, I let it go. Through the lack of attaching myself to words, my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time. They sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up: I forget them almost immediately.

Le silence, c'est Dieu. L'absence, c'est Dieu. Dieu, c'est la solitude des hommes.

Now I think of no one any more. I don't even bother looking for words. It flows in me, more or less quickly. I fix nothing, I let it go. Through the lack of attaching myself to words, my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time. They sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up: I forget them almost immediately.

But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.

Dexter the sofa spud ...

How could I be thinking such absurdities?

Closer, still careful and quiet, and all is exactly what it should be and then we are at the door of the Mustang. Unlocked—the contemptible little beast has made it far too easy for us and we slide into the backseat so careful-quiet and melt into the unseen darkness on the car's floor—and then we wait. Seconds

the gift from Vergennes, staring

If you ever go there, go to the Philosopher's walk. Away from all the tourists and crowds. It's a place that smells of that most beautiful smell, the smell of thought.

stop for a drink, which made him feel

stood as she left the table, and wondered if three

longer looking at the

I don't know," sighed

Over supper of a bowl of Heinz tomato soup and a sausage roll, he went over again and

Virginia Fenwick is considering selling

was asking himself long before he'd

Mindfulness is based in a daily meditation practice

To her surprise, Madeleine found herself contemplating this proposal. Why not tell her parents everything, curl up in the backseat of the car, and let them take her home? She could move into her old bedroom, with the sleigh bed and the Madeline wallpaper. She could become a spinster, like Emily Dickinson, writing poems full of dashes and brilliance, and never gaining weight.

and the magisterial presence of all those words stopped her in her tracks.

The magisterial presence of all those potentially readable words stopped her in her tracks.

There was something enjoyable about wandering around the city alone, feeling forlorn.

It had already crossed her mind that the swimming pool might invite oblivion.

The moments that led up to me fell into place as though decreed. Which, I guess, is why I think about them so much.