Quotes About Shadow

Fact I know; and Law I know; but what is this Necessity, save an empty shadow of my own mind's throwing?

Everyone prefers to continue their existence as a mind and a self, no matter what pain it causes them, no matter how false and unreal they might be, than to face the quite obvious reality and being only a body set in motion by this mindless, soulless, and selfless force which he designated the shadow, the darkness.

When men yield up the privilege of thinking, the last shadow of liberty quits the horizon.

What are Raphael's Madonnas but the shadow of a mother's love, fixed in permanent outline forever?

He respected the slight nervous shadow that crossed her face when he came too near her. But there arose out of this denial itself the perfume of a tenderness, that ghost of passion which, in the most unexpected relationship, can make even a whole lifetime devoted to irksome duty pass like a gracious dream.

Without the shading there is not so much depth. A poster without any shading may be brilliant and effective; but it does not have depth in it. The contrast between shadow and light gives an added dimension to the painting. So it is in the chart, recognition of the Shadow seems to intensify the highlights. (Carl Leipert)

I am the shadow on the moon at night/Filling your dreams to the brim with fright.

like a mountain path that ends at a cliff I travel along the edge of your thoughts, and my shadow falls from your white forehead, my shadow shatters, and I gather the pieces and go with no body, groping my way

La mucha luz es como la mucha sombra: no deja ver.

I am where I was: I walk behind the murmur, footsteps within me, heard with my eyes, the murmur is in the mind, I am my footsteps, I hear the voices that I think, the voices that think me as as I think them. I am the shadow my words cast. from Draft of Shadows

I am the shadow my words cast

Armed with the arms of summer you come into my room come into my mind and untie the river of language look at yourself in these hurried words Bit by bit the day burns out over the erasing landscape your shadow is a land of birds the sun scatters with a wave from "THE ARMS OF SUMMER

Es difícil no simpatizar con Michaux: más vale ser desconocido que mal conocido. La mucha luz es como la mucha sombra: no deja ver. (Prólogo de «Las enseñanzas de don Juan»)

Where ideas are real and reality is shadow.

What men call the shadow of the body is not the shadow of the body, but is the body of the soul.

How pale the Princess is! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver.

His feet are light and nimble. He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He dances in light and in shadow and he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.

Crouched in the broken shadow with the sun at his back and holding the trap at eyelevel against the morning sky he looked to be truing some older, some subtler instrument. Astrolabe or sextant. Like a man bent at fixing himself someway in the world. Bent on trying by arc or chord the space between his being and the world that was. If there be such space. If it be knowable.

The crimes of the moonlight melonmounter followed him as crimes will.

Der Schatten des Jungen strich über ihn. Mit einem Bündel Holz in den Armen. Er sah ihm zu, wie er die Flammen anfachte. Gottes Feuerdrache. Funken stoben auf und erstarben im sternenlosen Dunkel. Nicht alle letzten Worte sind wahr, und diese Wohltat ist, obwohl ihres Bodens beraubt, nicht weniger real.

Such a man is like a dreamer who wakes from a dream of grief to a greater sorrow yet. All that he loves is now become a torment to him. The pin has been pulled from the axis of the universe. Whatever one takes one's eye from threatens to flee away. Such a man is lost to us. He moves and speaks. But he is himself less than the merest shadow among all that he beholds. There is no picture of him possible. The smallest mark upon the page exaggerates his presence

He stood in the center of the square where the tracks of commerce lay fossilized in dried mud about him, turning, an amphitheatrical figure in that moonwrought waste manacled to a shadow that struggled grossly in the dust.

He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He dances in light and in shadow and he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.

Follow me, reader, if you dare. Take my hand, for we can fly swifter than the Deadly Shadow; we can follow the sound of ticking teeth faster than they can, and trace the Hero back to where he lies, on the little isle of Hero's End.