Quotes About Spirit

I don't sit in my room and hide the whole time. I think people know my spirit is real.

It was two weeks before Christmas. A slow time of year for raising the dead.

Union is only possible to those who are units. To be fit for relations in time, souls, whether of man or woman, must be able to do without them in the spirit.

Be careless in your dress if you must, but keep a tidy soul.

Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritations and resentments slip away and a sunny spirit takes their place.

There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be destroyed by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless. Observe the ass, for instance: his character is about perfect, he is the choicest spirit among all the humbler animals, yet see what ridicule has brought him to. Instead of feeling complimented when we are called an ass, we are left in doubt.

To us, our house was not unsentient matter -- it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals and solicitudes and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.

The Mississippi River towns are comely, clean, well built, and pleasing to the eye, and cheering to the spirit. The Mississippi Valley is as reposeful as a dreamland, nothing worldly about it . . . nothing to hang a fret or a worry upon.

Except for my daughters, I have not grieved for any death as I have grieved for his . His was a great and beautiful spirit, he was a man – all man, from his crown to his footsoles. My reverence for him was deep and genuine.

It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death.

Such incidents usually move me to try to find relief in the building of a maxim. It is a good way, because if you have luck you can get the venom out of yourself and into the maxim; then comfort and a healed spirit follow. Maxims are not easy to make; they do not come in right shape at the first call; they are creatures of evolution, of development; you have to try several plans before you get one that suits you, or even comes fairly near to suiting you.

O, sons of classic Italy, is the spirit of enterprise, of self-reliance, of noble endeavor, utterly dead within ye? Curse your indolent worthlessness, why don't you rob your church?

We ain't dead -- we are only off being pirates.

Old Man: The impulse which moves a person to do things - The only impulse that ever moves a person to do things Young Man: The only one! Is there but one? O.M. That is all Y.M. Well, certainly that is a strange doctrine. What is the sole impulse that ever moves a person to do a thing? O.M. The impulse to CONTENT HIS OWN SPIRIT - the NECESSITY of contenting his own spirit and WINNING ITS APPROVAL.

It is the spirit that stoopeth the shoulders, I ween, and not the weight; for armor is heavy, yet it is a proud burden, and a man standeth straight in it.

I preferred a safe horse to a fast one - I would like to have an excessively gentle horse - a horse with no spirit whatever- a lame one, if he had such a thing. Inside of five minutes I was mounted, and perfectly satisfied with my outfit. I had no time to label him 'This is a horse,' and so if the public took him for a sheep I cannot help it.

Yes, she was a poem, she was a dream, she was a spirit...

Also remember, love inhabits more than just the heart and mind.

Somewhere inside her were the souls of words. They climbed out and stood beside her.

Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.

The violence interferes. It sticks its fingers into everything and tears it open. It all comes apart, and I loath myself for waiting this long to end it. I despise myself for taking the easy options night after night. A hatred is wound up and let go in me. It hacks at my spirit and brings it to its knees, next to me. It coughs and suffocates me as my own hatred for myself becomes overwhelming.

Some people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

The crowd was itself. There was no swaying it, squeezing through or reasoning with it. You breathed with it and you sang its songs. You waited for its fire.

When I picked him up originally, the boy's spirit was soft and cold, like ice-cream. He started melting in my arms. Then warming up completely. Healing.