Quotes About Renewal

We all need something that helps us to forget ourselves for a while

The day is ending. It's time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go. Watch the heat of the day pass into the cool night. Let go. When the past has passed from you at last, let go. Then climb down and begin the rest of your life. With great joy.

What is the scent of water? Renewal. The goodness of God coming down like dew.

Nothing is ever finished and done with in this world. You may think a seed was finished and done with when it falls like a dead thing into the earth; but when it puts forth leaves and flowers next spring you see your mistake.

May the stars guide you. May the winds cleanse all ills and remain at your back. May the earth protect you and give you strength. May fire guard you, and rain refresh you, may all nature be your friend until we meet again in this place.

A broken heart is not the same as sadness. Sadness occurs when the heart is stone cold and lifeless. On the contrary, there is an unbelievable amount of vitality in a broken heart.

only the most hardy of living things survive renewal.

For us what was killing was how nothing had changed. We'd been waiting to be transformed, and now here we were, back in our old life.

There is nothing so absolutely bracing for the soul as the frequent turning of one's back on duties.

May 2nd.—Last night after dinner, when we were in the garden, I said, I want to be alone for a whole summer, and get to the very dregs of life. I want to be as idle as I can, so that my soul may have time to grow. Nobody shall be invited to stay with me, and if any one calls they will be told that I am out, or away, or sick.

For a great calm was now upon her, a delicious feeling of being new—as new and untouched as the fresh young morning itself. Sleep had held her in its arms, and smoothed out all yesterday's furrows. The night was gone, and out of its blackness had come this golden flower of day, with leaves rustling in the sun....

Oh, delight, delight to think one didn't die this time, that one isn't going to die this time after all, but is going to get better, going to live, going presently to be quite well again and able to go back to one's friends, to the people who still love one....

It is hard to get back what is lost. It is more difficult still to begin anew.

This choreography of ruin, the world breaking like glass under a microscope, the way it doesn't crack all at once, but spreads out from the damaged cavities. Still for a moment it all recedes. The backyard potatoes swell quietly buried beneath their canopy of leaves. The wind rubs its hands through the trees.

Death is senseless yet makes way for the living.

What matters is to leave what has always been, and look for what has never been yet. I had had riches and marriage and a child, and I had nothing. Nothing is not enough for any man. The only answer is to abandon that nothing, and go in search of something. A different kind of treasure, perhaps. A different kind of salvation. Perhaps not salvation at all, only the loss of oneself.

We shall not have succeeded in demolishing everything unless we demolish the ruins as well. But the only way I can see of doing that is to use them to put up a lot of fine, well-designed buildings.

Only a few yards away a little stream of fresh

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:The old order changeth, yielding place to new;And God fulfills himself in many ways,Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of old,Ring in the thousand years of peace.

In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

And from his ashes may be madeThe violet of his native land.

And ah for a man to arise in me,That the man I am may cease to be!

The mountain endures. But when after ages it has worn away, it has gone. If a replica arises, it is yet a new mountain. A colour is eternal. It haunts time like a spirit. It comes and it goes. But where it comes, it is the same colour. It neither survives nor does it live.