Quotes About Renewal

Little boy, Full of joy; Little girl, Sweet and small; Cock does crow, So do you; Merry voice, Infant noise; Merrily, merrily to welcome in the year.

What's happened to my life? These ten-year chunks that are doled out to you in passports are a cruel form of memento mori. How many more new passports will I have? One (1965)? Two (1975)? Such a long way off, 1975, yet your passport life seems all too brief. How long did he live? He managed to renew six passports.

Vuja dé is the flip side of that—looking at a familiar situation (an industry you've worked in for decades, products you've worked on for years) as if you've never seen it before, and, with that fresh line of sight, developing a distinctive point of view on the future.

and so by your love the very sun itself is revived

Clean is he alone after whom stream the broken pieces of the city— flying apart at his approaches

Unleashed! Alone, watching the May moon above the trees . At nine o'clock the park closes. You must be out of the lake, dressed, in your cars and going: they change into their street clothes in the back seats and move out among the trees . The "great beast" all removed before the plunging night, the crickets' black wings and hylas wake .

age and learn to breathe again

Memory is a kind of accomplishment, a sort of renewal even an initiation, since the spaces it opens are new places inhabited by hordes heretofore unrealized, of new kinds? since their movements are towards new objectives (even though formerly they were abandoned).

One minute gives invention to destroy, What, to rebuild, will a whole age employ.

The whiskey died away in time and was renewed and died again, but the street ran on. From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene ...

Let the past abolish the past when -- and if -- it can substitute something better.

It does last, Horace said. Spring does. You'd almost think there was some purpose to it.

In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep you are not. And when you are filled with sleep you never were.

Yes, urge I do: warped chrysalis of what blind perfect seed: for who shall say what gnarled forgotten root might not bloom yet with some globed concentrate more globed and concentrate and heady-perfect because the neglected root was planted warped and lay not dead but merely slept forgot?

Perhaps he was conscious of somewhere within him the two severed wireends of volition and sentience lying, not touching now, waiting to touch, to knit anew so that he could move.

In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were.

We must redefine the American dream so that it does not rest on the assumption that we can throw old places away and create new ones in the middle of nowhere.

Perhaps the various burnings of the Alexandria Library were necessary, like those Australian Forest Fires without which the new seeds cannot burst their shells and make a young, healthy forest.

DOC    No Ã¢â'¬Â¦ no, Baby. We should never feel bad about what's past. What's in the past can't be helped. You Ã¢â'¬Â¦ you've got to forget it and live for the present. If you can't forget the past, you stay in it and never get out.

My little Asticot, I have abjured absinthe and forsworn cafés. I have broken my new porcelain pipe and have cut my finger-nails. As I enter on the path of happiness, I scatter the dregs and shreds and clippings of the past behind me. I divest myself of all the crapulous years.

Round about the accredited and orderly facts of every science there ever floats a sort of dust-cloud of exceptional observations, of occurrences minute and irregular and seldom met with, which it always proves more easy to ignore than to attend to... Anyone will renovate his science who will steadily look after the irregular phenomena, and when science is renewed, its new formulas often have more of the voice of the exceptions in them than of what were supposed to be the rules.

Says Saint Teresa:— Like imperfect sleep which, instead of giving more strength to the head, doth but leave it the more exhausted, the result of mere operations of the imagination is but to weaken the soul. Instead of nourishment and energy she reaps only lassitude and disgust: whereas a genuine heavenly vision yields to her a harvest of ineffable spiritual riches, and an admirable renewal of bodily strength.

The miracle is this: that you will rise in the morning and be able to see again the startling beauty of the day.

Death isn't what it used to be