Quotes About Shadows

and thus on these evenings as the twilight softly fell and the terrace began to fill with chattering, beautifully dressed sophisticates,) I discerned in the shadows the faces of all the impossible heroes and heroines I had ever dreamed of since that moment when my hapless spirit had become entrapped by the magic of the printed word.

The waves were shadows, snakes under a quilt, creeping in almost unseen until they emerged in milky ripples at the water's edge.

Así, por obra del azar, soy y miro. Una mariposa blanca aletea en el aire con alas que sólo a ella pertenecen, y una sombra sobrevuela mi mano, la suya, no otra, no de cualquiera. Ante hechos semejantes me abandona la certeza de que lo importante es más importante que lo que no importa.

What are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?

But what are kings, when regiment is gone, But perfect shadows in a sunshine day? - Edward II, 5.1

Dawn stations, with a steel light, and waxen figures. / Dust, stone, and clanking sounds, hiss of weary steam. / Night stations, shaded light, fading pools of colour. / Shadows and the shuffling of a million feet /… The station clock with staggering hand and the callous face, / says twenty-five-to-nine

Supongo que el mensaje cliché es "nunca te rindas". Yo prefiero decir: "aprendé a convivir con tus sombras". Y no más.

Beyond thought I reach a state. I refuse to divide it up into words - and what I cannot and do not want to express ends up being the most secret of my secrets. I know that I'm scared of the moments in which I don't use thought and that's a momentary state that is difficult to reach, and which, entirely secret, no longer uses words with which thoughts are produce. Is not using words to lose your identity? is it getting lost in the harmful essential shadows?

Everything is heavy with dreams when I paint a cave or write to you about one - out of it comes the clatter of dozens of unfettered horses to trample the shadows with dry hooves, and from the friction of the hooves the rejoicing liberates itself in sparks: here I am, the cave and I, in the time that will rot us.

The heart must present itself alone to the Nothing and alone beat out in silence its palpitations in the shadows. You only sense your own heart in your ears. When it presents itself completely naked, it's not even communication, it's submission. For we were only made for the little silence, not for the silence of the stars.

Words are sounds transfused with unequal shadows that intersect, stalactites, lace, transfigured organ music. I hardly dare shout out words at this vibrant and rich, morbid and dark web which has its countertone in the thick bass of pain. Allegro con brio. I'll try to wrest gold from charcoal.

Because it's too cruel to know that life is just one time and that we have no guarantee outside our faith in shadows - because it's too cruel, so I respond with the purity of an untamable happiness. I refuse to be sad. Let us be joyful.

Beyond thought I reach a state. I refuse to divide it up into words -and what I cannot and do not want to express ends up being the most secret of my secrets. I know that I'm scared of the moments in which I don't use thought and that's a momentary state that is difficult to reach, and which, entirely secret, no longer uses the words with which thoughts are produced. Is not using words to lose your identity? is it getting lost in the harmful essential shadows?

Eu não sou um intelectual, escrevo com o corpo. E o que escrevo é uma névoa úmida. As palavras são sons transfundidos de sombras que se entrecruzam desiguais, estalactites, renda, música transfigurada de órgão.

What would a person say to himself in the madness of sincerity? But it would be salvation. Thought the terror of sincerity comes from the part of the shadows that connect me to the world and to the creating unconscious of the world. Today is a night with many stars in the sky. It stopped raining.

We all carry the question in the deepest part of our being. We turn on the lights, power up our brains, and fill every crack and crevice with illumination and distraction. But in what shadows remain, there is still that question, waiting for us. Death is waiting for us. Paradoxically, the less space we allot to it, the larger it grows. Perhaps that is why so many of us fear the dark.

The flames pitched shadows on their faces. In the forest around them, the coos and shrieks of the lizards and bugs were locked in an ancient groove, a groove so old as to be modern, like Hendrix meeting Fela Kuti.

A good many things go around in the dark besides Santa Claus.

Ik kijk door de halfgeopende jaloezieën. Ik zie een schim rond het huis van de buren waren. De schim van de man die ik tevoren al eens gezien heb in de tuin van de buren. (...) Ik open m'n raam en ik roep, niet al te luid: 'Ik ga nu de politie bellen.' De schim verstijft. Ik blijf roepen: 'Ik ga nu de politie bellen. Ik ga nu de politie bellen. Ik ga nu de politie bellen. Ik ga nu de politie bellen. Ik ga nu de politie bellen.' De man is weggevlucht uit de tuin.

The views of space and time which I wish to lay before you have sprung from the soil of experimental physics, and therein lies their strength. They are radical. Henceforth space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality.

We fell into our roles. Where there's a ventriloquist, there's a dummy. The latter word only sounds worse than the former. He disliked being told what to do. I disliked being pushed further into the shadows and speaking only through him.

He looks every inch a spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at the corner of his beautiful mouth.

They are twilight creatures, beings of dawn and dusk, of standing between one thing and another, of not quite and almost, of borderlands and shadows.

The ferns are silvery in the moonlight, the woods full of shifting shadows.