Quotes About Echo

Others live for the lie of love; Echo lives for her lovely lies, loves for their livening.

Then breaking out in the bitterness of my soul, I said to myself with a grievous sigh, How can God comfort such a wretch!  I had no sooner said it, but this returned upon me, as an echo doth answer a voice: This sin is not unto death.  At which I was, as if I had been raised out of the grave, and cried out again, Lord, how couldst Thou find out such a word as this! 

life is not an echo, endlessly returning the past to us so that we might read and reread in its fading variations the meanings we cannot keep ourselves from wanting.

No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away...

It was like someone far away calling someone else's name.

Freaks are called freaks and are treated as they are treated – in the main, abominably – because they are human beings who cause to echo, deep within us, our most profound terrors and desires.

Gather a shell from the strewn beach And listen at its lips: they sigh The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea's speech.

endings that are muted, but which echo longer in the memory than louder, more explosive denouements.

He raised his head to work out whether the memory was genuine or whether it was some reverse echo by which the present seems to duplicate itself in the past.

He has described in precise, measured words the beautiful desolation he feels at the close of novels where the message is that there is no end to human suffering, only endurance. He has spoken of endings that are muted, but which echo longer in the memory than louder, more explosive denouements. He has explained why it is that ambiguity touches his heart more nearly than the death and marriage style of finish that I prefer.

He raised his head to work out whether the memory was genuine or whether it was some curious reverse echo by which the present seems to duplicate itself

I was going to give the farewell call – a farewell for ever this time, not just for a year. The call is a queer wordless cry made up of all the vowel sounds - and it was thrilling when Rose and I used to make it together, but I do it fairly well by myself. 'Ayieou!' I called - and it echoed back from the castle walls as I knew it would.

when we go someplace, we leave a part of our energy there and we influence more than we can ever imagine.

We drove in silence behind a motorboat being towed by a black pickup. I thought of his remarks about matter and being, those long nights on the deck, half smashed, he and I, transcendence, paroxysm, the end of human consciousness. It seemed so much dead echo now. Point omega. A million years away. The omega point has narrowed, here and now, to the point of a knife as it enters a body. All the man's grand themes funneled down to local grief, one body, out there somewhere, or not.

Her tiny piping voice bounced down to be from a hollow ball in geosynchronous orbit.

The ceilings had set off a ghostly echo, giving all that desperate hilarity the quality of a memory even as I sat listening to it, memories of things I'd never known.

the vacuum left by the departing visitor seemed to echo along the hallway and into the walls. It was at those times, when her aloneness took on a darker hue, that she almost wished there would be no more guess, for then there would be no chasm of emptiness for her to negotiate when they were gone.

Krohan but from that distance he sounded almost

Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

The earth seemed to echo where I walked. Above me the sky stretched out its empty hands.

A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart

tower. I heard the laughter

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In Damascus: poems become diaphanous They're neither sensual nor intellectual they are what echo says to echo . . .