Quotes About Tranquility

Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.

O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

There is no fear of robbers nor highwaymen, no one challenges you where you are going nor where you have come from;

It comes down to this: Who am I? Am I my no-chemicals-added self, no matter how unhappy I may be? Or Should I swallow this pill, achieve tranquility and risk obliterating a certain essential part of me?

One of the deepest needs of the human soul is for centeredness . . . which confers meaning on the shapelessness of temporal existence.

Tranquillus Deus tranquillat omnia—a tranquil God tranquilizes all things.

The things that stayed were things that didn't matter except they stayed, night and day, all seasons the same, and were peaceful to a fault and boded no ill but thought well enough of themselves to repeat their presences.

When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country.

I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company enough for me.

It was a smile of total reassurance and gave all who saw it a feeling of intense well-being. Not joy, but something akin to a sleepy peace. A sort of not-a-worry-in-the-world sensation.

The garden is a miraculous place, and anything can happen on a beautiful moonlit night.

It's only when I yield to the river and embrace the journey that I find peace.

and the smoke from the fire rose straight up toward the arc of the heavens, which was sugared with stars.

The air was still, like a held breath.

The snowmobiles were out in force on Iron Lake, zipping about the ice like ants frenzying on a frosted cake. In summer it was motorboats and Jet Skis and sailboats. No matter what the season the lake had little peace.

the sky, settling in

There's a place you can get to. It's hard to find and it's easy to fall out of, but there it is, that place. It is the sweetest place you've never been and it's called I Don't Give a Crap. Book yourself a ticket.

We talked about this before. The rare beauty of nonattachment.

A feast of smooth oblivion.

Why art thou come, man of despair and blood! To these green vales and streams, o'erhung with wood; These hills, where, far from life's discordant throng, The lonely goat-maid chaunts her matin song; This sylvan glen, where age in peace reclines, Soothed by the whisper of his native pines; Where, in the twilight of his closing days, Upon the glimmering lake he loves to gaze; And, like his life, sees on the shadowy flood, The still, sweet eve descending!

Siempre he envidiado a las personas que se duermen con facilidad. Sus cerebros deben de estar más limpios, los suelos del cráneo bien barridos, y todos los pequeños monstruos de la mente encerrados en un baúl a los pies de la cama.

I've always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.

Companionate love is the calmer state that comes after, filled more with quiet satisfaction, friendship, and a gentler happiness