Quotes About Wonder

No. No, first comes boyhood. You get to play with soldiers and spacemen, cowboys and ninjas, pirates and robots. But before you know it, all that comes to an end. And then, Remo Williams, is when the adventure begins.

Lebanese poet Khalil Gibran says: "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain; and could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy.

I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself now and then in finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." – Isaac Newton

It is a pity that Earth has lost its dragons, for they added immeasurably to the strangeness of our world. This, it seemed to me, was a good thing.

For what kind of world is it that has no unicorns?

Each of us is a miracle. Alas, it is a fact we too often forget.

Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one can't believe impossible things." "I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." —Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

I am leaning back and running with it and staring at the stars and I'm eleven, I'm sixteen, I'm eighteen, I'm a newborn I'm everyone everywhere with you without you unbound set free in limbo lost at sea.

Each of us has been designed for one of two immortal functions, as either a storyteller or as a cross-legged listener to tales of wonder, love, and daring. When we cease to tell or listen, then we no longer exist as a people.

In this world there are very few things made from logic alone. It is illogical for man to be too logical. Some things we must just let stand. The mystery is more important than any possible explanation.

in Mexico there is a cactus that even sometimes you would think God forgets. But no, my friends, this is not so. On a full moon in the desert every one hundred years He remembers and opens a single flower to bloom. And If you would be there and you see this beautiful cactus blossom painted silver by the moon and laughing up at the stars, this, Peekay, is heaven … This is the faith in God the cactus has.

By the way, did you fellows know that a hummingbird weighs as much as a quarter? Do you think a hummingbird also weighs the same as two dimes and a nickel? But then she asked a question of her own: How do they weigh a hummingbird?

Do my ears deceive me, or can I actually hear the sounds of worms turning? You say a turning worm makes no sound? But how about a chorus of turning worms?

As long as a thing is unknown, it belongs to us in a way that well-known things do not. For we have the opportunity to fill the empty, unknown spaces for ourselves, and in them there is room for imagination and for hope.

Really believing in once upon a time. Believing that it will draw you in, take you with me to a place you've never been before.

For in hope's absence, a miracle arrived

The reality of this wide-eyed caramel-coloured wonder was arresting. This was the future, alive and kicking in my arms.

The thing I love watching most is the swirling cotton candy. The contraption for making it is like a flat-bottomed pan. One puts sugar in it, turns the crank, and after a while, a large shimmering ball emerges; it's like cotton—and like silk, too. Indeed, there's nothing lovelier.

Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder--no matter how old you became and how much you'd seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.

The evening news made her wonder if God was dead; the morning sun made her believe He wasn't.

the world appears beautiful so that the living may love being alive in it. Life has developed-and we have inherited-a sense of the beautiful to let us feel at home in the world, without further reason.

The Cosmos is all that is or was or ever will be. Our feeblest contemplations of the Cosmos stir us -- there is a tingling in the spine, a catch in the voice, a faint sensation, as if a distant memory, of falling from a height. We know we are approaching the greatest of mysteries.

But nature is always more subtle, more intricate, more elegant than what we are able to imagine.

Who are we? We find that we live on an insignificant planet of a humdrum star lost in a galaxy tucked away in some forgotten corner of a universe in which there are far more galaxies than people.