Quotes About Serenity

I watched you while you were sleeping and you looked completely at peace. I wish I could feel that. I wish I could close my eyes and feel at peace. But I can't. I can't feel anything if I'm not with you, and even then all I can do is want something that I don't think I can ever have, at least not now. so I left this, and my peace, with you. Stark.

Being on a boat that's moving through the water, it's so clear. Everything falls into place in terms of what's important and what's not.

The silence between us was happy and strange, connected by the cord and the icy voices thinly echoing. "You don't have to talk," she said. "If you don't feel like it." Her eyelids were heavy and her voice was drowsy and like a secret. "People always want to talk but I like being quiet.

and though she was not beautiful her calmness had the magnetic pull of beauty—a stillness so powerful that the molecules realigned themselves around her when she came into a room.

The silence between us was happy and strange

Cinnamon-colored walls, rain on the windowpanes, vast quiet and a sense of depth and distance, like the varnish over the background of a nineteenth-century painting.

The swish of the oars and the hypnotic thrum of dragonflies blended with his academic monotone.

The hedges and the acres and acres of lawn were covered in a network of spider web that caught the dew in beads so that it glistened white as frost.

And now," said Julian, when everything was quiet, "I hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime?

something about the place inspired a magnificent laziness I hadn't known since childhood.

The woods were silent, not a sound. Henry smiled. Why, looking for new ferns, he said, and took a step towards him.

A teahouse amid the cherry blossoms, on the way to death. p136

Those first days before classes started I spent alone in my whitewashed room, in the bright meadows of Hampden. And I was happy in those first days as really I'd never been before, roaming like a sleepwalker, stunned and drunk with beauty.

So love is rest? The cosy corner? The little nook? Sometimes it ought to be. Sometimes it is.

It was good standing there on the promontory overlooking the evening sea, the fog lifting itself like gauzy veils to touch his face. There was something in it akin to flying; the sense of being lifted high above crawling earth, of being a part of the wildness of air.

He looked well. And as if somewhere, lately, he had tasted happiness.

And, long since ashore with his men and his booty, Crawford of Lymond, man of wit and crooked felicities, bred to luxury and heir to a fortune, rode off serenely to Midculter to break into his new sister-in-law's castle.

He's s o damned moral that he ought to be standing rear up under a Bo Tree.

Alec Guthrie's voice, serene from the shadows, said, You are not going to Russia. You are not going. All your life you have resented control and brooked no hint of instruction or guidance. This time, your will is not paramount.

And then, at night, the lit lamp and the drawn curtain, with the flutter of the turned page and soft scrape of pen on paper the only sounds to break the silence between quarter- and quarter-chime.

But peace is in the mind, and not in streets, however old and beautiful

the noiseless tenor of our way

Her mind lives tidily, apart from cold and noise and pain. And bolts the door against her heart, out wailing in the rain.

I like it better in the dusk, like this. It's sweet. Dusk is so personal, somehow.