Quotes About Serenity

what she had

But sometimes she had found time to be alone, to seek peace, to seek the remnants of herself.

She tried not to think. She tried to allow the quietness and the dusk to soothe her and heal her.

You cannot fail to enjoy yourself there and forget all your woes.

Go back to sleep. There will be no more dreams.

There was a sweet, seductive feeling of comfort and closeness, with no unease at all.

the slightest noise

What shall I say? I'll be calm. What was that my father always said? Meet life gently and gently will it use you. I'll be gentle. That's how I'll be--gentle. But oh, how can I get gentle in a hurry?

If it's meant to be, it will happen naturally.

The image pleases me enough : to slip from the body's tight container and into some luminous womb, gliding there without effort till the distant shapes glow brighter and more familiar, till all your beloveds hover before you, their lit arms held out in welcome.

Being angry is not just being slightly feverish; it is confronting a world in which other people look more hostile and threatening than they normally would. Actions of others which would normally appear harmless now seem like attacks upon one. The angry person is shorter than usual on confidence and serenity, and more inclined for aggression. He easily believes himself to be wronged. And so on

The Old Poets Of China Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it. Now I understand why the old poets of China went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

Poem of the One World This morning the beautiful white heron was floating along above the water and then into the sky of this the one world we all belong to where everything sooner or later is a part of everything else which thought made me feel for a little while quite beautiful myself.

At Blackwater Pond At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?

All morning it has been raining. In the language of the garden, this is happiness.

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider the orderliness of the world.

When I woke the morning light was just slipping in front of the stars and I was covered with blossoms.

What good does it do to lie all day in the sun loving what's easy? It never grew easy, but at least I grew peaceful:

On the windless days, when the maples have put forth their deep canopies, and the sky is wearing its new blue immensities, and the wind has dusted itself not an hour ago in some spicy field and hardly touches us as it passes by, what is it we do? We lie down and rest upon the generous earth. Very likely we fall asleep.

Clear pebbles of the rain

For me it was important to be alone; solitude was a prerequisite to being openly and joyfully susceptible and responsive to the world of leaves, light, birdsong, flowers, flowing water.

I want to sit down on the sand and look around and get dreamy; I want to see what spirits are peeking out of the faces of the roses.

Oh, I would like to live in an empty house, with vines for walls, and a carpet of grass. No planks, no plastic, no fiberglass.

The snails on the pink sleds of their bodies are moving among the morning glories The spider is asleep among the red thumbs of the raspberries.