Quotes About Serenity

The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.

She floats upon the river of his thoughts.

How Beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! -Rain in Summer

I hear the wind among the trees playing the celestial symphonies.

STILL stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow,   Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.

Though the birds sang gayly to him, Though the wild-flowers of the meadow Filled the air with odors for him, Though the forests and the rivers Sang and shouted at his coming, Still his heart was sad within him, For he was alone in heaven.

Silence, healing.

But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy.

I am madness maddened! That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself

At length I fell asleep, with the volume in my hand; and never slept so sound before

What business have I with this pipe? This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. I'll smoke no more.

And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight. But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there i still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy.

Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever. But

there was yet, it then seemed to me, many a pleasant haven in store; and meads and glades so eternally vernal, that the grass shot up by the spring, untrodden, unwilted, remains at midsummer.

content with his own companionship;

I learned to fly a few years ago in England. It's the only place I'm completely alone - up in the air, detached from everything.

I don't like to yell and scream. I actually hate it.

I don't like to yell.

I don't like yelling and fighting, and I can't quarrel.

There was a lot of Southern Baptist preachers and some yelling ones but mostly we had a pastor who didn't scream and I found a lot of comfort and joy and peace as a child hearing the Bible.

Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and numbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me - I am happy.

Yes, I think I am like the sea. I appear calm on the surface, but there's a lot going on within. Many a times, I may not react to certain things, but that doesn't mean that I don't care or I don't have emotions.