Quotes About Serenity

She lifted her head, breathing in the wild sea air. This was where she was supposed to be. This was her ocean.

Not thinking sounded pretty appealing right now.

The sun was just starting to sink below the trees.

for? There was a moment of silence down below, and

A man's pillow is his best medicine

That was what he wanted, to be baked dry and hard, to feel the vaporous worries evaporating one by one, to know finally that all the damp little doubts and hesitations that covered the floor of his being were curling up and expiring in the great furnace-blast of the sun.

There is greater comfort in the substance of silence than in the answer to a question

the ancient Egyptians prescribed walking through a garden as a cure for the mad.

When the uniqueness of a place sings to us like a melody, then we will know, at last, what it means to be at home.

Nobody knows how to just shut the fuck up and look out the window anymore.

Human beings were designed to live sanely, and sanity always returns.

Soon would come the night in which there was no more work – not the work of the hands, nor the work of the mind, nor the work of the heart.

To travel unconnected, away from anyone's gaze or reach, is bliss

January snow lay thick on the ground—crusty, pitted, and hardened, some of it like the bubbly honeycomb of air-dried sea foam in the tide wrack down at the beach, the sort of snow that stays so long you get used to the intrusion of that world of uninvited white, a hooded subverted landscape, sparkling in the low flame of a sallow sunrise on a winter morning.

To travel unconnected, away from anyone's gaze or reach, is a bliss.

spent the rest of the morning in the gardens on my own, loving the solitude

And for all the downtown serenity—the lollygagging, the churchgoing, the taco stands, the mariachi bands, the shoe shiners in the plaza—one is urged by locals to avoid venturing out of town

The train was sunlit and emptier.

peaceful and salubrious El Paso

for the space and spontaneity of a convenient and roomy country

the susurrus slowly dying away to a vibrant silence.

Yet the days I spent in Mazatlán were peaceful, strolling on the malecón—thirteen miles of seafront promenade

Perhaps it was working; side by side, Douglas (a town that had lost its industries) and Agua Prieta (a town that had gained many factories) stood out as the safest and most serene towns I saw in the whole of my traverse of the border.

Write the story of a contemporary cured of his heartbreaks solely by long contemplation of a landscape