Quotes About Serenity

It is the still, yellow kind of afternoon when one is apt to get stuck in a dream if one sits very quiet

You lose yourself in something beyond yourself and it's a lovely rest.

Once I really looked at the sky, I wanted to go on looking; it seemed to draw me towards it and make me listen hard, though there was nothing to listen to, not so much as a twig was stirring.

When you are not losing your mind and you are calm, it doesn't matter what you do. People will see that in you and seek that in you because they don't know what to make out of what they're seeing. And you may not know what to make out of what you're seeing, but you have been prepared.

May the days be aimless. Let the seasons drift. Do not advance the action according to a plan.

That clean but lonely feeling when there are no other cars. The traffic lights changing just for you.

I sat on the front steps alone, waiting for a sense of ease and peace to settle in the air around me. A woman passing on the street said, ´A decongestant, an antihistamine, a cough suppressant, a pain reliever.´

If there is a secular equivalent of standing in a great spired Cathedral with marble pillars and streams of mystic light slanting through two-tier Gothic windows, it would be watching children in their little bedrooms fast asleep. Girls especially.

Las puestas de sol no tienen prisa, y nosotros tampoco. El cielo se encuentra sometido a un sortilegio poderoso y estructurado.

If you are going to worry about it, I won't.

Anyone can be captain in a calm sea.

It's all about finding the calm in the chaos

Beauty was where you found it, and it was always comforting to see.

She stood motionless like that for

Are you always up this early?' I asked him. 'Almost always,' he said without looking up. 'It's beautiful here, but morning light can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

Upon meeting Julian Morrow, one has the impression that he is a man of extraordinary sympathy and warmth. But what you call his 'Asiatic serenity' is, I think, a mask for great coldness. The face one shows him he invariably reflects back at one, creating the illusion of warmth and depth when in fact he is brittle and shallow as a mirror.

It's beautiful here, but morning light can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

I waited for him to pick up the thread again—and when he didn't, we sat there peacefully, while I sipped my cooling tea (Lapsang Souchong, smoky and peculiar) and felt the strangeness of my life, and where I was.

a light that made me think of long hours in dusty libraries, and old books, and silence.

The swish of the oars and the hypnotic thrum of dragonflies blended with his academic monotone. Camilla, flushed and sleepy, trailed her hand in the water. Yellow birch leaves blew from the trees and drifted down to rest on the surface.

It's beautiful here, but morning light can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

Was it wrong, wanting to sleep late with the covers over my head and wander around a peaceful house with old seashells in drawers and wicker baskets of folded upholstery fabric stored under the parlor secretary, sunset falling in drastic coral spokes through the fanlight over the front door?

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 paintings. Rugs worn to threads, painted Japanese fans and antique valentines flickering in candlelight, Pierrots and doves and flowergarlanded hearts.

Well, hey, you don't have anything to worry about then, do you?