Quotes About Stones

The stole is a sling in which the priest carries on his shoulder living stones, the burden of the churches, the missions of the entire world. He drags the whole of humanity to the altar, where he joins heaven and earth together. For his hands raised at the Consecration merge into the Hands of Christ in heaven, who 'lives on still to make intercession on our behalf.

My desk is covered with talismans: pieces of rose quartz, wishing stones from a favorite beach.

In the desert there is no sign that says, Thou shalt not eat stones. — Sufi proverb

The pile of stones thus marks both an act of deliberate remembrance, and an act of deliberate forgetting. They're fond of paradox in that region.

Sometimes in the dusk he runs up and down on the sand, flinging stones at the ocean and screaming, Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He feels better afterwards.

Beads can be used for counting. As in rosaries. But I don't like stones around my neck.

In the desert there is no sign that says, 'Thou shalt not eat stones.

While God waits for his temple to be built of love, man brings stones.' Or

along a cobbled street, the stones sheened with a soft, early spring rain. On either side the gutters ran with an infant chuckle and gurgle, baby streams being amused with themselves. The

A cold breeze coiled around his ankles with a physical weight, heavy with moisture from the wet paving stones.

His hair shone blue-black in ringlets and a ruddy light gleamed behind the windows of his eyes, as clear as water running over stones.

All London was one grey temple of an awful rite, ring within ring of wizard stones circled about some central place, every circle was an initiation, every initiation eternal loss.

Lastly- and this was the most pitiless torture of all- we heard the rain and it was not raining! This was an infernal invention... Oh, I knew well enough how Erik obtained it! He filled with little stones a very long and narrow box, broken up inside with wooden and metal projections. The stones, in falling, struck against these projections and rebounded from one to another; and the result was a series of pattering sounds that exactly imitated a rainstorm.

Nothing is as contagious as enthusiasm. It is the real allegory of the myth of Orpheus; it moves stones, and charms brutes. It is the genius of sincerity, and truth accomplishes no victories without it.

Worship is about God in Christ. I suppose one could argue that if there were no people to do the worshiping, no worship would take place; but scripture paints a different picture. Worship goes on in heaven from the lips of the seraphim (see Isa. 6:2-3), while here on earth—should humans fail to praise—even the stones would cry out (see Luke 19:37-40).

Time was rushing around me like water around a big wet rock. The only difference is, I was not so durable as stones. Very quickly I would be smoothed away.

Never had I been so conscious of the earth of the toughness and fragility and flowing life of it. I realised for the first time that the stones were not dead, nor the dust devoid of life, nor the waters vacuous. Our earth lived. It lived and breathed and sang and flowed and ached, in ever tiny part. And it's singing called to me - whispered, hummed, through the skin of my feet, through my whole self, until with all my being I was attuned to it.

All our land was enriched with my treasures buried in it, thickly inhabited just below the surface with my marbles and my teeth and my colored stones, all perhaps turned to jewels by now, held together under the ground in a powerful taut web which never loosened, but held fast to guard us.

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones.

This deranged jungle of ironies coinhabits my skull like feathers and fireworks. My heart fills with stones. I am the mad aunt who laughs her head off at the funeral. There rises in me the most inappropriate hysteria in this most somber of places.

Hundreds of hopeless waves rushed constantly shorewards, falling exhausted upon a beach of great loose stones, that seemed to stretch miles and miles in both directions. There was nothing for the eye but mingling shades of gray; nothing for the ear but the rush of the coming, the roar of the breaking, and the moan of the retreating wave.

Once could not learn history from architecture any more than once could learn it from books. Statues, inscriptions, memorial stones, the names of streets – anything that might throw light upon the past had been systematically altered.

In ancient times there was in Ireland a remarkable pile of stones, called the Giants' Dance,{95} because the giants brought it from the furthest parts of Africa into Ireland, and set it up, partly by main strength, partly by artificial contrivances, in an extraordinary way, on the plains of Kildare, near Naas.

According to the British History,{96} Aurelius Ambrosius, king of Britain, caused these stones to be transported from Ireland to Britain by the divine aid of Merlin; and in order to leave some memorial of so great a deed, they were erected on the spot where, before that time, the flower of the youth of Britain died by the concealed knives of the Saxons, who fell upon them and slew them, under the guise of peace, with their treacherous weapons.