Quotes About Harmony

Kim was, as always, utterly happy while running, in accord with nature, in harmony with the universe, in touch with the truth that was in him, full of love for all creatures even to the lowliest insect.

If two people love the same thing, she reasoned, then they must love each other, at least a little, even if they never say it.

She sat very still, listening to a stream gurgling, the breeze soughing through upper branches, the melodious kloo-klack of ravens, the nyeep-nyeep of nuthatches - all sounds chokingly beautiful. She felt she could hear the cool clean breath of growing things - fern fronds, maple leaves, white trillium petals, tree trunks, each in its rightful place.

Nowhere is there a sense of peace.

There was an alluring symmetry to him.

life is not a race, but a shot on target: what counts is not the saving of time, but the ability to find a centre

In this time of , music is vital.

He wanted Eden, and he wanted Pinkie, but mostly he wanted Eden, because together they could make their own Pinkie.

Because being with her felt so right. It was right.

Rue, who when you ask her what she loves most in the world, replies, of all things, "Music.

Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.

Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young.

turn and turn and turn again you see the what, but not the when remedy and wrong entwine and so they form a single vine

Living out here, I have found that many creatures would prefer not to fight. But if your first instinct is to reach for your sword, you will never discover that.

What sort of agreement is necessary if we're to live in peace? What sort of social contract is required for survival?

Together? Together.

An immersion into greenery and sunlight will surely help me sort out my thoughts.

We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival.

the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler

I heard her singing.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things; — We murder to dissect." — William Wordsworth, "The Tables Turned," Lyrical Ballads, 1798

From this place, we are invisible but have a clear view of the valley, which is teeming with summer life, greens to gather, roots to dig, fish iridescent in the sunlight. The day is glorious, with a blue sky and soft breeze. The food's wonderful, with the cheese seeping into the warm bread and the berries bursting in our mouths.

The music swells and I recognize the brilliance of it. As the notes overlap, they complement one another, forming a lovely, unearthly harmony. It was this sound then, thanks to Rue, that sent the orchard workers of District 11 home each night. Does someone start it at quitting time, I wonder, now that she is dead?

A hush in the trees. Just the rustle of leaves in the breeze. But no birds, mockingjay or other. Peeta's right. They do fall silent when I sing. Just as