Quotes About Procession

It was a circumambulation of such precise, ritualistic grief no one interfered.

simple robes Rich tints of beauty rare. Soon a host of lovely flowers From vales and woodland burst; But in all that fair procession The crocuses were first. First to weave for Earth a chaplet To crown her dear old head; And to beautify the pathway Where winter still did tread. And their loved and white haired mother Smiled sweetly 'neath the touch, When she knew her faithful children Were loving her

We were watching this procession. It was fucking terrible and the crucifix was about 20 feet high coming around the corner. And my wee grandson says, 'who's that?' I say, 'that's Jesus'. He says, 'BABY JESUS?!' I say, 'yeah, that's him'. He says, 'SOMEBODY KILLED BABY JESUS!' It was the most sincere religious cry. If Christians did that, I would believe them. 'WHAT? THE BASTARDS KILLED JESUS!

At Mount Holyoke, a band of female Wide-Awakes described as "running hither and thither…laughing and shouting, and drinking lemonade," marched in a celebratory torchlight procession, unfurling a banner that read: "PRESIDENT—ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Behind a homely exterior, we recognize inward beauty.

Sunday: this satisfied procession Of definite Sunday faces; Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces In repetition that displaces Your mental self-possession By this unwarranted digression. Evening, lights, and tea! Children and cats in the alley; Dejection unable to rally Against this dull conspiracy. And Life, a little bald and gray, Languid, fastidious, and bland, Waits, hat and gloves in hand, Punctilious of tie and suit (Somewhat impatient of delay) On the doorstep of the Absolute.

It was grey windless weather, and the bell of the little old church that nestled in the hollow of the Sussex down sounded near and domestic. We were a straggling procession in the mild damp air - which, as always at that season, gave one the feeling that after the trees were bare there was more of it, a larger sky... (Sir Edmund Orme)

Remember that you're far back in the procession; remember that a whole army corps has laid siege to her, that she's been laid waste, plundered and pillaged.

Servants, drawn to witness the procession, bowed as they passed as if they were blades of grass and the sight of the royal woman was a scythe passing over the field.

The slaughter lasted the best part of two days. When it was over, the crusade leaders went in solemn procession to the church of the Holy Sepulchre to give thanks to God'' !!

Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.

A torch-light procession marching down your throat.

In my mind are all the tides, their seasons, their ebbs and their flows. In my mind are all the halls, the endless procession of them, the intricate pathways. When this world becomes too much for me, when I grow tired of the noise and the dirt and the people, I close my eyes and I name a particular vestibule to myself; then I name a hall.

What you see on the freeway is just what there is, a funeral procession of the dead, the greatest horror of our time in motion. I'll see you there tomorrow!

expedition returned in triumph to Rome with captured British slaves marching behind them in the procession.12

The butler entered the room, a solemn procession of one.

A dark and lonely plain lay before him, cut by a single strip of water that flowed slow-moving into the east: a ribbon of beaten silver bright beneath the glare of a full moon.… Floating on the nameless river, a ship, tall and proud, with pure white sails raised and ready.… Ranks of warriors holding lances, and two hooded figures walking among them, as if in a stately procession. The smell of willows and cottonwoods, and a sense of passing sorrow.…

A procession of silver pencils marched down an endless tunnel of corruption.

It is the folly of men to believe that they are great players on the stage of history, that their actions might affect the grand procession that is the pasage of time.

Whenever there was an upheaval in some foreign land, there would be a procession of refugees from that land filing through Emmanuel's pulpit, with quivers full of piety, singing ballads of a sad and lowering sort like 'Russia, Holy Russia, I will die to set you free', and telling a sackful of stories about their narrow escape from the grip of the half-dozen or so godless persecutors who were at the bottom of all this trouble.

When the procession reached the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue, soldiers carried the flag-draped coffin up the steps of the Capitol. The crowds watched in silence as the soldiers carried the coffin inside and laid it upon a platform. It was left under the dome with a guard of soldiers keeping watch over the dead president.

As one long prepared, and graced with courage, as is right for you who were given this kind of city, go firmly to the window and listen with deep emotion, but not with the whining, the pleas of a coward; listen—your final delectation—to the voices, to the exquisite music of that strange procession, and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

the spoils are carried along in the procession. They are called cultural treasures, and a historical materialist views them with cautious detachment.

The procession was led by Vice President Thomas Marshall, whose lasting contribution to American history is his opinion that "What this country needs is a good five-cent cigar.

Since you can never be my bride, My tree at least you shall be! Let the laurel Adorn, henceforth, my hair, my lyre, my quiver: Let Roman victors, in the long procession, Wear laurel wreaths for triumph and ovation.