Quotes About Cavern

You misunderstand me. You always have. I have grieved, and that's faded away. Gone. Now … well, now there's nothing. A vast, unlit cavern. Ashes.

Before he entered its shadow, Ays glanced back at the cavern he was leaving. He moured the loss of light, but braced himself for another more difficult stage of the journey.

The formation of the embryo and childbirth repeat the primeval fact of the birth of humanity, looked upon as an emergence from the deepest chtonian cavern-matrix.

La televisión es el Anticristo y le digo yo que bastarán tres o cuatro generaciones para que la gente ya no sepa ni tirarse pedos por su cuenta y el ser humano vuelva a la caverna, a la barbarie medieval, y a estados de imbecilidad que ya superó la babosa allá por el pleistoceno. Este mundo no se morirá de una bomba atómica como dicen en los diarios, se morirá de risa, de banalidad, haciendo un chiste de todo, y además un chiste malo.

Quiet is no certain pledge of permanence and safety. Trees may flourish and flowers may bloom upon the quiet mountain side, while silently the trickling rain-drops are filling the deep cavern behind its rocky barriers, which, by and by, in a single moment, shall hurl to wild ruin its treacherous peace.

Your body is a hyacinth, Into which a monk dips his waxy fingers. Our silence is a black cavern, From which a soft animal steps at times And slowly lowers heavy eyelids. On your temples black dew drips, The last gold of expired stars

Our silence is a black cavern.

A black cavern is our silence.

This is the second time you've been arrested in your entire life, and your stress levels are so high that were a bunch of black-robed inquisitors to file chanting into your cell and lead you down a stony tunnel lined with manacled skeletons to a cavern furnished with an electric chair, it would come as a relief.

and the distance between them, millimeters only, the space of a breath, opened up and deepened, became a cavern at whose edge he stood.

Despair is a cavern beneath our feet and we teeter on its very brink.

This cavern is below all, and the enemy of all; it is hatred, without exception.

But something is always impelling one to hum vibrating, like the hawk moth, at the mouth of the cavern of mystery.

Their shadows were defined upon the wall, but those of the high presses in the room were all blended together on the wall and on the ceiling, as if the brother and sister were overhung by a dark cavern. Or, a fanciful imagination—if such treason could have been there—might have made it out to be the shadow of their subject, and of its lowering association with their future.

Riley had been in the interrogation room for six hours. For most people, this would have been a terrible hardship. Even a few weeks ago, Riley herself would have seen it as a nightmare. Now she just thought it was a nice place to sit down and take a rest. After all, she wasn't climbing down a rope into a dark cavern or getting pushed over a cliff, tied up in a car.

I saw the Beatles play the Cavern in Liverpool when I was 16. They had attitude: Onstage, they were like a four-headed monster.

In this cold, teeth can shatter after two or three hours—actually explode—sending shrapnel of bone and enamel flying inside the cavern of one's clenched jaws.

Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as the nether sky appeared beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees and hung over this immensity; but I said: if you please we will commit ourselves to this void and see whether providence is here also.

TO A CHILD, BEHELD IN SUMMER RAIMENT Little girl, one lesser garment will suffice to clothe your crotch, Hide that undiscovered cavern Where old Time will wind his watch.

My first lesson on nature of love was that in a moment it could fulfill the cravings of a lifetime, like a light that someone might shine into a cavern that has been dark for a million years.

This was my first lesson on the nature of love: that in a moment it could fulfil the cravings of a lifetime, like a light that someone might shine into a cavern that has been dark for a million years.

It was blood. Blood that looked as if it had just been spilled. As I watched, it started pouring down the cavern's walls.

The beauty of New York is unintentional; it arose independent of human design, like a stalagmite cavern.

She looked up at him, her eyes enormous. He noticed they were hazel, the sort that picked up whatever hue was near. Now they were the same shade of green as the moss ringing the cavern.