Quotes About Nymphs

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 Departed, have left no addresses.

Belief sloshes around in the firmament like lumps of clay spiralling into a potter's wheel. That's how gods get created, for example. They clearly must be created by their own believers, because a brief resume of the lives of most gods suggests that their origins certainly couldn't be divine. They tend to do exactly the things people would do if only they could, especially when it comes to nymphs, golden showers, and the smiting of your enemies.

I love this quote when Valerian the King of the Nymphs says to his mate Shaye; "I am Valerian, leader of the nymphs. You may call me Oh God, that is what the other surface dwellers have preferred to call me".

I would love to be erased from our association with Pearl Jam or the Nymphs and other first time offenders.

One mercifully hopes there are water nymphs in the Styx.

Partly as a result of vivid allegorical readings of Homer, the grotto of the nymphs in the Odyssey gets cosmologically extended in meaning, as in the De antro nympharum of Plotinus's student Porphyry, where cos- mos and cave exist for each other. The one is the symbolon of the other, and man is the tertium, who is prevented by temptation and gentle force from reaching his cave-transcending destiny.

We flew gracefully between the complicated lattice of trusses like a pair of nymphs. Add our sexy outfits and transparent metallite alloy spacesuits to our naturally good looks, and you can see what I mean, can't you? I was swept with an overwhelming confidence in how beautiful I must look. That's it! It wasn't that we felt things were going too easily. The fact was, we were frustrated that there wasn't anyone around to admire us.

Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their nature, which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as "nymphets."

It was like a great chain of fear, I thought. Zeus at the top and my father just behind. Then Zeus' siblings and children, then my uncles, and on down through all the ranks of river-gods and brine-lords and Furies and Winds and Graces, until it came to the bottom where we sat, nymphs and mortals both, each eyeing the other.

I sat on the rocks and thought of the stories I knew of nymphs who wept until they turned into stones and crying birds, into dumb beasts and slender trees, thoughts barked up for eternity. I could not even do that, it seemed. My life closed me in like granite walls.

Brides, nymphs were called, but that is not really how the world saw us. We were an endless feast laid out upon a table, beautiful and renewing. And so very bad at getting away.

Where are you now? How are the nymphs? I suppose they have led you a fine dance.

She hated our family? She had always seemed to me their distillation, a glittering monument to our blood's vain cruelty. Yet it was true what she said: nymphs were allowed to work only through the power of others. They could expect none for themselves.

The sea-nymphs come for the body, trailing their seafoam robes behind them. They wash him with rose oil and nectar, and weave flowers through his golden hair. The Myrmidons build him a pyre, and he is placed on it. The nymphs weep as the flames consume him. His beautiful body lost to bones and gray ash.

The nymphs wafted around me. Their smothered laughter drifted down the halls. At least, I told myself, it was not their brothers, who would have bragged and fought and hunted down my wolves. But of course that was never a real danger. Sons were not punished.

The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.