Quotes About Cycle

It is the return of a dog to his vomit.

How can you compare the flower buds of a tree in spring to the amazing lush greenery of summer, to the fiery leaves of autumn, to the stark chiaroscuro of winter? We understand those changes are irrevocable, and each one delights in its own way.

el equilibrio natural de las cosas se restablecerá de algún modo

Qué bien pareja del tiempo llaman a la fortuna, pues ambos sobre una rueda y dos alas, 85 para el bien o para el mal corren siempre y nunca paran!

Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone,But grief returns with the revolving year.

The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.

The world's great age begins anew,The golden years return,The earth doth like a snake renewHer winter weeds outworn.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.

Grief returns with the revolving year. - Adonais

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.

There 's not one atom of yon earth But once was living man; Nor the minutest drop of rain, That hangeth in its thinnest cloud, But flowed in human veins;

History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of Man!

Where have all the flowers gone?The girls have picked them every one.Oh, when will they ever learn?

When we fight against and/or hide from unpleasant or painful sensations and feelings, we generally make things worse. The more we avoid them, the greater is the power they exert upon our behavior and sense of well-being. What is not felt remains the same or is intensified, generating a cascade of virulent and corrosive emotions. This forces us to fortify our methods of defense, avoidance and control. This is the vicious cycle created by trauma.

The Phanerozoic Carbon Cycle

It had to be done, they were determined about that; some attempt had to be made to break the cycle of crime and poverty.

Life's a bitch, then you rejuvenate and do it all over again.

To the earth shall you return.

Grief is an element. It has its own cycle like the carbon cycle, the nitrogen. It never diminishes not ever. It passes in and out of everything.

Life and death lived inside each other. That's what occured to me. Death was inside all of us, waiting for warmer nights, a compromised system, a beetle, as in the now dying black timber on the mountains.

Still. No resolution ever. None. Nothing decided, nothing finished. The Dipper wheels back into place. Just one turn. One turn of the wheel and we are different, never the same. Not ever. Not even those stars. Even they, they decay, collapse, coalesce, break apart. Close my eyes.

Rock rock. Back and forth. Lull. Push. Release. Swing back. The stars, the leaves, even the sound of the creek throbbing back and forth. Of a boat. Of a hammock. Of a child's swing. Of a womb. Back and forth. Rock rock. Smell of cold current, of stone, manure, blossom. Sleep.