Quotes About Spirituality

Before, the woods had always done so much for me. Once I could actually go out into the woods and communicate with God, or Nature or something. Now that something didn't come through. It was just not there anymore. More than ever I began to wonder whether God actually existed. Maybe God changed as the individual changed, or perhaps grew as one grew.

I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God.

One writes not to be read but to breathe...one writes to think, to pray, to analyze. One writes to clear one's mind, to dissipate one's fears, to face one's doubts, to look at one's mistakes--in order to retrieve them. One writes to capture and crystallize one's joy, but also to disperse one's gloom. Like prayer--you go to it in sorrow more than joy, for help, a road back to 'grace'.

Dear God," she said. She was shuddering suddenly and the tears came back and she looked past me into the light overhead. "If I can't trust you, then there is no one." "I love you" I said. "I don't care about any of it, I swear. I love you." Holy Communion," she said. squeezing her eyes so the tears came out. Yes Holy Communion, my darling," I said.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.

God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

God has a brown voice, soft and full as beer.

From the Garden" Come, my beloved, consider the lilies. We are of little faith. We talk too much. Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks. Let us consider the view: a house where white clouds decorate the muddy halls. Oh, put away your good words and your bad words. Spit out your words like stones! Come here! Come here! Come eat my pleasant fruits.

We moved like angels washing themselves. We moved like two birds on fire. — Anne Sexton, from "How We Danced" in "The Death of the Fathers," The Norton Anthology of American Literature , ed. Baym et al, 5th edition, Volume 2, (New York and London: W. W. Norton & Co., 1998)

For all you who are going, and there are many who are climbing their pain, many who will be painted out with a black ink suddenly and before it is time, for these many I say, awkwardly, clumsily, take off your life like trousers, your shoes, your underwear, then take off your flesh, unpick the lock of your bones. In other words take off the wall that separates you from God.

I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in. Very quick. Very intense.

she took hold of herself, knowing she owed Jesus a life

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

I am God, la de dah.

Only when one is connected to one's inner core is one connected to others. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be re-found through solitude.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen nor even touched, but just felt in the heart.

We cannot allow anything to come between us and our spirituality, or between us and our living process. If we do, we shall destroy ourselves and those around us.

whereas "I" persist with the fire. born movement the appearance is self-less

It is better to restore one dead heart to eternal life than to restore to life a thousand dead bodies.

Åžems'in dönüÅŸünden sonra Mevlânâ'yla kar??laÅŸmas?na iliÅŸkin bir tasvire sahibiz: 'KucaklaÅŸt?lar birbirlerine secdeler ettiler, öyle ki kim â??kt?r, kim mâÅŸuk anla??lmad?.

The metaphors that Sumnun the Lover used to express the ineffable experience of this love, of which he was only a fragile vessel, are not taken from the vocabulary of worldly love. Rather, they are perfectly chaste, lucid, almost immaterial: "I have separated my heart from this world— My heart and Thou are not separate. And when slumber closes my eyes, I find Thee between the eye and the lid." (A 10:310)

Death cannot touch the higher consciousness of man ... it can only separate those who love each other so far as their lower vehicles are concerned; the man living on earth, blinded by matter, feels separated from those who have passed onwards, but ... there is no such thing as Death at all.

India is a country in which every great religion finds a home.