Quotes About Transcendence

La poesía mueve al poeta como el viento a las nubes quietas: siempre más allá, hacia lo desconocido.

Die ewige Gegenwart der Götter

Die Nähe des Todes schafft eine Atmosphäre die das Außergewöhnliche begünstigt (und über die conditio humana hinauswachsen lässt)

El amor es una elevación, un cambio de estado; los amantes transcienden, por un momento al menos, su condición temporal y, literalmente, se transportan a otro mundo.

It wasn't an alternative to experience, or an escape from it. Not if you did it right. Reading was the only way we could transcend our own experience and deeply engage in that of another's.

As always after drinking too much, I felt like my own ghost trying to take it's first solo walk outside the body.

Are you an angel that approaching you should be so terrifying?

Love points the way, empties you of the stuff of life, carries you at last to the mystery of creation.

We passed through forests of fire, forded rivers of light and forged dark seas and mountains of snow and ice. Each crossing took us thousands of years, though it seemed no more than the blink of an eye.

How suddenly we find the flesh of God within us after all, when we thought that we were only made of dust.

How quickly we find the flesh of God within us all, when we thought that we were only made of dust.

A pure soul must never grow attached to any one thing.

All the universe is just a dream in God's mind, and as long as he's asleep, he believes in it, and things stay real. What you see is God waking up, gradually waking up, and his wakefulness sweeps through the dream, undoes the universe, until finally he sits up, rubs his eyes, and says, My, what a dream, I wish I could remember what it was, and in that moment we'll all be gone.

Rumi, the poet, the Sufi, said, something I will never forget: Beyond right and wrong there is a field, I'll meet you there.

Rumi, the poet, the Sufi, said something that I will never forget: Beyond right and wrong there is a field, I'll meet you there.

Because Dunworthy is not blinking against the fatal sunlight of the last morning, but into the gloom of that first afternoon, looking in the great west doors of St. Paul's at what is, like Langby, like all of it, every moment, in us, saved forever.

They were watching, out there past men's knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.

He rose and turned toward the lights of town. The tidepools bright as smelterpots among the dark rocks where the phosphorescent seacrabs clambered back. Passing through the salt grass he looked back. The horse had not moved. A ship's light winked in the swells. The colt stood against the horse with its head down and the horse was watching, out there past men's knowing, where the stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.

Where you've nothing else, construct ceremonies out of the air, and breathe upon them.

Snowflake. You catch the snowflake but when you look in your hand you don't have it no more. Maybe you see this dechado. But before you see it it is gone. If you want to see it you have to see it on its own ground. If you catch it you lose it. And where it goes there is no coming back from. Not even God can bring it back.

The elevation of grief to a status transcending that which it sorrows.

I suppose it should be a comfort to understand that one cannot be dead forever where there's no forever to be dead in.

After a while he pulled his hat down over his eyes and stood and placed his hands outstretched on the roof of the cab and rode in that manner. As if he were some personage bearing news for the countryside. As if he were some newfound evangelical being conveyed down out of the mountains....

On Gay Street the traffic lights are stilled. The trolleyrails gleam in their beds and a late car passes with a long slish of tires. In the long arcade of the bus station footfalls come back like laughter. He marches darkly toward his darkly marching shape in the glass of the depot door. His fetch come up from life's other side like an autoscopic hallucination, Suttree and Antisuttree, hand reaching to the hand.