Quotes About Transcendence

No longer possessed by possessions, we may become open enough to become possessed by God.

maybe one day we all had wings and one day we'll all have wings again. D'you think the baby had wings? Oh, I'm sure that one had wings. Just got to take one look at her. Sometimes I think she's never quite left Heaven and never quite made it all the way here to Earth. She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Maybe that's why she has such trouble staying here, she said.

We are all wanderers and travellers, refugees and pilgrims until we return once more to the stars.

Blackstar, two days before his death. And interestingly, that record was a kind of self-interview—Bowie's most fearless and open of them all, wherein he answers the ultimate hard question "What is it like to be dying?"—and reveals in poetic detail what had meaning to him in his life Ã¢â'¬Â¦ while addressing his audience with a certain innate gratitude as he says goodbye.

And you, you're afraid to let go of your relationship and be lived by the Great One for real. If you want my gut feeling, it's time for you and the Peepster to trust deeper than the form of your relationship. Let go of each other

But there's a world beyond what we can see and touch, and that world lives by its own laws. What may be impossible in this very ordinary world is very possible there, and sometimes the boundaries between the two worlds disappear, and then who can say what's possible and impossible?

Worship your body, beauty, and sexual allure and you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you.

as he finally sheds his body's suit, ------ finds his gut and throat again and newly whole, clean and unimpeded, free, catapulted home over fans and the Convexity's glass palisades at desperate speeds, soaring north, sounding a bell-clear and nearly maternal alarmed call-to-arms in all the world's well-known tongues.

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There is about world-class athletes carving out exemptions from physical laws a transcendent beauty that makes manifest God in man.

You seek to vanquish and transcend the limited self whose limits make the game possible in the first place. It is tragic and sad and chaotic and lovely. All life is the same, as citizens of the human State: the animating limits are within, to be killed and mourned, over and over again.

Then Poor Tony's body began to swell. He watched his limbs become airy white dirigibles and felt them deny his authority and detach from him and float sluggishly up snout-first into the steel-mill sparks the ceiling rained. He suddenly felt nothing, or rather Nothing, a pre-tornadic stillness of zero sensation, as if he were the very space he occupied.

Disappear inside the game: break through limits: transcend: improve: win.

Forever Overhead No time is passing outside you at all. It is amazing. The late ballet below is slow motion, the overbroad movements of mimes in blue jelly. If you wanted you could really stay here forever, vibrating inside so fast you float motionless in time, like a bee over something sweet.

Some days you can almost see Hal like flit in and out of a match, like some part of him leaves and hovers and then comes back.

I believe the influence of Kierkegaard on Camus is underestimated. I believe Dennis Gabor may very well have been the Antichrist. I believe Hobbes is just Rousseau in a dark mirror. I believe, with Hegel, that transcendence is absorption.

Lucien finally dies, rather a while after he's quit shuddering like a clubbed muskie and seemed to them to die, as he finally sheds his body's suit, Lucien finds his gut and throat again and newly whole, clean and unimpeded, and is free, catapulted over fans and the Convexity's glass palisades at desperate speeds, soaring north, sounding a bell-clear and nearly maternal alarmed call-to-arms in all the world's well-known tongues.

a "game" that will give everyone the consoling impression of making contact, together, with the ultimate transcendent referent.

My soul is in the sky.

Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus. Now I am dead, Now I am fled, My soul is in the sky. Tongue, lose thy light. Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause

Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself!

This is the end For all our skill we have not conquered death Our spirit leaves our bodies within our final breath. We lay our instrument of flesh aside When hurt beyond all mortal hope to end This is the end

No existe vida que, aun por un instante, no sea inmortal. La muerte siempre llega con ese instante de retraso. En vano golpea con la aldaba en la puerta invisible. Lo ya vivido no se lo puede llevar.