Quotes About Endless

Music, rhythm, rigadoon, without end, for no reason.

Well, you know what they say about motherhood," Penelope said. " 'They'?" Daphne murmured. Penelope paused just long enough to shoot her a wry grin. "The years fly by, and the days are endless.

It was one long, anxious, inexorable, eternal vigil.

What you see, but can't see over is as good as infinite.

There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.

My love for music is infinite.

I don't think anyone feels older. You have this infinity inside you that feels like it could go on forever.

I've got quite a few inspirations - the list is kind of endless!

The world has done that already -- possessed the Congo and pillaged her and dominated her and robbed her of agency and occupation. Love is something else, something rising and contagious and surprising. It isn't aware of itself. It isn't keeping track. It isn't something you sign for. It's endless and generous and enveloping. It's in the drums, in the voices, in the bodies of the wounded made suddenly whole, by the music, by each other, dancing.

And if you ask how I regret that parting: It is like the flowers falling at Spring's end Confused, whirled in a tangle. What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking, There is no end of things in the heart. I

When you love someone, that love has no limit, no measure

El verdadero dolor que mantiene despiertas las cosas es una pequeña quemadura infinita

If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.

Hell goes round and round. In shape it is circular, and by nature it is interminable, repetitive, and nearly unbearable.

Das ist ein zu weites Feld.

So, here we are, back where we were before. And before that. And before that.

Eternity is before me like a dark lamp.

Lets make this last forever

the mountains with their purpling canyons and glittering snow peaks were a book to which there was no end. The beauty of the hills was a sermon, the whispering trees a prayer, the mountain streams songs of gladness and hymns of peace. The forest was his temple, and there he worshiped.

How nice it would be to die swimming toward the sun. —Le Corbusier

That's what the world is , after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.

Only the Dead stay seventeen forever.

Beyond the edge of the world there's a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.

Start making excuses and there's no end to it. I can't live that kind of life.