Quotes About Reflection

El olvido bien puede ser una forma profunda de la memoria.

Nu conteaza sa citesti, ci sa recitesti.

El temor de lo crasamente infinito, del mero espacio, de la mera materia, tocó por un instante a Averroes. Miró el simétrico jardín; se supo envejecido, inútil, irreal.

Oscuramente creyó intuir que el pasado es la substancia de que el tiempo está hecho; por ello es que éste se vuelve pasado en seguida

The truth is that we all live by leaving behind

Good teaching is more a giving of right questions than a giving of right answers.

The really human thing is to see the stars above the roof, to preserve our apprehension of the universality of things in the midst of the habits of daily life, and to see the world above and beyond our immediate environment.

It is possible to pray in such a way that one does not transcend the world, in such a way that the divine is degraded to a functional part of the workaday world... then it is no longer devotion to the divine, but an attempt to master it.

Our effort has been to regain some space for true leisure, to bring back a fundamentally right possession of leisure, "active leisure".

We have let an empty future that we propose to make by our own standards become the ideal over and against a real past that revealed to us what man really was and is: namely, a being open to wonder who did not create himsel for the world in which he dwells.

Me moría por terminar el bachillerato y empezar la universidad. Luego, moría por terminar la universidad y empezar a trabajar. Después, me moría por casarme y tener hijos. Más adelante, me moría por que mis hijos crecieran lo suficiente como para ir a la escuela, a fin de que yo pudiera volver a mi trabajo. Luego me moría por retirarme. Y ahora que estoy muriéndome, me doy cuenta, de pronto, ¡que me olvidé de vivir! [Autor anónimo]

As you grow older, you will have a decision to make. Will you focus more on the things that give you achievement and satisfaction and growth or on things that have an impact outside yourself?

Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.

This civilization is rapidly passing away, however. Let us rejoice or else lament the fact as much as everyone of us likes; but do not let us shut our eyes to it.

We always plan too much and always think too little. We resent a call to thinking and hate unfamiliar argument that does not tally with what we already believe or would like to believe.

What I would like to leave behind is a simple prayer that each of you may find what I have found—God's special gift to us all: the gift of peace. When we are at peace, we find the freedom to be most fully who we are, even in the worst of times. We let go of what is nonessential and embrace what is essential. We empty ourselves so that God may more fully work within us. And we become instruments in the hands of the Lord.

I thought of my mother late that night, after leaving Dorothy, as I followed the moon's path back home across the Moose River. My mother, maybe she was in that moon's light. I didn't know any more, but when I was younger, Iuse to imagine that she was. I'd talk to the moon some nights, and I knew my mother listened. I haven't done that in a long time, me. -Through Black Spruce, Joseph Boyden, ch 13, pg 119

On attend quelque chose, et un matin on se réveille et on comprend. C'est simplement la fin qu'on attend.Selon Lisette, c'est ce que les gens à la télé appelle une dépression.

We are the people birthed from this land. For the first time I can see something I've not fully understood before, not until now as these pale creatures from somewhere far away stare down at us in wonder, trying to make sense of what they see. We are this place. This place is us.

Your grandfather was a hero in a war, girls. He wasn't a bad man or a weak man. Maybe he was too old to have a second family, a second wife and your mother and me, so many years after he lost his first. Maybe he was too old to fight anymore, and that's why he let me be taken away. I've thought about this for years and years. All I know is there are no heroes in this world. Not really. Just men and women who become old and tired and lose the strength to fight for what they love any longer.

There's something in this particular practice that can teach us Cristians a powerful lesson, that we may see so vividly our own wretched state, that it's not this world we should cherish but the promise of the next.

In the end, like the Almighty Himself, we make everything in our image, for want of a more reliable model; our artifacts tell more about ourselves than our confessions.

in the business of writing what one accumulates is not expertise but uncertainties. Which is but another name for craft.

A glance leaves an imprint on anything it's dwelt on.