Quotes About Nameless

I'm still trying to find out who Paula Cole is. I always am - and I always will be - my real, inside self, which has no name.

The realities of pitched warfare rarely made it into the sagas. In all the stories he'd heard, especially those woeful diatribes from the remembrancers, battle was reduced to a handful of heroes going blade-to-blade in the sunlight, while their nameless lessers looked on in stupefied awe. It took a great deal to make Khârn cringe, but war poetry never failed.

My pleasure is nameless: those all too rare moments when I create myself afford no purchase to external manipulation.

She started telling Lyda stories, odd nameless placeless stories, about the man and the woman, myths or memories, perhaps from her own childhood.

Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal Vebor'ad ures alit Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se Kote lo'shebs'ul narit A pint of ale, a pint of blood Buys men without a name We never care who wins the war So you can keep your fame —Popular drinking chant of Mandalorian mercenaries—approximate translation, edited for strong language

Washington possessed the superb self-confidence that comes only to men whose inner life is faint, for the inner life is full of nameless doubts.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. The named is the mother of all things.

Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach.

Some dark Presence watching by my bed, The awful image of a nameless dread ?

God has a thousand names, or rather He is Nameless.

To be nameless in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history.

This divineness had that in it which, though commanding worship, at the same time enforced a certain nameless terror.

His eyes met mine, and I looked into them and I felt... I don't know what I felt. A strange nameless something I couldn't even identify as a good something or a bad something, could only feel in my gut, jumping and twitching, until I turned away and looked out over the forest

If that king was unsuitable in his service and duty...then his place will never be vacant and a foot soldier will lead the way though he remains nameless

Erotic play discloses a nameless world which is revealed by the nocturnal language of lovers. Such language is not written down. It is whispered into the ear at night in a hoarse voice. At dawn it is forgotten.

You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

All "paths of liberation" (brain-freeing schools) know that we cannot remain in the abyss of the nameless forever, unless we choose to become hermits. (Very few do.) Once we have returned from a school of brain-change to the ordinary world, we again must see and think in masks, or we will not have the ability to communicate with and deal with others.

But in the garden of simple, where all of us are nameless, you were never anything but beautiful to me.

But Tian Gen asked the same question again. The nameless man then said, "Let your mind roam in the flavorless, blend your vital energy with the boundless silence, follow the rightness of the way each thing already is without allowing yourself the least bias. Then the world will be in order.

The mind of the dreaming man is fully satisfied with whatever happens to it. The agonizing question of possibility does not arise. Kill; plunder more quickly, love as much as you wish. And if you die, are you not sure of being roused from the dead? Let yourself be led. Events will not tolerate deferment. You have no name. Everything is inestimably easy.

The mind of the man who dreams is fully satisfied by what happens to him. The agonizing question of possibility is no longer pertinent. Kill, fly faster, love to your heart's content. And if you should die, are you not certain of re-awaking among the dead? Let yourself be carried along, events will not tolerate your interference. You are nameless. The ease of everything is priceless.

It is a kind of nowhere, famous for nothing at all and has an appeal because of just that.

The wind would come down a thousand miles and pound on the house and the sash would rattle and inside him something would be big and coiling slow and clotting till he would hold his breath and the blood would beat in his head with a hollow sound as though his head were a cave as big as the dark outside. He wouldn't have any name for what was big inside him. Maybe there isn't any name.

I am life. I have no name. I am as the fresh breeze of the mountains.