Quotes About Possession

I'm very good with sunglasses. There are things like... maybe headphones - either they're stolen or something - but sunglasses I tend to really hold on to.

And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.

The comprehensible slips away, is transformed; instead of possession one learns connection.

For property is poverty and fear; only to have possessed something and to have let go of it means carefree ownership.

Ask yourself, dear Mr. Kappus, whether you really have lost God? Is it not rather, that you have never yet possessed him? For when should that have been? Do you not believe that a child can hold him, him whom men bear only with effort and whose weight compresses the old? Do you believe that anyone who really has him could lose him like a little stone, or do you not think rather that whoever had him could only be lost by him?

Who hears me, who understands me, becomes mine, — a possession for all time.

If he had the earth for his pasture and the sea for his pond, he would be a pauper still. He only is rich who owns the day. There is no king, rich man, fairy or demon who possesses such power as that. Mentioned in Sixty Days and Counting, by Kim Stanley Robinson

What is the right use of books? For inspiration. Books exist for your benefit, not you for theirs. Your most precious possession is your own soul. Better to never see a book than to have it pull you out of your orbit, so that your life now revolves around that book instead of around your own soul.

The human mind is like that monkey, incessantly active by its own nature, then it becomes drunk with the wine of desire, thus increasing its turbulence. After desire takes possession comes the sting of the scorpion of jealousy at the success of others, and last of all the demon of pride enters the mind, making it think itself of all importance.

Christ is the desire of nations, the joy of angels, the delight of the Father. What solace then must that soul be filled with, that has the possession of Him to all eternity!" —John Bunyan

I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God's hands, that I still possess. MARTIN LUTHER

Never let your prey consider he neither created "his" time nor earned it. He cannot keep it, store it up, or take it with him when he exits earth. So why does he consider it "his" time? Because he's a fool.

Wonder is that possession of the mind that enchants the emotions, while never surrendering reason.

WONDER IS ONE OF THOSE "POSSESSIONS" THAT NEEDS DISCIPLINED GUARDING AND THOUGHTFUL GUIDING.

You can't ever have my books.

You can't ever have my books," she said.

They came to the strange blue lands and put their names upon the lands.

Everything belonged to him--but that was a trifle. The thing to know was what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own.

Everything belonged to him—but that was a trifle. The thing was to know what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own.

But both the diabolic love and the unearthly hate of the mysteries it had penetrated fought for the possession of that soul satiated with primitive emotions, avid of lying fame, of sham distinction, of all the appearances of success and power.

We were wanderers on a prehistoric earth, on an earth that wore the aspect of an unknown planet. We could have fancied ourselves the first of men taking possession of an accursed inheritance, to be subdued at the cost of profound anguish and of excessive toil.

You should have heard him say, 'My ivory.' Oh, yes, I heard him. 'My Intended, my ivory, my station, my river, my—' everything belonged to him. It made me hold my breath in expectation of hearing the wilderness burst into a prodigious peal of laughter that would shake the fixed stars in their places. Everything belonged to him—but that was a trifle. The thing was to know what he belonged to, how many powers of darkness claimed him for their own.

The diabolic love and the unearthly hate of the mysteries it had penetrated fought for the possession of that soul satiated with primitive emotions.

the idea of thieving appeared to his instincts as normal as the idea of property