Quotes About Edges

We were too rough at the edges to be a pop group.

the rain falls, catching the trailing edges of net curtains which flow out of open windows like fishing nets lowered over the backs of boats, nets hung neatly between the outside and the in, keeping floundering secrets firmly hidden...

sometimes the personalities at the helm of the madness industry are, with their drives and obsessions, as mad in their own way as those they study. And that relatively ordinary people are, more and more, defined by their maddest edges.

the madness business is filled with people like Tony, reduced to their maddest edges.

The secret to entering a compartment was to position oneself strategically at the corner of a door, squeezing in through the edges while the disembarking passengers rushed out through the door's central area.

Poems On Time The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. -Rabindranath Tagore

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

When you get to those edges where you say, "I can't handle that" or "I'm not going to do that," take a look at the mindset you are holding onto. There is the root of your suffering. That's where your mind is in relation to what is.

The reality cuts across our minds like a wound whose edges crave to heal, but cannot. Thus, one of the great sins, perhaps the great sin, is to say: It will heal; it has healed; there is no wound. There is nothing more important than this wound.

Truth's nothing but falsehood with the edges sharpened up, and ill-tempered at that: no repair, no retraction, no possible going back once it's out.

Did you ever go to a place . . . I think it was called Norway?" "No," said Arthur, "no, I didn't." "Pity," said Slartibartfast, "that was one of mine. Won an award, you know. Lovely crinkly edges. I was most upset to hear of its destruction.

You may be told that the legal decisions lead the changes, that judges and lawmakers lead the culture in those theaters called courtrooms, but they only ratify change. They are almost never where change begins, only where it ends up, for most changes travel from the edges to the center.

The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost.

Political awareness without activism means looking at the devastation, your face turned toward the center of things. Activism can generate hope because in itself it constitutes an alternative and turns away from the corruption at the center to face the wild possibilities and the heroes at the edges or at your side.

Isn't it always unfair - death always a kind of outrage? A life ended too soon with jagged and torn edges, a sentence incomplete.

Margaret used to say that there were two kinds of women: those with clear edges to them, and those who implied mystery.

His voice surprised her: a baritone with the depth of a bell and deliciously frayed at the edges, it was like stumbling into a patch of sunlight on a relentlessly gray day.

I think the best pictures are often on the edges of any situation, I don't find photographing the situation nearly as interesting as photographing the edges.

On their sofas of spice and feathers, the concubines also slept fretfully. In those days the Earth was still flat, and people dreamed often of falling over edges.

SLEEPING Here, we are one geography: every part of us inked on a map where, across all the blue waters, continents' edges inexplicably match. I move closer to you in the dark, feel the slow heat that embers you deeper into the night. Where all fires descend a few hours into their own slow-dreaming hearts. Where the ravine hides in its own steepness no matter how long, how fiercely we love.

But you I want to look at until your face fades from my fear, like a bird stepping away from the sharp edges of night. — Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. by Yvette Siegert, from "Paths of the Mirror," Extracting the Stone of Madness (New Directions; Bilingual edition, May 17, 2016)

promontories

The full of joy do not know; they need not Know. Nothing is reconciled. They flash the light of Heaven indeed. Let them have it, let them have it, it is mild. Those who suffer see the truth; it has Murderous edges. They never avert The gaze of calculation one degree. But they are hurt, they are hurt, they are hurt.