Quotes About Soul

I am Music. And I am here for the soul of Frankie Presto. Not all of it. Just the rather large part he took from me when he came into this world. However well used, I am a loan, not a possession. You give me back upon departure. I

Unlike any man before him, Dor was being allowed to exist without getting older, to not use a single breath of the numbered breaths of his life. But inside, Dor was broken. Not aging is not the same as living, and without human contact, his soul dried up.

Ico thrust out his left hand, shouting to the girl. She had already sunk to her knees. For the space of a breath, barely long enough to blink, she hesitated. Her eyes focused on Ico, questioning, trying to peer into the bottom of his soul. Where her gaze fell on him, he felt cool, as though clear water washed over him. He gasped with the sensation. She thrust out her arm and grabbed his hand.

Music is to the soul what words are to the mind.

And the ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in? In your head, in your mouth, in your soul And the more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind Well I don't mind. I don't mind. How could I mind?

Here was an exposure, her soul an unmarked sheet shadowing into distinct shapes under the fluids. Fresh film. Her self, developing.

For in song lies the mystery of Being.

They are pursued by a pair of hawk-faced men dressed in black and white: both forbidding, both hungry, but one tall and slender, the other short and fat. Two reflections of the same soul in the cosmic house of mirrors, or uncanny coincidence? It is impossible to say.

The trouble with serenity is that it can then. The trees seem to lose their souls and look again like painted scenery.

It is a small soul, buried beneath the weight of affairs, that does not know how to get clean away from them, that cannot put them aside and pick them up again.

To obey is the proper office of a rational soul.

To obey is the proper office of a rational soul.-Montaigne

Prison is a second-by-second assault on the soul, a day-to-day degradation of the self, an oppressive steel and brick umbrella that transforms seconds into hours and hours into days.

The men laugh at the witty line, but it is not a belly laugh. Beasley's mouth is in a wide smile, but his eyes do not laugh, for there is little reason for joy. And if eyes are indeed mirrors of the soul, then they reflect an infinite sadness. I look away, afraid of what mine might reflect

It's a dark, cool, quiet place. A basement in your soul. And that place can sometimes be dangerous to the human mind. I can open the door and enter that darkness, but I have to be very careful. I can find my story there. Then I bring that thing to the surface, into the real world.

Pilgrimage, then, is an image of what the journey of life is about. That, I believe, is the reason it endures—not because of relics and shrines, but because we sense intuitively that this holy journey is a rehearsal for death and resurrection. We go on pilgrimage to see our life in miniature, to walk physically and geographically the journey of the soul to God.

They have assumed the names and gestures of their enemies, but have held on to their own, secret souls; and in this there is a resistance and an overcoming, a long outwaiting.

If coupling should but make us whole / And of the selfsame mind and soul, / Then couple let's in celebration; / We have contained the population.

You're in my every breath and every thought, intertwined so deep inside me that love's not a strong enough word—you have my devotion, your name branded on my soul, my wolf yours to command. A hundred years? It'll never be enough. I want eternity.

For me it is not a detachment to take a picture. It's a way of touching somebody—it's a caress, I think that you can actually give people access to their own soul.

Perhaps the phenomenon of synchronicity is serving to smooth the way from an age mired in the vibration of dense matter into an age that will flower in resonance with the vibration of the Soul.

The rabbis tell us the soul is a mirror of God within us. The soul fills the body, just as God fills the world. The soul outlasts the body, just as God outlasts the world. The soul is one in the body, just as God is one in the world. The soul sees but is not seen, just as God sees but is not seen.

They are able to welcome, then, a scenario in which "Good and Evil meet in ultimate battle." The barrage of beauty pornography joins with recent social upheavals to constitute an entirely new, chaotic, and disorienting environment; the food self-denial most women undergo is a form of sensory deprivation. So good and evil become thin and fat, fighting for the woman's soul.

Poetry is the Path on the Rainbow by which the soul climbs; it lays hold on the Friend of the Soul of Man. Such exalted states are held to be protective and curative. Medicine men sing for their patients, and, in times of war, wives gather around the Chief's woman and sing for the success of their warriors. Calling on Zeus by the names of Victory as Euripides puts it.