Quotes About Soul

Why should the soul ever repose? God, its Principle, reposes never.

Music, once admitted to the soul becomes ... a sort of spirit, and never dies. It wanders perturbedly through the halls and galleries of the memory.

try to understand that our souls work like swings: the stronger the push up towards the nobility of the soul, the stronger the swoop down towards the fury of the beast.

From beasts we scorn as soulless, In forest, field and den, The cry goes up to witness The soullessness of men.

Jenny Bell, you're quite an enigma. But that's true of every artist. And I'd rather be with a woman who can't be fully known than one who is all surface and no soul.

That woman has halitosis of the soul.

It was fundamental to Plato, and to the mainstream of classical Greek philosophy after him, that men are created unequal; not merely in the superficial sense of inequality in physique, wealth or social position, but unequal in their souls, morally unequal. A few men are potentially capable of completely rational behaviour, and hence of correct moral judgment; most men are not.

E)very soul requires secret places for contemplation as well as open spaces for celebration.

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. —MARCEL PROUST, REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST

Music is the key to freeing heavy burdens of one's soul!

There is no refreshment more gratifying to the soul than the sight of Nature in her summer finery, before the heat is at its most intense. She is soothing, but not soporific; intoxicating without inebriation.

Everyone who was born had to die; those who died would be reborn again. The killer and the slain: these were terms that had no meaning. The soul could never be destroyed. The soul discards a worn-out body for a new one as human beings discard old clothes for new, said Krishna, and there was nothing in this to grieve about.

Quiero la esencia. Mi alma tiene prisa...

The peace you shall desire is that sacred peace which nothing can disturb, and in which the soul grows as does the holy flower upon the still lagoons. And

Seek it by study of the laws of being, the laws of nature, the laws of the supernatural; and seek it by making the profound obeisance of the soul to the dim star that burns within.

Some persons, when they hear of the prayer of silence, falsely imagine that the soul remains stupid, dead, and inactive. But unquestionably, it acteth therein more nobly and more extensively than it had ever done before; for God himself is the mover, and the soul now acteth by the agency of His spirit.

The soul should not be surprised at feeling itself unable to offer up to God such petitions as it had formally made with freedom and facility; for now the Spirit maketh intercession for it according to the will of God ("with sighs too deep for words" - Romans 8:26-27).

People are more than just the way they look.

But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

I had no right to claim him, I know it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

Will I feel his ashes as they fall against mine? I think of the snowflakes on Pelion, cold on our red cheeks. The yearning for him is like hunger, hollowing me. Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free. His ashes settle among mine, and I feel nothing.

I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation he was to me.

The poets were always correct,'' I say softly. ''You are half my soul.

Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.