Quotes About Ruins

studying castelles in the blowne

The Confederates accidentally set their own city afire when they burned supplies to keep them from Union hands. The flames spread out of control and reduced much of the capital to ruins.

Lost, is it, buried? One more missing piece? But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation And every bit of us is lost in it (Or found — I wander through the ruin of S Now and then, wondering at the peacefulness) And in that loss a self-effacing tree, Color of context, imperceptibly Rustling with its angel, turns the waste To shade and fiber, milk and memory.

I lived in the south near Tughlaqabad. My father was in the Air Force station. I used to go to Tughlaqabad Fort, and there's a huge city park there a big city forest, near the ruins. They were so beautiful. So I have been to those parks.

To salve the pains of consciousness, some people anesthetize themselves with sunny thoughts. But not everyone can follow their lead, above all not those who sneer at the sun and everything upon which it beats down. Their only respite is in the balm of bleakness. Disdainful of the solicitations of hope, they look for sanctuary in desolate places - a scattering of ruins in a barren locale or a rubble of words in a book where someone whispers in a dry voice, "I too am here.

For wherever mystery serves as a foundation, only ruins may be erected.

Their only respite is in the balm of bleakness. Disdainful of the solicitations of hope, they look for sanctuary in desolate places—a scattering of ruins in a barren locale or a rubble of words in a book where someone whispers in a dry voice, "I, too, am here." However,

For he dreamed of shadowed volumes that preached no earthly catechisms but delineated only a tenebrous liturgy of the spectral and rites of salvation by way of meticulous derangement. His absolute: to dwell among the ruins of reality.

Government, like dress, is the badge of lost innocence; the palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the bowers of paradise.

Adolf Hitler wanted the capital of France razed to the ground before the Germans retreated. Destroying one of the great cities of the world would be a powerful "moral weapon" against the enemy, the Führer declared. He ordered von Choltitz to leave the city "a field of ruins.

Ty and Thane walked out of the Old

'Pompeii' is kind of a lifelong obsession for me.

América Latina: ruínas, natureza e umas figuras imprecisas - os criados e o gerente do hotel.

For me it has always been a city of ruins and of end-of-empire melancholy. I've spent my life either battling with this melancholy or (like all ?stanbullus) making it my own.

They, like me, like all of us, had, once upon a time, in a past so far away it seemed like heaven, caught by chance a glimpse of an inner essence, only to forget what it was. It was this lost memory that pained us, reduced us to ruins, though still we struggled to be ourselves.

Here among the old stones and the old wooden houses, history made peace with it's ruins; ruins nourished life, and gave new life to history.

to ''discover'' the city's soul in it's ruins, to see these ruins as expressing the city's ''essence'', you must travel down a long, labyrinth path strewn with historical accidents.

The Istanbul in which they lived was a city littered with the ruins of the great fall, but it was their city. If they gave themselves to melancholic poems about loss and destruction, they would, if discovered, find a voice all their own.

Good heavens! how marriage ruins a man! It's as demoralizing as cigarettes, and far more expensive.

Years later he'd stood in the charred ruins of a library where blackened books lay in pools of water. Shelves tipped over. Some rage at the lies arranged in their thousands row on row. He picked up one of the books and thumbed through the heavy bloated pages. He'd not have thought the value of the smallest thing predicated on a world to come. It surprised him. That the space which these things occupied was itself an expectation.

All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage.

The lights of Knoxville quaked in a faint penumbra to the west as must the ruins of many an older city seen by herders in the hills, by barbaric tribesmen shuffling along the roads.

This is the house where the dead lived. It is gone, lost and gone.

And she says you cant change history and that ruins should be left to ruin. And she's right. But that the craft of stonemasonry should be allowed to vanish from this world is just not negotiable for me. Somewhere there is someone who wants to know. Nor will I have to seek him out. He'll find me.