Quotes About Eternity

A finely tempered nature longs to escape from his noisy cramped surroundings into the silence of the high mountains where the eye ranges freely through the still pure air and fondly traces out the restful contours apparently built for eternity.

To the ocean. That sounds right. Where the waves roll in slowly and there's always a roar and you can't fall anywhere. You're already there.

A finely tempered nature longs to escape from his noisy cramped surroundings into the silence of the high mountains where the eye ranges freely through the still pure air and fondly traces out the restful contours apparently built for eternity. The passage is from a 1918 speech by a young German scientist named Albert Einstein.

The past cannot remember the past. The future can't generate the future.

Priming people to think of God as punitive decreases cheating; thinking of God as forgiving increases it. The researchers then studied subjects from sixty-seven countries, considering the prevalence in each of belief in the existence of a heaven and hell. The greater the skew toward belief in hell, rather than heaven, the lower the national crime rate. When it comes to Eternity, sticks apparently work better than carrots.

The Heavenly City outshines Rome," Augustine wrote. "There, instead of victory, is truth; instead of high rank, holiness; instead of life, eternity.

When you get to heaven, will you look back on this earth and regret how much treasure you laid up here instead of sending it on ahead to heaven?

Chaque vérité éternelle existe en double, en multiples exemplaires.

Der Zug der Zeit ist ein Zug, der seine Schienen vor sich her rollt. Der Fluß der Zeit ist ein Fluß, der seine Ufer mitführt.

Do you ever think about the rocks? he said. How does that go? Maybe they are alive and their hearts beat once every thousand years and they only need to take a breath every five hundred.

you live through . . . that little piece of time that is yours, but that piece of time is not only your own life, it is the summing-up of all the other lives that are simultaneous with yours. It is, in other words, History, and what you are is an expression of History.

For what blessing may a man hope for but An immortality in The loving vigilance of death.

We live in time so little time And we learn all so painfully, That we may spare this hour's term To practice for eternity.

Duffy was face to face with the margin of mystery where all our calculations collapse, where the stream of time dwindles into the sands of eternity, where the formula fails in the test tube, where chaos and old night hold sway and we hear the laughter in the ether dream.

For everything there is a season / But there is the dream / Of a season past all seasons.

The past cannot remember the past. The future cannot generate the future. The cutting edge of this instant right here and now is always nothing less than the totality of everything there is.

Incarnation does not literally remove us from our eternal Home; rather, it simply limits our capacity to see the nonphysical parts of it. Death, then, is the dissolution of the veil that screened the nonphysical realm from us.

Cuando tú, como alma eterna, planeaste tu vida actual, no te preocupaste por los conocimientos que podría adquirir tu mente. En lugar de eso, querías experimentar los sentimientos que generaría una vida en la dimensión física.

I don't think I can even imagine what a culture that's been developing steadily for a billion years ought to be like. Disembodied electrical essences, maybe. Ghostly creatures flitting in and out of the eighth, ninth, and tenth dimensions. Cosmic minds that know all, perceive all, understand all. Maybe

Death was the only question that contained its own answer, and when you asked the question and had the answer you were gone, you were nothing.

Living, we fret. Dying, we live.

Todo mundo quiere irse al cielo, pero nadie quiere morir.

Do you know what I think Mayflowers are, Marilla? I think they must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer, and this is their heaven.

The woods are never solitary--they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity.