Faded Quotes (page 12)
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Have you ever felt so at one with the world, with the universe, with everything that is, that you were overcome with love? That is reality. That is the truth. What we make of it is up to us, as the painting of the sunrise is up to the artist. In our world humanity has strayed from that love. It lives hatred and power struggles and manipulations of the earth itself for its own narrow reasons. Continue and no one will see the sunrise. The sunrise will always exist, of course, but people on...
Richard Bach
THE OWLSby: Charles Baudelaire. UNDER the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos. Their red eyes gleam. They meditate. Motionless thus they sit and dream. Until that melancholy hour. When, with the sun's last fading gleam, The nightly shades assume their power. From their still attitude the wise. Will learn with terror to despise. All tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every shade, Carries the memory in his breast, Of each...
Charles Baudelaire
The Indian danced on alone. The crowd clapped up the beat. The Indian danced with a chair. The crowd went crazy. The band faded. The crowd cheered. The Indian held up his hands for silence as if to make a speech. Looking at the band and then the crowd, the Indian said, "Well, what're you waiting for? Let's DANCE.
Robert Fulghum
A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.
Virginia Woolf
But there is something about Time. The sun rises and sets. The stars swing slowly across the sky and fade. Clouds fill with rain and snow, empty themselves, and fill again. The moon is born, and dies, and is reborn. Around millions of clocks swing hour hands, and minute hands, and second hands. Around goes the continual circle of the notes of the scale. Around goes the circle of night and day, the circle of weeks forever revolving, and of months, and of years.
Madeleine L'Engle
Immortal amarant, a flower which once. In paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence. To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows, And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven. Rolls o'er elysian flowers her amber stream: With these that never fade the spirits elect. Bind their resplendent locks.
John Milton
My mother spoke, alive again inside my brain...She spoke and I listened to her, because I was afraid if I didn't her voice would gradually fade away, an evanescent wraith of a thing that would narrow to a pinpoint of light and then go out, lost forever, like the Tinker Bell if no one clapped for her.
A. Whitney Brown
But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”
“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!”
From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.
“After all this time?”
“Always,” said Snape.
J. K. Rowling
...a book is a delicate friend, a white bird, an exquisite being, afraid of water.Darling things! Afraid of water, of fire, They shiver in the wind. Clumsy, crude human fingers leave bruises on them that'll never fade! Never!Some people touch books without washing their hands!Some underline things in ink!Some even tear pages out!
Tatyana Tolstaya