Through The Years Quotes (page 4)
The most thrilling day of the year, the first real day of Spring had enclosed its warm delicious beauty even to London eyes. It had put a spangle in every colour and a new tone in every voice, and city folks walked as though they carried real bodies under their clothes with real live hearts pumping the still blood through.
Katherine Mansfield
The survivors ran through the fields, escaping. From themselves, knowing they wouldn't return. For a hundred years. Before them were spread. Those quicksands where a tree changes into nothing, Into an anti-tree, where no borderline. Separates a shape from a shape, and where, Amid thunder, the golden house of is. Collapses, and the word becoming ascends.
Czeslaw Milosz
The fount of joy was bubbling in thine eyes, Dancing was in thy feet, And on thy lips a laugh that never dies, Unutterably sweet. Dance on! for ever young, for ever fair, Lightfooted as a frightened bounding deer, Thy wreath of vine-leaves twisted in thy hair, Through all the changing seasons of the year...
Vita Sackville-West
What will happen when my heart stops beating?" Momo asked. When that moment comes," said the professor, "time will stop for you as well. Or rather, you will retrace your steps through time, through all the days and nights, myths and years of your life, until you go out through the great, round, silver gate you entered by."What will I find on the other side?"The home of the music you've sometimes faintly heard in the distance, but by then you'll be part of it. You yourself will be a note in...
Michael Ende
We’re involved with flower, fruit, grapevine.
They speak more than the language of the year.
Out of the darkness a blaze of colors appears,
and one perhaps that has the jealous shine
Of the dead, those who strengthen the earth.
What do we know of the part they assume?
It’s long been their habit to marrow the loam
with their own free marrow through and through.
Now the one question: Is it done gladly?
The work of sullen slaves, does this fruit
thrust up, clenched, toward us, its...
Rainer Maria Rilke