chickadee

Saturday, November 8

As flowerlets, dropped and puckered up in the night, turn up to the returning sun and spread their petals wide on his new warmth and light - just so my wilted spirits rose again and such a heat of zeal surged through my veins that i was born anew.
-Dante's Inferno

1 comment:

Taryn Lamp said...: I love your quotes, and the things that you point out to me and make me read that i would have otherwise overlooked.; November 10, 2008 at 9:20 PM

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words.

Why are we inspired by another person's courage? Maybe because it gives us the sweet and genuine surprise of discovering some trace, at least, of the same courage in ourselves.
-Laurence Shames

Art offers the possibility of love with strangers.
-Walter Hopps

And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of men: A motion and a spirit, that impels all thinking things, all objects of all thought, and rolls through all things.
-William Wordsworth

For I have known them all already, known them all; Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all --- The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, and when I am formulated sprawling on a pin, when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, then how should I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all --- Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] Is it perfume from a dress that makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin?
-T.S. Eliot (The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock)

All of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon, instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.
-Dale Carnegie

Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley