Philosophy Quotes - Page 154

Last year I had a very unusual experience. I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time of the planet where I had lived. It looked like a woman’s tweed scarf; the longer I studied any one spot, the more dots of color I saw. There was no end to the deepness and variety of dots. At length I started to look for my time, but, although more and more specks of color and deeper and more intricate textures appeared in the fabric, I couldn’t find my time, or any time at all that I recognized as being near my time. I couldn’t make out so much as a pyramid. Yet as I looked at the band of time, all the individual people, I understood with special clarity, were living at that very moment with great emotion, in intricate, detail, in their individual times and places, and they were dying and being replaced by ever more people, one by one, like stitches in which wholly worlds of feeling and energy were wrapped in a never-ending cloth. I remembered suddenly the color and texture of our life as we knew it- these things had been utterly forgotten- and I thought as I searched for it on the limitless band, “that was a good time then, a good time to be living.” And I began to remember our time.tI recalled green fields with carrots growing, one by one, in slender rows. Men and women in bright vests and scarves came and pulled the carrots out of the soil and carried them in baskets to shaded kitchens, where they scrubbed them with yellow brushes under running water. I saw white-faced cattle lowing and wading in creeks. I saw May apples in forests, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided, and apples grew spotted and striped in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. tI remembered the ocean, and I seemed to be in the ocean myself, swimming over orange crabs that looked like coral, or off the deep Atlantic banks where whitefish school. Or again I saw the tops of poplars, and the whole sky brushed with clouds in pallid streaks, under which wild ducks flew with outstretched necks, and called, one by one, and flew on.tAll these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remember the life of my time with increasing feeling.tAt last I saw the earth as a globe in space, and I recalled the ocean’s shape and the form of continents, saying to myself with surprise as I looked at the planet, “yes, that’s how it was then, that part there was called France.” I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes.tWe all ought to be able to conjure up sights like these at will, so that we can keep in mind the scope of texture’s motion in time.

Annie Dillard

Were the earth as smooth as a ball bearing, it might be beautiful seen from another planet, as the rings of Saturn are. But here we live and move; we wander up and down the banks of the creek, we ride a railway through the Alps, and the landscape shifts and changes. Were the earth smooth, our brains would be smooth as well; we would wake, blink, walk two steps to get the whole picture and lapse into dreamless sleep. Because we are living people, and because we are on the receiving end of beauty, another element necessarily enters the question. The texture of space is a condition of time. Time is the warp and matter the weft of woven texture of beauty in space, and death is the hurtling shuttle…tWhat I want to do, then, is add time to the texture, paint the landscape on an unrolling scroll, and set the giant relief globe spinning on it stand.

Annie Dillard

Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery. The surface of mystery is not smooth, any more than the planet is smooth; not even a single hydrogen atom is smooth, let alone a pine. Nor does it fit together; not even the chlorophyll and hemoglobin molecules are a perfect match, for, even after the atom of iron replaces the magnesium, long streamers of disparate atoms trail disjointedly from the rims of the molecule’s loops. Freedom cuts both ways. Mystery itself is as fringed and intricate at the shape of the air at times. Forays into mystery cut bays and fine fjords, but the forested mainland itself is implacable both in its bulk and in its most filigreed fringe of detail.

Annie Dillard

I am sitting here, you are sitting there. Say even that you are sitting across the kitchen table from me right now. Our eyes meet; a consciousness snaps back and forth. What we know, at least for starters, is: here we- so incontrovertibly- are. This is our life, these are our lighted seasons, and then we die. In the meantime, in between time, we can see. The scales are fallen from our eyes, the cataracts are cut away, and we can work at making sense of the color-patches we see in an effort to discover where we so incontrovertibly are. tI am as passionately interested in where I am as is a lone sailor sans sextant in a ketch on an open ocean. I have at the moment a situation which allows me to devote considerable hunks of time to seeing what I can see, and trying to piece it together. I’ve learned the name of some color-patches, but not the meanings. I’ve read books; I’ve gathered statistics feverishly: the average temperature of our planet is 57 degrees F…The average size of all living animals, including man, is almost that of a housefly. The earth is mostly granite, which is mostly oxygen…In these Appalachians we have found a coal bed with 120 seams, meaning 120 forests that just happened to fall into water…I would like to see it all, to understand it, but I must start somewhere, so I try to deal with the giant water bug in Tinker Creek and the flight of three hundred redwings from an Osage orange and let those who dare worry about the birthrate and population explosion among solar systems. tSo I think about the valley. And it occurs to me more and more that everything I have seen is wholly gratuitous. The giant water bug’s predations, the frog’s croak, the tree with the lights in it are not in any real sense necessary per se to the world or its creator. Nor am I. The creation in the first place, being itself, is the only necessity for which I would die, and I shall. The point about that being, as I know it here and see it, is that as I think about it, it accumulates in my mind as an extravagance of minutiae. The sheer fringe and network of detail assumes primary importance. That there are so many details seems to be the most important and visible fact about creation. If you can’t see the forest for the trees, then look at the trees; when you’ve looked at enough trees, you’ve seen a forest, you’ve got it. If the world is gratuitous, then the fringe of a goldfish’s fin is a million times more so. The first question- the one crucial one- of the creation of the universe and the existence of something as a sign and an affront to nothing is a blank one…The old Kabbalistic phrase is “the Mystery of the Splintering of the Vessels.” The words refer to the shrinking or imprisonment of essences within the various husk-covered forms of emanation or time. The Vessels splintered and solar systems spun; ciliated rotifers whirled in still water, and newts laid tracks in the silt-bottomed creek. Not only did the Vessels splinter; they splintered exceeding fine. Intricacy then is the subject, the intricacy of the created world.

Annie Dillard

Beauty is the expression of passion of life.

Debasish Mridha

Love is the beauty, the flower, the fragrance, and the attractive force of our soul.

Debasish Mridha

Fill yourself with beauty to overflowing.

Debasish Mridha

Always find the opportunity to express and enjoy the beauty of love.

Debasish Mridha

To be magnificent, attract beauty like a magnet.

Debasish Mridha

A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky’s stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off.tAt the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I’ll not go northing this year. I’ll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow’s fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow’s seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.

Annie Dillard

I have often noticed that these things, which obsess me, neither bother nor impress other people even slightly. I am horribly apt to approach some innocent at a gathering, and like the ancient mariner, fix him with a wild, glitt’ring eye and say, “Do you know that in the head of the caterpillar of the ordinary goat moth there are two hundred twenty-eight separate muscles?” The poor wretch flees. I am not making chatter; I mean to change his life.

Annie Dillard

All at once, something wonderful happened, although at first, it seemed perfectly ordinary. A female goldfinch suddenly hove into view. She lighted weightlessly on the head of a bankside purple thistle and began emptying the seedcase, sowing the air with down.tThe lighted frame of my window filled. The down rose and spread in all directions, wafting over the dam’s waterfall and wavering between the tulip trunks and into the meadow. It vaulted towards the orchard in a puff; it hovered over the ripening pawpaw fruit and staggered up the steep faced terrace. It jerked, floated, rolled, veered, swayed. The thistle down faltered down toward the cottage and gusted clear to the woods; it rose and entered the shaggy arms of pecans. At last it strayed like snow, blind and sweet, into the pool of the creek upstream, and into the race of the creek over rocks down. It shuddered onto the tips of growing grasses, where it poised, light, still wracked by errant quivers. I was holding my breath. Is this where we live, I thought, in this place in this moment, with the air so light and wild?tThe same fixity that collapses stars and drives the mantis to devour her mate eased these creatures together before my eyes: the thick adept bill of the goldfinch, and the feathery coded down. How could anything be amiss? If I myself were lighter and frayed, I could ride these small winds, too, taking my chances, for the pleasure of being so purely played.tThe thistle is part of Adam’s curse. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake, in sorrow shalt thou eat of it; thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.” A terrible curse: But does the goldfinch eat thorny sorrow with the thistle or do I? If this furling air is fallen, then the fall was happy indeed. If this creekside garden is sorrow, then I seek martyrdom. tI was weightless; my bones were taut skins blown with buoyant gas; it seemed that if I inhaled too deeply, my shoulders and head would waft off. Alleluia.

Annie Dillard

I am not a teacher. I can only inspire you and show you how to unfold your own beauty.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

Music reveals the deepest beauty of the soul.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

To make life beautiful--every time you think--think about the amazing beauty of life.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

How can you find new beauty if you are never allowed to get out of conformity?

Debasish Mridha M.D.

In every aspect of life, be true to who you are. There is no need to communicate subliminally. If you believe in your words or actions, then express yourself completely. Live, Laugh, & Love without regrets.

Amaka Imani Nkosazana

The beauty of friendship is loyalty.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

Your life is your canvas. You are responsible for the beauty of your art.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

The beauty of truth is in its simplicity.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

If you look for beauty, you will find it.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

There was a product which seemed attractive, expensive, portable, beautiful and simple. Everybody talked about its beauty but they bought it for it's simplicity.

Amit Kalantri

Life is a one way journey. Don’t forget to enjoy the amazing beauty.

Debasish Mridha M.D.

Loving yourself is of vital importance. Because there is no way you'll love another soul if you fail to have self love. Embrace your beautiful spirit and shine light for those who may be living in the dark. You are human and your heart is designed to love and live. You can not be open to love if you're not loving yourself.

Amaka Imani Nkosazana

Focus on beauty to have a beautiful life.

Debasish Mridha

We are always looking for beauty and forget that it is residing inside of our own hearts.

Debasish Mridha

Focusing on the beauty of life is insight. Enjoying the beauty of life is happiness.

Debasish Mridha

When I escape from my cage of conformity, I grow wings to fly in search of truth and beauty.

Debasish Mridha

Act for the joy and beauty of action not for the fruits of creation.

Debasish Mridha

To enjoy the beauty of life and the joy of your soul, serve, love, and give the best you can.

Debasish Mridha

Breathtaking beauty is just over the barrier that you always fear.

Debasish Mridha

Without harming anyone, how can I make this world more peaceful? How can I help others to fulfill their desires? How can I enhance and enrich the beauty and happiness for humanity?

Debasish Mridha

Silence is the language of nature and beauty where perception and feelings are the only reality.

Debasish Mridha

Imagination is a roller coaster ride in search of ideas and beauty into the wonderland of subconscious and conscious mind.

Debasish Mridha

Mist lies over the river like the icy breath of winter angels. Darkness gathers round... and it is beautiful.Thank you for this life, this death, whatever it is you arethat makes us finally see.

Jay Woodman

There will be people who admire your strength and courage. But, there will also be those willing to knock everything you say and do. They think it goes unnoticed, but you have excellent peripheral vision. The trick is to never let them get the best of you. Don't become vulnerable to their deceptive nature. You were born to succeed.

Amaka Imani Nkosazana

The more beauty you see, the more beautiful you become.

Debasish Mridha

To see beauty, you have to love.

Debasish Mridha

The beauty of life is in happiness.

Debasish Mridha

Through the window of my soul and the mirror of my mind, I was looking for the beauty of my life. I could not find it, but I found it in the glint of a dew drop at the edge of a dancing leaf.

Debasish Mridha

Life is a duty and an eternal journey in search of beauty.

Debasish Mridha

Quality depends on kindness. Beauty depends on simplicity. Joy depends on generosity.

Debasish Mridha

You are born to be magical, gorgeous and beautiful inside and out. So express your beauty and fear not.

Debasish Mridha

Magic is in simplicity. Simplicity is the ultimate expression of beauty.

Debasish Mridha

The beauty of a woman is not in her facial makeup but in the kindness of her soul.

Debasish Mridha

Art requires philosophy, just as philosophy requires art. Otherwise, what would become of beauty?

Paul Gauguin

Beauty is not in a woman’s face but in her soul.

Debasish Mridha

So beautiful but so bountiful.So delicate but so fresh.So magical but so simple.So much to say but yet so silent.So loving and so pleasant.Oh, flowers of charming love,You are life’s joy and present.

Debasish Mridha

Every new friend is a fresh flower with endless beauty, love, and joy.

Debasish Mridha

Let your life be a vivacious poetry of love, compassion, kindness, and beauty.

Debasish Mridha

Beauty is in the reflection of your love that is always present in your heart.

Debasish Mridha

The world is full of beauty; to find it, just look for it.

Debasish Mridha

You are most beautiful when your heart is full of love and your mind is soft and kind.

Debasish Mridha

Every woman is distinctly beautiful because every woman has a motherly instinct.

Debasish Mridha

You will make the world a magnificent place with the magic of your kindness, beauty, peace, and happiness.

Debasish Mridha

A wonderful person finds amazing beauty in everything and everyone.

Debasish Mridha

Not the eyes, but the heart sees the beauty.

Debasish Mridha

Until your last breath, you may not be able to see the true beauty of life.

Debasish Mridha

Open the beauty of your heart and smile like a flower.

Debasish Mridha

Philosophy, in its simplest form, is the exploration of the beauty and ugliness of life.

Debasish Mridha

Previous 1 … 152 153 154 155 156 … 245 Next

Philosophy Quotes - Page 154

Related Topics