The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
— Rumi
Category: quote
“Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are. We are often like rivers: careless and forceful, timid and dangerous, lucid and muddied, eddying, gleaming, still.”
― Gretel Ehrlich, The Solace of Open Spaces
(via Sean Sharp)
“Daddy, you’re nervousing me!”
— Beatrix, who makes up a whole new word because I got too close to the cliff edge.
It is quite possible to leave your home for a walk in the early morning air and return a different person – beguiled, enchanted.
— Mary Ellen Chase
The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.
— Daniel Woodrell – Winter’s Bone
“My favorite authors are the ones living, dead, read and unread, published and unpublished, who write because they can’t stop and because something inside them burns to be outside. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to read their books, but they are all and every one my favorites.”
“My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.”
— Stephen Hawking, The Science of Second-Guessing (New York Times Magazine Interview, December 12, 2004)
Life isn’t a support system for the art. It’s the other way around.
— Stephen King – On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft
We are now faced with the fact, my friends, that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked, and dejected with a lost opportunity. The tide in the affairs of men does not remain at flood — it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is adamant to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words, “Too late.
— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
“If you lay hands on today, you will find you are less dependent on tomorrow. While you delay, life speeds on by.
Every thing we have belongs to others, Lucilius; time alone is ours. Nature has put us in possession of this one thing, this fleeting, slippery thing – and anyone who wants to can dispossess us.”
— Seneca (4 BC – AD 65), Moral Letters to Lucilius (1.1)