Babbling Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
and-when-you-pray-do-not-keep-on-babbling-like-pagans-for-they-think-they-will-be-heard-because-their-many-words-matthew-67
theres-fine-line-between-stream-consciousness-babbling-brook-to-nowhere-dan-harmon
j-a-horrifying-glad-magnificent-star-babbling-daphnia-a-pulsing
if-tattoo-is-supposed-to-make-statement-that-kids-body-is-just-plain-babbling-vincent-h-oneil
there-are-two-types-panicking-standing-still-not-saying-word-leaping-all-over-place-babbling-anything-that-comes-into-your-head-daniel-handler
twenty-years-ago-computer-was-babbling-box-now-it-is-boasting-beast-david-luiz
do-not-keep-slanderer-awaytreat-him-with-affection-honorbody-soul-he-scours-all-cleanbabbling-about-this-that-kabir
do-not-keep-slanderer-away-treat-him-with-affection-honor-body-soul-he-scours-all-clean-babbling-about-this-that-kabir
if-god-had-wanted-to-be-big-secret-he-would-not-have-created-babbling-brooks-whispering-pines-robert-breault
there-is-greater-clarity-in-still-waters-sadness-something-not-found-in-babbling-brooks-more-sought-after-emotions-shaun-hick
its-been-my-policy-to-view-the-internet-not-as-an-information-highway-but-as-an-electronic-asylum-filled-with-babbling-loonies
its-been-my-policy-to-view-internet-not-as-information-highway-but-as-electronic-asylum-filled-with-babbling-loonies
never-believe-that-true-prayer-consists-in-mere-babbling-reciting-many-psalms-vigils-saying-your-beads-while-you-allow-your-thoughts-to-roam
thanks-to-reagan-insane-now-walk-among-us-babbling-about-starbucks-sodomite-semen-in-this-zombie-apocalypse-we-call-21st-century-st-sukie-de-la-croix
and-instead-pelting-these-babbling-idiots-with-their-own-freshly-toasted-marshmallows-everyone-else-sitting-around-fire-is-often-nodding-smiling-looking-solemny-thoughtful-stephe
yeah-when-you-want-whats-real-you-try-to-find-that-in-high-school-you-might-as-well-be-looking-for-mossy-rock-beside-babbling-brook-on-corner-deb-caletti
there-twice-day-severn-fills-the-salt-seawater-passes-by-and-hushes-half-babbling-wye-and-makes-silence-in-hills-alfred-lord-tennyson
i-wondered-if-having-conversations-with-your-dog-was-less-crazy-than-babbling-to-yourself-when-no-one-else-was-around-i-guess-it-depended-on-whether-not-dog-answered-deb-baker
we-should-stop-going-around-babbling-about-how-were-greatest-democracy-on-earth-when-were-not-even-democracy-we-are-sort-militarised-republic-gore-vidal
no-one-touched-bottom-lake-lived-if-you-were-lucky-youd-surface-wideeyed-frantic-babbling-at-darkness-thickness-what-lay-below-if-you-were-unlucky-underwater-recovery-dragged-lak
because-thames-i-have-always-loved-inland-waterways-water-in-general-water-sounds-theres-music-in-water-brooks-babbling-fountains-splashing-weirs-julie-andrews
let-not-our-babbling-dreams-affright-our-soulsconscience-is-but-work-that-cowards-usedevised-at-first-to-keep-strong-in-aweour-strong-arms-be-our-william-shakespeare
Breeze strolled over to the table and chose a seat with his characteristic decorum. The portly man raised his dueling cane, pointing it at Ham. 'I see that my period of intellectual respite has come to an end.' Ham smiled. 'I thought up a couple beastly questions while I was gone, and I've been saving them just for you, Breeze.' 'I'm dying of anticipation, ' Breeze said. He turned his cane toward Lestibournes. 'Spook, drink.' Spook rushed over and fetched Breeze a cup of wine. 'He's such a fine lad, ' Breeze noted, accepting the drink. 'I barely even have to nudge him Allomantically. If only the rest of you ruffians were so accommodating.' Spook frowned. 'Niceing the not on the playing without.' 'I have no idea what you just said, child, ' Breeze said. 'So I'm simply going to pretend it was coherent, then move on.' Kelsier rolled his eyes. 'Losing the stress on the nip, ' he said. 'Notting without the needing of care.' 'Riding the rile of the rids to the right, ' Spook said with a nod. 'What are you two babbling about?' Breeze said testily. 'Wasing the was of brightness, ' Spook said. 'Nip the having of wishing of this.' 'Ever wasing the doing of this, ' Kelsier agreed. 'Ever wasing the wish of having the have, ' Ham added with a smile. 'Brighting the wish of wasing the not.' Breeze turned to Dockson with exasperation. 'I believe our companions have finally lost their minds, dear friend.' Dockson shrugged. Then, with a perfectly straight face, he said, 'Wasing not of wasing is.

Brandon Sanderson
breeze-strolled-over-to-table-chose-seat-with-his-characteristic-decorum-the-portly-man-raised-his-dueling-cane-pointing-it-at-ham-i-see-that-my-period-intellectual-respite-has-c
i-sat-wondering-why-is-there-always-this-deep-shade-melancholy-over-fields-arid-river-banks-sky-sunshine-our-country-and-i-came-to-conclusion-that-it-is-because-with-us-nature-is
There is a bench in the back of my garden shaded by Virginia creeper, climbing roses, and a white pine where I sit early in the morning and watch the action. Light blue bells of a dwarf campanula drift over the rock garden just before my eyes. Behind it, a three-foot stand of aconite is flowering now, each dark blue cowl-like corolla bowed for worship or intrigue: thus its common name, monkshood. Next to the aconite, black madonna lilies with their seductive Easter scent are just coming into bloom. At the back of the garden, a hollow log, used in its glory days for a base to split kindling, now spills white cascade petunias and lobelia. I can't get enough of watching the bees and trying to imagine how they experience the abundance of, say, a blue campanula blosssom, the dizzy light pulsing, every fiber of being immersed in the flower... Last night, after a day in the garden, I asked Robin to explain (again) photosynthesis to me. I can't take in this business of _eating light_ and turning it into stem and thorn and flower... I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden. Maybe I would call it eating light. Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice: _apophatic mysticism_, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and _kataphatic mysticism_, less well defined: an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation. Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole, a kataphatic mystic, as was There¨se of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts: but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles. Francis and There¨se were made, really made, any mother superior will let you know, in the dark nights of their lives: no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms. When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period, my grandmother took me aside and said, 'Now your childhood is over. You will never really be happy again.' That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism. But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.

Mary Rose O'Reilley
there-is-bench-in-back-my-garden-shaded-by-virginia-creeper-climbing-roses-white-pine-where-i-sit-early-in-morning-watch-action-light-blue-bells-dwarf-campanula-drift-over-rock-g
My son, you are just an infant now, but on that day when the world disrobes of its alluring cloak, it is then that I pray this letter is in your hands. Listen closely, my dear child, for I am more than that old man in the dusty portrait beside your bed. I was once a little boy in my mother's arms and a babbling toddler on my father's lap. I played till the sun would set and climbed trees with ease and skill. Then I grew into a fine young man with shoulders broad and strong. My bones were firm and my limbs were straight; my hair was blacker than a raven's beak. I had a spring in my step and a lion's roar. I travelled the world, found love and married. Then off to war I bled in battle and danced with death. But today, vigor and grace have forsaken me and left me crippled. Listen closely, then, as I have lived not only all the years you have existed, but another forty more of my own. My son, We take this world for a permanent place; we assume our gains and triumphs will always be; that all that is dear to us will last forever. But my child, time is a patient hunter and a treacherous thief: it robs us of our loved ones and snatches up our glory. It crumbles mountains and turns stone to sand. So who are we to impede its path? No, everything and everyone we love will vanish, one day. So take time to appreciate the wee hours and seconds you have in this world. Your life is nothing but a sum of days so why take any day for granted? Don't despise evil people, they are here for a reason, too, for just as the gift salt offers to food, so do the worst of men allow us to savor the sweet, hidden flavor of true friendship. Dear boy, treat your elders with respect and shower them with gratitude; they are the keepers of hidden treasures and bridges to our past. Give meaning to your every goodbye and hold on to that parting embrace just a moment longer-you never know if it will be your last. Beware the temptation of riches and fame for both will abandon you faster than our own shadow deserts us at the approach of the setting sun. Cultivate seeds of knowledge in your soul and reap the harvest of good character. Above all, know why you have been placed on this floating blue sphere, swimming through space, for there is nothing more worthy of regret than a life lived void of this knowing. My son, dark days are upon you. This world will not leave you with tears unshed. It will squeeze you in its talons and lift you high, then drop you to plummet and shatter to bits. But when you lay there in pieces scattered and broken, gather yourself together and be whole once more. That is the secret of those who know. So let not my graying hairs and wrinkled skin deceive you that I do not understand this modern world. My life was filled with a thousand sacrifices that only I will ever know and a hundred gulps of poison I drank to be the father I wanted you to have. But, alas, such is the nature of this life that we will never truly know the struggles of our parents-not until that time arrives when a little hand-resembling our own-gently clutches our finger from its crib. My dear child, I fear that day when you will call hopelessly upon my lifeless corpse and no response shall come from me. I will be of no use to you then but I hope these words I leave behind will echo in your ears that day when I am no more. This life is but a blink in the eye of time, so cherish each moment dearly, my son.

Shakieb Orgunwall
my-son-you-are-just-infant-now-but-on-that-day-when-world-disrobes-its-alluring-cloak-it-is-then-that-i-pray-this-letter-is-in-your-hands-listen-closely-my-dear-child-for-i-am-mo