Saintly 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
resignation-is-quality-saintly-souls-hazrat-inayat-khan
even-if-it-were-proven-that-god-didnt-exist-religion-would-still-be-saintly-and-divine
lord-carradice-managed-to-look-wicked-smug-saintly-all-at-same-time-anne-gracie
walking-naked-other-things-mentioned-in-our-verse-are-outward-signs-saintly-life-friedrich-max-muller
tolerating-wrong-attitude-toward-another-person-causes-you-to-follow-spirit-devil-no-matter-how-saintly-you-are-oswald-chambers
only-most-saintly-delusional-among-us-welcomes-all-pain-as-challenge-perceives-all-loss-as-harsh-blessing-scott-jurek
number-saintly-men-has-not-yet-risen-to-level-where-census-makes-them-separate-statistical-category-george-stigler
one-has-to-ascertain-right-path-for-his-activities-by-following-in-footsteps-great-saintly-persons-books-knowledge-under-guidance-spiritual-a-c-bhaktivedanta-swami-prabhupada
let-us-be-honest-most-us-rather-like-our-cats-to-have-streak-wickedness-i-should-not-feel-quite-easy-in-company-any-cat-that-walked-around-house-with-saintly-expression-beverley-
such-events-may-be-disbelieved-disregarded-but-charity-bishop-acacius-amida-whose-name-might-have-dignified-saintly-calendar-shall-not-be-lost-edward-gibbon
the-world-is-shocked-amused-by-sight-saintly-old-people-hindering-in-name-morality-removal-obvious-brutalities-from-legal-system-alfred-north-whitehead
eschew-wicked-company-associate-with-saintly-persons-acquire-virtue-day-night-always-meditate-on-that-which-is-eternal-forgetting-that-which-is-temporary-chanakya
so-dear-to-heaven-is-saintly-chastitythat-when-soul-is-found-sincerely-a-thousand-liveried-angels-lacky-herdriving-far-off-each-thing-sin-guilt-john-milton
i-lacked-courage-to-investigate-weaknesses-wicked-because-i-discovered-they-are-same-as-weaknesses-saintly-umberto-eco
i-dont-claim-to-have-led-saintly-life-there-have-been-lot-one-sided-love-stories-in-my-life
and-stately-lilies-stand-fair-in-silvery-light-like-saintly-vestals-pale-in-prayer-their-pure-breath-sanctifies-air-as-its-fragrance-fills-night-julia-caroline-dorr
ah-broken-is-golden-bowl-spirit-flown-forever-let-bell-toll-saintly-soul-floats-on-stygian-river-and-guy-de-vere-hast-thou-no-tearweep-now-edgar-allan-poe
i-was-always-amused-by-prayers-saintly-god-do-this-god-dont-do-that-i-thought-god-probably-laughed-at-them-too-unless-he-was-little-annoyed-by-jean-plaidy
i-was-always-amused-by-prayers-saintly-god-do-this-god-dont-do-that-i-thought-god-probably-laughed-at-them-too-unless-he-was-little-annoyed-by-their-temerity-jean-plaidy
but-hail-thou-goddess-sage-holy-hail-divinest-melancholy-whose-saintly-visage-is-too-bright-to-hit-sense-human-sight-and-therefore-to-our-weaker-john-milton
i-was-once-man-not-great-man-not-saintly-man-but-good-man-man-nonetheless-barbara-t-cerny
By far, the most important distortions and confabulations of memory are those that serve to justify and explain our own lives. The mind, sense-making organ that it is, does not interpret our experiences as if they were shattered shards of glass; it assembles them into a mosaic. From the distance of years, we see the mosaic's pattern. It seems tangible, unchangeable; we can't imagine how we could reconfigure those pieces into another design. But it is a result of years of telling our story, shaping it into a life narrative that is complete with heroes and villians, an account of how we came to be the way we are. Because that narrative is the way we understand the world and our place in it, it is bigger than the sum of its parts. If on part, one memory, is shown to be wrong, people have to reduce the resulting dissonance and even rethink the basic mental category: you mean Dad (Mom) wasn't such a bad (good) person after all? You mean Dad (Mom) was a complex human being? The life narrative may be fundamentally true; Your father or mother might really have been hateful, or saintly. The problem is that when the narrative becomes a major source of self-justification, one the storyteller relies on to excuse mistakes and failings, memory becomes warped in its service. The storyteller remembers only the confirming examples of the parent's malevolence and forgets the dissonant instances of the parent's good qualities. Over time, as the story hardens, it becomes more difficult to see the whole parent - the mixture of good and bad, strengths and flaws, good intentions and unfortunate blunders. Memories create our stories, but our stories also create our memories.

Carol Tavris
by-far-most-important-distortions-confabulations-memory-are-those-that-serve-to-justify-explain-our-own-lives-the-mind-sensemaking-organ-that-it-is-does-not-interpret-our-experie
When you are quite well enough to travel, Latimer, I shall take you home with me. The journey will amuse you and do you good, for I shall go through the Tyrol and Austria, and you will see many new places. Our neighbours, the Filmores, are come; Alfred will join us at Basle, and we shall all go together to Vienna, and back by Prague... ' My father was called away before he had finished his sentence, and he left my mind resting on the word Prague with a strange sense that a new and wondrous scene was breaking upon me: a city under the broad sunshine, that seemed to me as if it were summer sunshine of a long-past century arrested in its course-unrefreshed for ages by dews of night, or the rushing rain-cloud; scorching the dusty, weary, time-eaten grandeur of a people doomed to live on in the stale repetition of memories, like deposed and superannuated kings in their regal gold inwoven tatters. The city looked so thirsty that the broad river seemed to me a sheet of metal; and the blackened statues, as I passed under their blank gaze, along the unending bridge, with their ancient garments and their saintly crowns, seemed to me the real inhabitants and owners of this place, while the busy, trivial men and women, hurrying to and fro, were a swarm of ephemeral visitants infesting it for a day. It is such grim, stony beings as these, I thought, who are the fathers of ancient faded children, in those tanned time-fretted dwellings that crowd the steep before me; who pay their court in the worn and crumbling pomp of the palace which stretches its monotonous length on the height; who worship wearily in the stifling air of the churches, urged by no fear or hope, but compelled by their doom to be ever old and undying, to live on in the rigidity of habit, as they live on in perpetual midday, without the repose of night or the new birth of morning. A stunning clang of metal suddenly thrilled through me, and I became conscious of the objects in my room again: one of the fire-irons had fallen as Pierre opened the door to bring me my draught. My heart was palpitating violently, and I begged Pierre to leave my draught beside me; I would take it presently. ("The Lifted Veil")

George Eliot
when-you-are-quite-well-enough-to-travel-latimer-i-shall-take-you-home-with-me-the-journey-will-amuse-you-do-you-good-for-i-shall-go-through-tyrol-austria-you-will-see-many-new-p
Faded icon of the gilded halo, Once illuminating, inspiring; Admirers, enemies, lovers, family, A distant memory trodden under foot. Evanescent existence; flickering fame, A quintessence of reflections Incidentally etched on ancient relics. Can we conjure your presence? We barely remember Joseph Warren as the person who dispatched Paul Revere on his famous ride, and as the hero of the Battle of Bunker Hill, where he was killed in action. It wasn't always that way. For almost a century Warren was one of the most important and remembered founders of the fledgling American nation. John Trumbull's painting 'Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker's Hill, ' a renowned icon of American history, dates from that period. In it scarlet uniformed British soldiers, heavily armed and personally led by their officers, have just overwhelmed American entrenchments atop Breed's Hill, within sight across the Mystic River of Boston. In the background loom the eponymous Bunker Hill and the village of Charlestown, its houses and churches aflame, a smoky cloud framing the battlefield. The Americans, a motley amalgam of raw militia, countrymen and workers, try unsuccessfully to fend off the onslaught. New England's Pine Tree flag still stands within the American dirt fort in the unseasonably hot and breezeless early summer afternoon. The red coated attackers, brandishing the colors of the United Kingdom, will take it down in a moment. It is June 17, 1775: The defenders of an embryonic American Liberty are about to be defeated in a British Pyrrhic victory. In the forefront, Colonel William Prescott commands the Americans while rotund General Israel Putnam vainly shouts orders in the background. British Generals Burgoyne and Clinton command the British attackers as Major John Pitcairn, leader of the marines falters, mortally wounded, yet still supported by a soldier. British and Americans have fallen indiscriminately on the field among the detritus of battle. In the foreground, a finely dressed figure lies prostrate, his sword dropped to the earth. Prescott wards off a bayonet thrust by an onrushing British infantryman. It is a thrust the enemy's own superior officer, Colonel Small, curiously appears to want deflected. But the targeted figure already lies supine, looking skyward in a saintly blank stare. He is suspended momentarily in a halo of tranquility amongst the mayhem. This dying man can no longer smell the acrid, dense black powder smoke that hangs low in the windless oppressive heat, obscuring the afternoon sun. He pays no heed to the shouts of men nor the eerie lull in the previously deafening gunfire. The animation, his admonishments of others to action, the thrill and fear of battle, all suddenly calm. A single bullet annihilates in an instant inspiring words, the force of personality, the martial spirit in action, the reality and complexity of a human being. Dr. Joseph Warren, the central figure, moves from life to legend. Trumbull's iconic painting raises unanswered questions about its subject. How did a physician come to assume such a responsible role in this engagement? How did he meet his fate within sight of his home town? Why was he famous throughout the young United States as a model for involved citizenship? Was there any truth to the cynicism of his political enemies? Most compelling of all-why has this once beloved leader been so long and unjustifiably forgotten? This biography of Joseph Warren answers these and other questions. It utilizes modern analytical methods, uncovers new material, and sheds new light on 'established' facts... Please join me in getting to know Joseph Warren, accompanying him on his lifetime's journey to Bunker Hill, and considering the fate of his reputation and memory long after his heroic demise.

Sam Forman
faded-icon-gilded-halo-once-illuminating-inspiring-admirers-enemies-lovers-family-a-distant-memory-trodden-under-foot-evanescent-existence-flickering-fame-a-quintessence-reflecti
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