Shaded 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
some-shaded-path-with-arms-entwined
silence-may-be-as-variously-shaded-as-speech-edith-wharton
with-lead-he-shaded-love-into-womans-eyes-dean-koontz
celestial-apparitions-that-are-shaded-in-the-dark-light-of-day
like-most-hearts-it-was-complicated-shaded-with-dark-dappled-with-light-kate-dicamillo
facts-must-be-manipulated-some-must-be-brightened-others-shaded-yet-in-process-they-must-never-lose-their-integrity-virginia-woolf
sometimes-to-walk-in-shaded-parts-manhattan-is-to-be-inserted-into-magritte-street-is-night-while-sky-is-day-joseph-oneill
her-eyes-walnut-brown-shaded-by-fanned-lashes-met-mine-held-for-moment-flew-away-khaled-hosseini
far-clouds-feathery-gold-shaded-with-deepest-purple-gleam-like-islands-on-dark-blue-sea-percy-bysshe-shelley
was-flower-was-frail-and-i-let-trees-grow-wild-around-me-grew-high-hid-sky-shaded-everything-i-needed-to-see-ace-of-base
few-men-are-one-plain-decided-color-most-are-mixed-shaded-blended-vary-as-much-from-different-situations-as-changeable-silks-do-from-different-lord-chesterfield
in-shaded-portions-where-two-spheres-different-lives-meet-certain-fundamentals-moods-loves-fears-angers-cant-be-hidden-thats-contract-jeffery-deaver
life-defies-our-phrases-it-is-infinitely-continuous-subtle-shaded-whilst-our-verbal-terms-are-discrete-rude-few-william-james
i-love-word-juxtapose-i-like-balancing-words-together-like-cruel-gentle-sad-beautiful-life-is-not-all-black-white-its-shaded-charlie-sexton
you-female-on-bed-said-her-timbre-shaded-with-irrittion-new-guy-angel-boy-colonel-curls-whatever-you-want-to-be-called-im-done-asking-now-im-gena-showalter
a-statue-stands-in-shaded-place-an-angel-girl-with-upturned-face-a-name-is-written-on-polished-rock-a-broken-heart-that-world-forgot-martina-mcbride
in-computer-animation-every-detail-has-to-be-thought-out-designed-modeled-shaded-placed-lit-the-more-you-add-more-computer-memory-you-need-john-lasseter
and-we-shaded-you-with-clouds-we-sent-down-to-you-manna-quails-eat-good-things-we-have-provided-for-you-they-did-not-wrong-us-but-they-used-to-wrong-their-own-souls-albaqarah-57
the-parlor-showed-old-women-asleep-through-open-windows-white-curtains-streamed-i-saw-her-husband-hold-his-grandchilds-hand-both-were-laughing-under-saline-grace
the-spectacle-good-bar-fight-properly-executed-healthily-ended-is-not-merely-annoying-boorishness-the-best-them-admittedly-minor-slice-are-shaded-with-elements-high-art
outside-everything-was-uncannily-visible-in-light-full-moon-but-here-in-dark-shaded-alleys-night-was-conscious-itself-the-moon-slave-barry-pain
my-prospects-for-life-though-in-measure-shaded-with-uncertainty-hardship-danger-are-animating-bright-my-prospects-for-another-life-blessed-be-god-are-still-brighter
so-heres-truth-i-love-you-i-love-everything-about-you-way-you-stick-up-for-people-even-when-it-costs-you-the-way-you-keep-trying-to-do-right-thing-even-when-youre-not-exactly-sur
There are parts of a woman's heart that are reserved for certain types of love. Experiencing the love of a father figure in an appropriate way is essential in paving the way for the love of a man to be experienced in the right way. The love of a father is vital in ensuring that a woman's heart is kept open in this area. If this area is not kept open, it produces problems later on in a woman's life, for that area is also reserved for the romantic love that comes in the form of a marriage relationship. This is an extremely sensitive area of the heart for a woman, and has plenty of opportunity to be easily bruised. When that does occur, she will put up a protective barrier to try and avoid any such pain occurring again. If this barrier isn't dismantled fairly soon, a woman's heart becomes accustomed to its protective barrier, and the heart shielded inside gradually becomes hardened. As women, we may be able to function like this for awhile. But there will come a time in your life where God will begin to peel away those hard layers surrounding your heart, and you probably won't like that sensation. But you have to fight your natural instinct to run away. This is where many Christian women may get stuck. They view every man through the lens of what their father was to them, or what he was not. Their perception of men is shaded, and often damaged, by the very people who should have been modeling the world of adult relationships to their daughters. As a result, their judgement is often clouded, and women find themselves settling for less than what they truly deserve. Many marriages, even Christian marriages, have been damaged and even terminated because one or both partners refused to sit down and deal with their past issues.

Corallie Buchanan
there-are-parts-womans-heart-that-are-reserved-for-certain-types-love-experiencing-love-father-figure-in-appropriate-way-is-essential-in-paving-way-for-love-man-to-be-experienced
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
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 black space high up among 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 the 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 the 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 whole 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. I 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 may apples in forest, erupting through leaf-strewn paths. Cells on the root hairs of sycamores split and divided and apples grew striped and spotted in the fall. Mountains kept their cool caves, and squirrels raced home to their nests through sunlight and shade. I 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 wilds ducks flew, and called, one by one, and flew on. All these things I saw. Scenes grew in depth and sunlit detail before my eyes, and were replaced by ever more scenes, as I remembered the life of my time with increasing feeling. At 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 we called 'France''. I was filled with the deep affection of nostalgia- and then I opened my eyes.

Annie Dillard
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-black-space-high-up-among-many-white-
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. I 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. I 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. All 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. At 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. We 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
last-year-i-had-unusual-experience-i-was-awake-with-my-eyes-closed-when-i-had-dream-it-was-small-dream-about-time-i-was-dead-i-guess-in-deep-blank-space-high-up-above-many-white-
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