Soared 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
you-have-always-given-me-more-than-i-gave-to-you-you-were-wings-on-which-i-soared
when-he-was-rough-my-body-soared-when-he-was-gentle-he-slayed-me-juliette-cross
you-have-always-given-me-more-than-i-gave-to-you-you-were-wings-on-which-i-soared-lotte-lehmann-lotte-lehmann
he-mounted-cherubim-flew-he-soared-on-wings-wind-psalm-1810
to-audience-at-her-farewell-concert-you-have-always-given-me-more-than-i-gave-to-you-you-were-wings-on-which-i-soared-lotte-lehmann
as-peoples-hopes-soared-jana-felt-tinge-fear-fc-malby
every-resistance-will-be-met-conquered-until-youve-soared-over-sweet-edge-surrender-gena-showalter
once-upon-time-we-soared-into-solar-system-for-few-years-then-we-hurried-back-why-what-happened-what-was-apollo-really-about-carl-sagan
but-when-neil-called-i-have-to-say-that-my-heart-soared-and-reason-was-because-it-said-much-about-his-recovery-that-he-was-coming-back-to-world-living
i-soared-above-song-birdsand-never-heard-them-singi-lived-my-life-in-winterand-then-you-brought-spring-randall-wallace
the-doubters-said-man-can-not-fly-the-doers-said-maybe-but-well-try-and-finally-soared-in-morning-glow-while-nonbelievers-watched-from-below-bruce-lee
my-theme-is-memory-that-winged-host-that-soared-about-me-one-grey-morning-wartime-we-possess-nothing-certainly-except-past-evelyn-waugh
thought-is-key-to-all-treasures-misers-gains-are-ours-without-his-cares-thus-i-have-soared-above-this-world-where-my-enjoyment-have-been-honore-de-balzac
couples-swayed-embraced-to-beat-as-singers-vocals-soared-above-group-confused-teenagers-twentysomethings-brian-joyce
the-instant-that-blade-tore-open-his-flesh-bright-disk-sun-soared-up-exploded-behind-his-eyelids-yukio-mishima
a-hawk-soared-over-our-carriage-letting-out-high-piercing-cry-defiance-i-wanted-to-jump-out-window-fly-with-it-stephanie-burgis
books-could-be-incredible-adventure-i-stayed-under-my-blanket-barely-moved-no-one-would-have-guessed-how-my-mind-raced-my-heart-soared-with-paula-mclain
the-real-julian-wells-didnt-die-in-cherryred-convertible-overdosing-on-highway-in-joshua-tree-while-choir-soared-over-sound-track-bret-easton-ellis
at-one-games-i-broadcast-at-florida-state-few-years-back-mercury-soared-to-105-degrees-you-try-attempting-to-look-composed-professional-providing-insight-from-benches-while-sweat
he-did-not-feel-ground-under-his-feet-he-thrust-himself-into-capriole-rose-high-in-airforelegs-hind-legs-horizontal-he-soared-above-ground-he-felix-salten
president-obamas-farewell-speech-soared-towered-dragged-true-it-was-longer-than-reagans-clintons-gwbs-speeches-combined-if-it-got-any-longer-it-would-have-qualified-as-third-term
over-time-however-endless-war-in-iraq-began-to-play-role-in-natural-selection-only-idiots-signed-up-only-idiots-died-back-home-average-iq-soared-ted-rall
his-eyes-lit-up-glowed-red-against-dark-bulk-it-a-moment-they-remained-then-they-soared-up-phosphorescently-opalescent-with-predominance-red-like-two-sinful-dead-planets-escaping
i-couldnt-shake-zanders-beady-red-eyes-noise-his-pounding-wings-behind-us-his-hot-breath-foul-stench-reached-for-us-but-couldnt-catch-us-as-we-soared-above-liquid-green-fields-in
what-if-you-could-pick-one-day-your-life-everything-would-stop-changing-every-day-would-be-similar-comparable-to-that-one-day-youd-always-have-same-people-with-you-if-you-could-d
bit-by-bit-i-found-myself-relaxing-into-conversation-kitty-had-natural-talent-for-drawing-people-out-themselves-it-was-easy-to-fall-in-with-her-to-feel-comfortable-in-her-presenc
at-this-point-sequence-my-memories-is-disrupted-i-sank-into-chaos-brief-incoherent-bizarre-hallucinations-in-which-grotesque-horrible-kept-close-company-prostrate-as-if-i-were-be
My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. These memories, which are my life-for we possess nothing certainly except the past-were always with me. Like the pigeons of St. Mark's, theywere everywhere, under my feet, singly, in pairs, in little honey-voiced congregations, nodding, strutting, winking, rolling the tender feathers of their necks, perching sometimes, if I stood still, on my shoulder or pecking a broken biscuit from between my lips; until, suddenly, the noon gun boomed and in a moment, with a flutter and sweep of wings, the pavement was bare and the whole sky above dark with a tumult of fowl. Thus it was that morning. These memories are the memorials and pledges of the vital hours of a lifetime. These hours of afflatus in the human spirit, the springs of art, are, in their mystery, akin to the epochs of history, when a race which for centuries has lived content, unknown, behind its own frontiers, digging, eating, sleeping, begetting, doing what was requisite for survival and nothing else, will, for a generation or two, stupefy the world; commit all manner of crimes, perhaps; follow the wildest chimeras, go down in the end in agony, but leave behind a record of new heights scaled and new rewards won for all mankind; the vision fades, the soul sickens, and the routine of survival starts again. The human soul enjoys these rare, classic periods, but, apart from them, we are seldom single or unique; we keep company in this world with a hoard of abstractions and reflections and counterfeits of ourselves - the sensual man, the economic man, the man of reason, the beast, the machine and the sleep-walker, and heaven knows what besides, all in our own image, indistinguishable from ourselves to the outward eye. We get borne along, out of sight in the press, unresisting, till we get the chance to drop behind unnoticed, or to dodge down a side street, pause, breathe freely and take our bearings, or to push ahead, out-distance our shadows, lead them a dance, so that when at length they catch up with us, they look at one another askance, knowing we have a secret we shall never share.

Evelyn Waugh
my-theme-is-memory-that-winged-host-that-soared-about-me-one-grey-morning-wartime-these-memories-which-are-my-lifefor-we-possess-nothing-certainly-except-pastwere-always-with-me-
As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing (2 Corinthians 6:10). Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft green moss below. When Sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her. Joy was beautiful, too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine's kiss. When Joy sang his voice soared upward as the lark's, and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with all who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him. "But we can never be united, " said Sorrow wistfully. "No, never." And Joy's eyes shadowed as he spoke. "My path lies through the sunlit meadows, the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the blackbirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays." "My path, " said Sorrow, turning slowly away, "leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hands be filled. Yet the sweetest of all earth-songs-the love song of the night-shall be mine; farewell, Joy, farewell." Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of a Kingly Presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him. "I see Him as the King of Joy, " whispered Sorrow, "for on His Head are many crowns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great victory. Before Him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, and I give myself to Him forever." "Nay, Sorrow, " said Joy softly, "but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is a crown of thorns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great agony. I, too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be sweeter than any joy that I have known." "Then we are one in Him, " they cried in gladness, "for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow." Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, "as sorrowful yet always rejoicing." Should Sorrow lay her hand upon thy shoulder, And walk with thee in silence on life's way, While Joy, thy bright companion once, grown colder, Becomes to thee more distant day by day? Shrink not from the companionship of Sorrow, She is the messenger of God to thee; And thou wilt thank Him in His great tomorrow For what thou knowest not now, thou then shalt see; She is God's angel, clad in weeds of night, With 'whom we walk by faith and not by sight.

Mrs. Charles E. Cowman
as-sorrowful-yet-always-rejoicing-2-corinthians-610-sorrow-was-beautiful-but-her-beauty-was-beauty-moonlight-shining-through-leafy-branches-trees-in-wood-making-little-pools-silv