Vaults 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-we-might-share-those-vaults-of-silver
have-i-not-kept-this-in-reserve-sealed-it-in-my-vaults-deuteronomy-3234
but-it039s-been-lost-in-the-vaults-of-the-record-company
we-refuse-to-believe-that-there-are-insufficient-funds-in-great-vaults-opportunity-this-nation-martin-luther
if-youre-not-open-youre-not-transparent-youre-still-holding-on-to-vaults-information-youre-not-going-to-build-that-trust
the-romans-were-not-inventors-of-the-supporting-arch-but-its-extended-use-in-vaults-and-intersecting-barrel-shapes-and-domes-is-theirs
bankruptcy-repudiation-are-springboards-from-which-much-our-civilization-vaults-turns-its-somersets-but-savagestands-on-unelastic-plank-famine-henry-david-thoreau
the-auditorium-named-after-dead-queens-politician-is-windowless-in-honor-secrecy-in-which-he-lived-probably-bank-vaults-he-frequented-jimmy-breslin
they-sin-who-tell-us-love-can-die-with-life-all-other-passions-fly-all-others-are-but-vanity-in-heaven-ambition-cannot-dwell-nor-avarice-in-vaults-robert-southey
tender-words-we-spoke-to-one-another-are-sealed-in-secret-vaults-heaven-one-day-like-rain-they-will-fall-to-earth-grow-green-all-over-world-rumi
let-us-save-what-remains-not-by-vaults-locks-which-fence-them-from-public-eye-use-in-consigning-them-to-waste-time-but-by-such-multiplication-copies-as-shall-place-them-beyond-re
films-go-into-vaults-art-into-museums-music-into-halls-fame-most-fashion-is-worn-for-few-seasons-off-loaded-into-recycling-bin-worse-some-landfill
as-slippery-as-smooth-grapes-words-exploding-in-light-like-dormant-seeds-waiting-in-vaults-vocabulary-alive-again-giving-life-once-again-heart-pablo-neruda
but-we-refuse-to-believe-that-bank-justice-is-bankrupt-we-refuse-to-believe-that-there-are-insufficient-funds-in-great-vaults-opportunity-this-martin-luther-king
some-hypocrites-seeming-mortified-men-that-held-down-their-heads-were-like-little-images-that-they-place-in-bowing-vaults-churches-that-look-as-if-they-held-up-church-but-are-but
It is the custom on the stage: in all good, murderous melodramas: to present the tragic and the comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as the layers of red and white in a side of streaky, well-cured bacon. The hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed down by fetters and misfortunes; and, in the next scene, his faithful but unconscious squire regales the audience with a comic song. We behold, with throbbing bosoms, the heroine in the grasp of a proud and ruthless baron: her virtue and her life alike in danger; drawing forth a dagger to preserve the one at the cost of the other; and, just as our expectations are wrought up to the highest pitch, a whistle is heard: and we are straightway transported to the great hall of the castle: where a grey-headed seneschal sings a funny chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts of places from church vaults to palaces, and roam about in company, carolling perpetually. Such changes appear absurd; but they are not so unnatural as they would seem at first sight. The transitions in real life from well-spread boards to death-beds, and from mourning weeds to holiday garments, are not a whit less startling; only, there, we are busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on; which makes a vast difference. The actors in the mimic life of the theatre, are blind to violent transitions and abrupt impulses of passion or feeling, which, presented before the eyes of mere spectators, are at once condemned as outrageous and preposterous.

Charles Dickens
it-is-custom-on-stage-in-all-good-murderous-melodramas-to-present-tragic-comic-scenes-in-as-regular-alternation-as-layers-red-white-in-side-streaky-wellcured-bacon-the-hero-sinks
I have hazarded into a new corner of the world, an unknown spot, a Brigadoon. Before me extends a low hill trembling in yellow brome, and behind the hill, filling the sky, rises an enormous mountain ridge, forested, alive and awesome with brilliant blown lights. I have never seen anything so tremulous and live. Overhead, great strips and chunks of cloud dash to the northwest in a gold rush. At my back the sun is setting- how can I have not noticed before that the sun is setting? My mind has been a blank slab of black asphalt for hours, but that doesn't stop the sun's wild wheel. I set my coffee on the curb; I smell loam on the wind; I pat the puppy; I watch the mountain. Shadows lope along the mountain's rumpled flanks; they elongate like root tips, like lobes of spilling water, faster and faster. A warm purple pigment pools in each ruck and tuck of the rock; it deepens and spreads, boring crevasses, canyons. As the purple vaults and slides, it tricks out the unleafed forest and rumpled rock in gilt, in shape-shifting patches of glow. These gold lights veer and retract, shatter, and glide in a series of dazzling splashes, shrinking, leaking, exploding. The ridge's bosses and hummocks sprout bulging from its sides; the whole mountain looms miles closer; the light warms and reddens; the bare forest folds and pleats itself like living protoplasm before my eyes, like a running chart, a wildly scrawling oscillography on the present moment. The air cools; the puppy's skin is hot. I am more alive than all the world. This is it, I think, this is it, right now, the present, this empty gas station, here, this western wind, this tang of coffee on the tongue, and I am patting the puppy, I am watching the mountain. Version 1 (joy)

Annie Dillard
i-have-hazarded-into-new-corner-world-unknown-spot-brigadoon-before-me-extends-low-hill-trembling-in-yellow-brome-behind-hill-filling-sky-rises-enormous-mountain-ridge-forested-a
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