Best 75 quotes of John J. Geddes on MyQuotes

Ambition or contentment? This simple question led me back to a more balanced view of life and put me in touch with the Me I used to know.

A sensual life is a ghostly existence where you live on the surface and your soul passes through everything, touching nothing.

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

I have found, beauty is the illumination of the mind.

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists

I make no apology about stirring the depths - every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.

I'm not afraid of the opinions of others - but of being needed and coming up short.

I see myself at crossroads in my life, mapless, lacking bits of knowledge - then, the Moon breaks through, lights up the path before me.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

Poetry is paying attention to life when all the world seems asleep to its beauties and truths.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...

The abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror - we all have it - that shadow self - that dark heart.

The religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

We fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves.

When I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears.

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

You can be angry and silent, but it's no use - there's no distance in the spirit - besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

A heart never breaks in the same pattern of pieces

all day long, one storm then another—and I take your hands like gentle flowers that blossom into awareness

a rainy walk through leaves will cure almost anything

Be careful—my heart is broken—and you could fall in

burnt by the sun of your mouth, I’m unable to speak or paint you with words

children need calm—they’re artists

deprived of magic, wonder wanes

From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my dreams

had almost forgotten the wet brush of your kisses… soft as April snowflakes

I am a bed of sparks you breathe upon and kindle

I am your stone of necessity calling up spirits from rain puddles—your Magus of words

I covet solitude and storms…and rain, with its geography of dark silence and distance

I keep coming back to certain books, and you—to try to find myself again

I love watching you – you’re a silent film of gestures

I’m a man of stone - and my hands are not soft enough to brush away, each stray wisp of hair

I’m mad with loneliness and you’ve been haunting me all day

In the end, we all inherit a stone, after life’s waves have rolled over us—and hopefully, she’ll write upon it

In the baby’s room The city lights are Milky In the curtains… Breath Gentle as rain, Sleep Quiet as snowflakes

I play a piano of words—its icy tinkle echoes through your halls

I see you from afar—fragile and shy as a star gleaming through a cloudy rift

I see you kneeling in church—stained only by colored windows

I took you to that windy hill where stars on every side fall away

I will not exorcise you—I’d miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

my heart, sometimes singing in the afternoon, the most haunting song of solitude

my soul has shadows – nooks and crannies where griefs, like cobwebs, collect

night, and the moon a blur above— I wonder where the world hides you, and if perhaps you still love me