Best 1979 quotes in «lost quotes» category

There is no feeling that is comparable to that of being truly lost. I don’t mean lost in the woods, or desert, but lost in the way that only can happen internally. Lost to the deepest, blackest pit of your soul, clinging to ghosts of past times, when you thought you knew who and what you were. When this happens, you have two choices; you can give in to your darkest inclinations, and accept what you are, or you can fight, knowing that it is a losing battle, that the good half of your soul is strong, but can never erase the bad part.

There is no in between, we all have to touch our own bottom.

There is nothing to be lost by experimenting with the sickened human mind and body.

There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Sometimes people say or do things that are mean because there's something the matter with them. With Lydia, it seems there’s always something wrong with her.

There's not a day that goes by, without me thinking of you, dying, in someone else's arms.

There’s only ever been one person I’ve looked at and thought… ‘I could quite easily spend the entire rest of my life with that man’. And sooner or later I need to accept that he’s spending it with somebody else.

There’s this thing about shadows. They mimic us. They are a constant reminder of the fact that we are not alone, we are never alone. They follow and they obey much like a disciple and his teacher. But when in darkness, they abandon us and are as lost as we are, they seek the same light we seek for only light can bring back their identity and ours.

There was a closet somewhere inside me. Every day I went near that just to open the door and see all the masks of my face that I hid there. To select one which isn't me but still would look like me, which would hide me from the world in a better way. Day after day I stored so many masks in that closet that one day I searched for my real face in it and it wasn't there. I never understood whether I lost it or I forgot how it looked like, the more I searched the most lost I felt.

There was existence in oblivion; there is you in oblivion.

There was this saying that kept on haunting her mind – tears make you seem weak. And she wasn’t weak. It was just that sometimes when she was all alone, it had made everything seemed so much real and convincing.

There were two and only two messages that could have been comprehended by what he said. But neither of them was soothing; neither of them was a lie.

The Saviour is seeking to save.

…the sad part is, that I will probably end up loving you without you for much longer than I loved you when I knew you. Some people might find that strange. But the truth of it is that the amount of love you feel for someone and the impact they have on you as a person, is in no way relative to the amount of time you have known them.

The scar she'd left her was so deep that it may take a thousand million years to heal. She couldn't pretend like nothing had happened. She couldn't shut her feelings, like how you shut a window blind; once you did it, all lights from the outside would be swept away from the room. It had taken her years to acknowledge the fact that she was unwanted; a subject of shame for her mother to sink in. And for sure, it would take her more than nine years to forget it all, in one go.

The sad thing about history is that there are so many people out there from centuries, generations, even eras ago who are no longer in existence. They're names and stories aren't written down. They're now just mysterious figures of bone and dust deep in the ground that will never be known because no one bothered knowing them.

The things that truly define me can’t be lost.

The teens had gathered in an open clearing. Behind them, the banded lines of Avion Ridge formed a ragged edge between sky and ground, a rock wall looming above the trees. Ash shivered. The hikers stood in shadow here, the warmth of the day gone.

The shadow is dark and the woods are cold, but they are not endless. No matter how lost you are now, you are not lost forever. You are findable. Love just keeps on looking. Love is forever tries.

The shadow self is what lies beneath the makeup. It’s those ugly parts that you haven’t accepted about yourself. You hide those parts in the shadows until you’re ready.” Her face remained a haunting calm. “When you realize the scars are who you are, that there was nothing wrong with you and that you were beautiful all along - that’s when you decide to take the makeup off.

The snobbish lost in laud.

the star that I was wishing the light that I was kissing sitting back and reminiscing that night, it was missing.

The Temperature is Rising The heartbeat quickens my breath is controlled,my senses are illuminated like a mother to her young. This feeling I have I've know it before, when the gates are opened I'll remember the beginning. Awaiting, dreaming imagining the endless possibilities of moments together as I give into my desires. My body reacts it has a mind of its own leaving little clues yet I continue on. Poised and professional I cross my origin the passion that awaits it stirs like a simmer. The sweet aroma a treat being made just for him I know he will like, the hunger in his eyes his mouth soft and strong it only took me a moment as he continued to look on. I didn't even recognize my sound as I was in a sphere all alone I hoped and imagined it would be but my mind was left in awe like sweet chocolate after a meal.

The things you let go will someday teach you how to fly.

The uninitiated might say that I am lost in my books, but I know I am more found than lost.

The truth is: I was lost in him. I had gone from losing one of the most important people in my life and then losing someone I loved a month later. I wrapped myself in people, in lust, in the idea of love. I met him and I met a gentlemen, and when I found out who he truly was, I was still in love with the gentleman and justified all of his actions.

They'll say you are bad or perhaps you are mad or at least you should stay undercover. Your mind must be bare if you would dare to think you can love more than one lover.

The word "lost" comes from the Old Norse "los," meaning the disbanding of an army, and this origin suggests soldiers falling out of formation to go home, a truce with the wide world. I worry now that many people never disband their armies, never go beyond what they know.

They headed across the meadow, passing groups of students eating lunch. A mottled bird that looked like a cross between a chicken and a pheasant burst from the undergrowth. Ash watched it flutter into the trees, then land in the bushes. “What in the world…?” Vale followed his gaze to where the bird waddled through the undergrowth. “It’s a spruce grouse.” Ash stared into the trees. A few steps away from the meadow, the light dropped by half. “What did you call it again?” “Spruce grouse is the official name, though they’re sometimes called prairie chickens or fool hens.” Ash chuckled. “Fool hens, huh?” “Yeah. People think they’re kind of dumb—the way they let other animals get close to them. They’re pretty mellow.” Ash watched it as it faded back into the autumn foliage, the plumage a match to the brown and orange leaves. “How do you know all this stuff?” “I don’t know,” she said. “I read things, I guess.” “I know that, but where’d you learn the stuff about birds?” “I’ve got a couple books on wildlife. Books on the woods, and on camping, and survival, and…” Vale shrugged. “I just read a lot of stuff. Okay?” Ash grinned. “Pretty cool.

They may still find me after you’re gone, but I’ll be lost forever.

. . .the young man who rings the bell at the brothel is unconsciously looking for God.

The worst kind of crying wasn't the kind everyone could see- the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it.

They knew how to live with nature and get along with nature. They didn't try too hard to be all men and no animal. That's the mistake we made when Darwin showed up. We embraced him and Huxley and Freud, all smiles. And then we discovered that Darwin and our religions didn't mix. Or at least we didn't think they did. We were fools. We tried to budge Darwin and Huxley and Freud. They wouldn't move very well. So, like idiots, we tried knocking down religion. We succeeded pretty well. We lost our faith and went around wondering what life was for. If art was no more than a frustrated outflinging of desire, if religion was no more than self-delusion, what good was life? Faith had always given us answer to all things. But it all went down the drain with Freud and Darwin. We were and still are lost people.

They say “Follow your heart”…. …. But I can’t follow you where you’re going…

They were both lost in cities that would not pause even to shrug

Think the tree that bears nutrition: though the fruits are picked, the plant maintains fruition. So give all the love you have. Do not hold any in reserve. What is given is not lost; it shall return.

They say the truth hurts. And these words hurt more than any I have ever written. But they are the truth – The cold, hard, undeniable truth. Not letting go doesn’t keep him with you. It’s still over. He’s still gone. … And nothing will ever change that.

This book attempts to record a journey to restoration that applies to ordinary people like you and I. It is a shot towards healing. A step headed for a new consciousness. It emerges from a moment in time where all seems lost.

This feeling of being in proximity to something that’s lost to you, it seems like my whole life right now.

Times moves differently down here in the dark. With no sunlight or shadows. No weather at all. There's no future, no right now. Nothing but your memory to keep you company. But they keep me so angry and weak. I can barely think straight. How long have I been locked up...wuuks? months? I don't even konow how I got to this place. There are times I don't even know who I am anymore.

This last week has been a little hell for both of us simply because I didn't understand my own feelings. And because I can't understand them, I blame her for provoking in me feelings that make my world seem suddenly unsafe.

This salt mist blots out everything that comforts and speaks to the traveler: roads, bridges, towns, trees. There's no face I might see and know, only the mist whose insistent hand runs over our faces and flanks.

Those who are blindly led, blindly follow.

Though it’s reasons to burn may vary... you are always the fuel of my fire.

Though these words will never find you, I hope that you knew I was thinking of you today….. and that I was wishing you every happiness. Love Always, The girl you loved once.

Tidak pernah ada saat yang tepat untuk mengabarkan berita buruk. Dan tidak ada cara paling mudah untuk memberitahu. Berita buruk seperti penyakit. Manusia tidak memintanya, dia datang begitu saja

To all those living, BEWARE. Go no farther. Turn back now. For this is the way of the lost, of death, and wandering ghosts. Leave Yesterday in the past, Traveler, lest ye become a lost thing yourself.

To be precise, I’d say you’re in the village of Hamlin. To be realistic, I’d say you’re exactly where you need to be.

To be without supernatural infusion of divine love and light is to have lost the glory

This mournful and restless sound was a fit accompaniment to my meditations.

Thomas had no concept of time as he went through the Changing. It started much like his first memory of the Box—dark and cold. But this time he had no sensation of anything touching his feet or body. He floated in emptiness, stared into a void of black. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing. It was as if someone had stolen his five senses, leaving him in a vacuum. Time stretched on. And on. Fear turned into curiosity, which turned into boredom. Finally, after an interminable wait, things began to change. A distant wind picked up, unfelt but heard. Then a swirling mist of whiteness appeared far in the distance—a spinning tornado of smoke that formed into a long funnel, stretching out until he could see neither the top nor the bottom of the white whirlwind. He felt the gales then, sucking into the cyclone so that it blew past him from behind, ripping at his clothes and hair like they were shredded flags caught in a storm. The tower of thick mist began to move toward him—or he was moving toward it, he couldn’t tell—increasing its speed at an alarming rate. Where seconds before he’d been able to see the distinct form of the funnel, he now could see only a flat expanse of white. And then it consumed him; he felt his mind taken by the mist, felt memories flood into his thoughts. Everything else turned into pain.