Best 3057 quotes in «darkness quotes» category

Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours.” K.K.

Nothing can be as peaceful and endless as a long winter darkness, going on and on, like living in a tunnel where the dark sometimes deepens into night and sometimes eases to twilight, you're screened from everything, protected, even more alone than usual.

Nothing is dark when you embosom your own light within you

Nothing in the whole world is more dangerous than ignorance.

Nothing is unreal as long as you can imagine like a crow

Nothing’s ever perfect, each one of us has a gray area in our mind. Maybe something we can’t get past? Surround yourself with people that can trigger your emotions in a positive way. Emotions stick! All it takes is kindness. These people are the ones that lift you from any darkness you're feeling. Open up, let your heart breathe. Talk to the people who walk with kindness in their heart. We all know people like this, maybe they need someone to talk to as well?

Nothing will ever be solved if we wallow in the darkness of denial.

NO TRUTH, NO LIGHT No truth, no equality. No equality, no justice. No justice, no peace. No peace, no love. No love, only darkness.

No truth, no equality. No equality, no justice. No justice, no peace. No peace, no love. No love, only darkness.

Now I have more freedom than I have ever had at any time in my life, and I do only the things I always have. They were empty before, but Selina has given a meaning to them, I do them for her. I am waiting, for her - but, waiting, I think, is too poor a word for it. I am engaged with the substance of the minutes as they pass. I feel the surface of my flesh stir - it is like the surface of the sea that knows the moon is drawing near it. If I take up a book, I might as well never have seen a line of print before - books are filled, now, with messages aimed only at me. An hour ago, I found this: The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes... It is as if every poet who ever wrote a line to his own love wrote secretly for me, and for Selina. My blood - even as I write this - my blood, my muscle and every fibre of me, is listening, for her. When I sleep, it is to dream of her. When shadows move across my eye, I know them now for shadows of her. My room is still, but never silent - I hear her heart, beating across the night in time to my own. My room is dark, but darkness is different for me now. I know all its depths and textures - darkness like velvet, darkness like felt, darkness bristling as coir or prison wool.

Nu hører du Læser, hvad Handel og Kaar Vi fattig' Nord-lændinger daglig udstaar, Og hvorpaa vi faar os at lave.

Och med en annan sak blir jag aldrig färdig: Att draga mig tillbaka och sitta i ensamheten i skogen och ha det gott och mörkt omkring mig. Det är den sista glädjen. Det är det höga, det religiösa i ensamheten och mörkret, som gör att man har behov av dem, det är däremot icke därför man söker sig bort från de andra, att det bara är sig själv man härdar ut med, nej, nej. Men det är det mystiska, att allt brusar fjärran och dock så nära en, man sitter i mitten av en allestädes närvarande. Det är väl Gud. Det är väl en själv som är en del av allt.

Oddly, the burned hand didn't seem to hurt much anymore; it was only numb. It would have been better if there had been pain. Pain was at least real.

Of course it’s not going to be easy. You’re fighting a war against yourself. Every time either side makes ground, you’re the one who gets hurt. But it’s not about winning the war against your demons. It’s about calling a truce and learning how to live with them peacefully. Promise me you’ll keep fighting. -Esther

Oh, beloved, and there is nothing but shadows where you accompany me in your dreams and tell me the hour of light.

oh darling, The darkness is a gift, And when you realise this, You will never be defeated Again.

Oftentimes we call Life bitter names, but only when we ourselves are bitter and dark. And we deem her empty and unprofitable, but only when the soul goes wandering in desolate places, and the heart is drunken with overmindfulness of self. Life is deep and high and distant; and though only your vast vision can reach even her feet, yet she is near; and though only the breath of your breath reaches her heart, the shadow of your shadow crosses her face, and the echo of your faintest cry becomes a spring and an autumn in her breast. And life is veiled and hidden, even as your greater self is hidden and veiled. Yet when Life speaks, all the winds become words; and when she speaks again, the smiles upon your lips and the tears in your eyes turn also into words. When she sings, the deaf hear and are held; and when she comes walking, the sightless behold her and are amazed and follow her in wonder and astonishment.

Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not. You shall not deny the Stranger. They constantly try to escape From the darkness outside and within By dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good. But the man that is shall shadow The man that pretends to be.

Oh, we can populate the dark with horrors, even we who think ourselves informed and sure, believing nothing we cannot measure or weigh. I knew beyond all doubt that the dark things crowding in on me either did not exist or were not dangerous to me, and still I was afraid. I thought how terrible the nights must have been in a time when men knew the things were there and were deadly. But no, that's wrong. If I knew they were there, I would have weapons against them, charms, prayers, some kind of alliance with forces equally strong but on my side. Knowing they were not there made me defenseless against them and perhaps more afraid.

On a waste place strewn with bricks in the outskirts of a town twilight was falling. A star or two appeared over the smoke, and distant windows lit mysterious lights. The stillness deepened and the loneliness. Then all the outcast things that are silent by day found voices.

On a midsummer night, on a night that was eerie with stars, In a wood too deep for a single star to look through, You led down a path whose turnings you knew in the darkness, But the scent of the dew-dripping cedars was all that I knew. I drank of the darkness, I was fed with the honey of fragrance, I was glad of my life, the drawing of breath was sweet; I heard your voice, you said, 'Look down, see the glow-worm!' It was there before me, a small star white at my feet.

Once I knew the depth where no hope was, and darkness lay on the face of all things... But a little word from the fingers of another fell into my hand that clutched at emptiness, and my heart leaped to the rapture of living.

Once darkness has what its wants, it drops you like a hot potato.

Once the light shines on your path, you will see clearly.

Once we understand that all human values are the result of fictions and myths,we don’t consider them sacrosanct. we are then able to question many beliefs that are believed to be irrefutable. we then move from the darkness of ignorance to the light of wisdom.

One day there will be no more stars. There will be no more darkness. You see, light isn’t the absence of darkness. Darkness is the absence of light.

One of the main roots of ungodliness is being a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God.

One foot in front of the other, more aimless than direct, Bradford left the waiting room for the outside world. Called for a taxi and then dialed Munroe again, desperate for her voice, for one ray of light in the darkness, afraid of what he might say if she did answer, afraid of himself and the inner deadening that pointed to a danger far more lethal than any rage he'd felt.

...[O]ne of the first things a Magnolia League debutante learns: Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself.

Only tears can hear the sound of pain when warm blood reddens discolored stain

One who walks towards light is better than who sprints towards darkness.

... only darkened trails of rain could paint your face upon a pane...

Only one spirit, either good or bad, can operate at a time.

On her darkest days, the memories of the splintered floorboards crept in, along with the drip, drip, drip of old plumbing that had never been fixed. She still remembered the shouts from the others in the crew and how the mingle of voices was at first familiar and over time had grown as distant as the sea.

Only the moon's smile can cure the unseen scars of darkness

On the Ridgeway path, aged nine or ten, was where for the first time I realized the power a person might feel by aligning themselves to deep history. Only much later did I understand these intimations of history had their own, darker, history. The chalk country-cult rested on a presumption of organic connections to a landscape, a sense of belonging sanctified through an appeal to your own imagined lineage. That chalk downloads held their national, as well as natural, histories. And it was much later, too, that I realized that these myths hurt. That they work to wipe away other cultures, other histories, other ways of loving, working and being in a landscape. How they tiptoe towards darkness.

Oppression has been in existence as long as man himself has been in existence.

Our anger could become a force of deliverance.

Oscuridad, no me alcances aquí.

O sun, heart of the heavens whose blood of light Infuses the vigor which transmutes to azure The black ice strangler of great space obscure I hate you, mask of gold, mist and fire, circular Blind monster blinding all the prey around You who veil the impure dazzling phantasm To the loving vertigo of my avid gazes The visions of the colorless abyss of the void Reversed hollow truth-mask of the other world.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

Our sole illumination was a dim and foul-smelling blubber lamp, which really only served to make the darkness visible.

...our imagination, like stars, Hint at something in the distance. I don't know where we will be But we will light up the darkness together, When our imagination and the present Become one.

Our Lady of the Underground never asks me to choose between day and night. If I want to flourish I need the ever-changing light of darkness as much as I need the full of light of day. Give your heart to them both, she says. When I complain that I cannot see as well at night as I can during the days, she tells me this is a good thing. Maybe it will slow you down. When I tell her that I cannot get as much done at night because darkness makes me sleepy, she says yes, that is the plan. Maybe you will get some rest. When I point out that slowing down just makes me think about things I would rather not think about, she laughs. Do you think that not thinking about them will make them go away?

our love like stepping on to a plane sitting down in a car walking on unknown land will either take us to where we belong or throw us into darkness

Our passion, even our insult, could be turned into a blessing.

Our faith is built in the dark, in the valleys, and during the back-breaking battles in life.

Our mundane existence is darkness for the human mind.

People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night. But safety – like light – is a façade.

Patience is all we have in a land where time is obsolete. I press on, armored stranger. I am not deceiving you. The willows have always grown silent in my wake. I see and feel your ailing mind and it worries me. The night that follows you grows stronger. You still have time to change.