Best 176 quotes in «passing quotes» category

Young poets bewail the passing of love; old poets, the passing of time. There is surprisingly little difference.

Youth is an arithmetical statement of passing interest, each hour eats it up.

A whole Gothic world had come to grief...there was now no armour glittering through the forest glades, no embroidered feet on the green sward; the cream and dappled unicorns had fled...

Clocks were invented to warn us. Tick (time is passing). Tock (time has passed).

Decide be a success; decide to be great, decide to be above average, decide to do the very best of you. Do you know who a P.O.O.R person is? P.O.O.R people are those who are “Passing On Opportunities Repeatedly”!

Fear manifested itself as a physical presence that seemed to dominate the public sphere. Time almost stopped. Even without confirmation I could sense that something had gone terribly wrong.

All through dinner Arturo and I held hands under the table like a couple of kids, and that made the dinner quite wonderful, even though Mrs. Fletcher kept staring at Olivia as though committing her to memory. It got so bad that Olivia turned to her husband and said: "Has it happened at last, Gerald? Have I become a curiosity?

Becoming more and more silent with every passing day and I don't know whether it's good or bad.

I have drunk the night and swallowed the stars. I am dancing with abandon and singing with rapture. There is not a thing I do not love. There is not a person I have not forgiven. I feel a universe of love. I feel a universe of light. Tonight, I am with old friends and we are returning home. The moon is our witness.

Had getting rid of his uneven limp, leg braces, and most of the crookedness in his back made that much difference? Or was the difference in the Barrayarans?

...he still thought I was accusing him or calling him to account. He said, "People *do* grow. You may not think much of *me*, but my children will be great!" I said , "They will be black and blind or passing for white and self-blinded. Those are the only choices.

I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

I pass and I stay, like the Universe.

I watch my loved ones weep with sorrow, death's silent torment of no tomorrow. I feel their hearts breaking, I sense their despair, United in misery, the grief that they share. How do I show that, I am not gone... but the essence of life's everlasting song Why do they wee? Why do they cry? I'm alive in the wind and I am soaring high. I am sparkling light dancing on streams, a moment of warmth in the fays of sunbeams. The coolness of rain as it falls on your face, the whisper of leaves as wind rushes with haste. Eternal Song, a requiem by Avian of Celieria from Crown of Crystal Flame by C.L. Wilson

I sometimes go to a mythical place called "workplace", where the doable is always unpassable as possible, especially when it pisses you off.

Sit here, so I may write you into a poem and make you eternal.

One word absent from a sentence, or misinterpreted incorrectly, can change the entire meaning of a sentence. One word can change the meaning of everything. Before you believe anything about God or anybody, ask yourself how well do you trust the transmitter, translator or interpreter. And if you have never met them, then how do you know if the knowledge you acquired is even right? One hundred and twenty-five years following every major event in history, all remaining witnesses will have died. How well do you trust the man who has stored his version of a story? And how can you put that much faith into someone you don't know?

Might there come a time When we stand over a grave And mourn ourselves? Mourn the past, a previous life? Shall we weep for the passing of time? Shall we grieve for unfulfilled dreams? In my naivety; in my belief In immortal youth, I sleep walk through life. Someone... wake me up. Please. Wake me up.

On the train I saw that world passing my window. It was when I came to see it was I who was passing that my self-centered childhood was over. But it was not until I began to write, that I found the world out there revealing, because memory had become attached to seeing, love had added itself to discovery, and because I recognized in my own continuing longing to keep going, the need I carried inside myself to know - the apprehension, first, and then the passion, to connect myself to it. Through travel I first became aware of the outside world; it was through travel that I found my own introspective way into becoming a part of it. This is, of course, simply saying that the outside world is the vital component of my inner life. My imagination takes its strength and guides its direction from what I see and hear and learn and feel and remember of my living world. But I was to learn slowly that both these worlds, outer and inner, were different from what they seemed to me in the beginning.

What remains of the dead? What remains of every one of us? Tombstones sink in, moss covers them, and after a few centuries the name can no longer be read. Every forgotten grave is designated a new corpse. As the generations passed, remembrance of the dead diminished until it was forgotten. What was called everlasting peace only lasted half a century. The bones were disturbed as the graveyards were mulched in to suburbs. The earth had become too small, for the living and the dead. In half a century a funeral had become a luxury that only few could afford who had died before judgment day. But who cares about a single body when the whole planet is dying. [...] Earlier the remains of humanity had only had the right to be there as long as the living remembered them. A human being remembers their relatives, their friends and colleagues. But his conscience only reached back three generations before it faded away. Just more then fifty years. With the same ease, you let the picture of our grandfather or your friend from school out of our conscience into absolute nothingness. The memories of a human can last longer than the bones, but as soon as the last one who remembered us has passed we dissolve with time. [...] Back then there was almost no more space in the thick family album for old and brown turned pictures, but almost nobody that looked through it could say for sure who was on the photos. The photographs of the passed can be interpreted as some kind of mask, but not as a print of their soul when they were living. And the photographs only decay as slow as the people that live inside them What remains? Our children? They can look like us. In their reflection we mirror ourselves in a mysterious way. United with those we had loved. In their gestures, in their mimics we happily find ourselves or with sorrow. Friends confirm that our sons and daughters are just like us. Maybe that gives us a certain extension of ourselves when we are no more. We ourselves weren’t the first. We have been made from countless copies that have been before us, just another chimera, always half from our fathers and mothers who are again the half of their parents. So is there nothing unique in us but are we just an endless mixture of small mosaic parts that never endingly exist in us? Have we been formed out of millions of small parts to a complete picture that has no own worth and has to fall into its parts again? Does it even matter to be happy if we found ourselves in our children, a certain line that has been traveling through our bodies for millions of years? What remains of me? [...] What kind of immortality was left for mankind?

The passing clouds outside the window form the perfect backdrop for wavering frames I see moving inside my mind.

They had no curiousity about him at all. As if they knew all that they needed to know. They stood and watched him pass and watched him vanish upon that landscape solely because he was passing. Solely because he would vanish.

Time plays no favorites and will pass whether you act or not. Take control of your life. Dare to dream and take risks...Compete! If you aren't willing to work for you goals, don't expect others to! Believe in yourself.

Above all, as the keynote of all Democratic policy, in passing upon any question, let the controlling aim and ambition be to keep the road open for private enterprise and personal initiative.

When I was a child and I would listen to my sister's LPs She was a huge fan and she was so in love with him that she wrote him a letter. I enjoyed seeing my sis so happy about Manilow Mania. I wrote some lyrics based on one of his songs, also thinking of those ships that pass in the night in the city where I was born. Can you guess which one? Anyway, my sister was already unconscious at the hospital when I inserted an earplug so that she could hear some of his songs. It was very low, very mild Manilow, when all of a sudden, in the second cord when he sang "I made it through the rain" in a beat a bit higher her heartbeat which was being monitored played faster. I could see that as a sign that she was listening. I stopped the song and I started Singing one of her songs that she had especially made for my birthday when I turned nine yrs old and I never forgot about that. I could see a little smile coming from the left side of her lips. It was the affirmation I needed. That she was and will always be there for me as I so admired her soul to the bones!

Without guidance and support for patients and families approaching death, there may be unnecessary conflict, confusion, and trauma that linger long after the passing of a loved one.

You've never really trusted him, though you don't understand why. Something about the fact that he's hidden all his life - which is hypocritical as hell after your ten years in Tirimo.

All our words and actions pass in review before God.

And occasionally some of the - some of the nations that you will have to - that will be partners in this would probably not be in terms of passing a pure human rights check, be - have everything going for them that you would like to have.

A number of current theoretical explorations will turn out to be passing fancies...

American Idol, I love. I think it's a passing fancy but not passing so soon.

A power is passing from the earth.

Art is interested in life at the moment when the ray of power is passing through it.

Art is endless like a river flowing, passing, yet remaining.

Books are not about passing the time. They're about other lives. Other worlds.

Bachelor parties are designed for those who are sad to see the passing of their single days. I couldn’t be more eager to have mine behind me. So there’s really no point.

Apart from God every activity is merely a passing whiff of insignificance.

Be the instrument playing the sound of your life's passing

Death is only passing through God's other door.

Death rides on every passing breeze, He lurks in every flower.

By passing into the psychedelic phase, the space-faring phase, the entire species is passing into adolescence.

Don't get up gentlemen. I'm only passing through!

Enemies are, to me, as important as friends in my life, and when they die I mourn their passing.

Congress first took action against steroids by passing The Anabolic Steroids Control Act of 1990.

Do passing drills that come from your offense.

feel in the rush of the passing the stillness of the eternal

Every time you are passing the test, you are coming closer to Krishna.

Every passing year brings us more past futures.

For order represents our fear and nervousness. We create ordered interiors as a protest over the passing of things, to define our mortal lives against the void of time.

For me, a poet is someone who is 'in contact.' Someone through whom a current is passing.