Best 607 quotes in «mythology quotes» category

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    Perhaps because of this, many have looked at my practice in terms of science and technology, however, for me it is just as informed by Surrealism and mythology.

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    The drug which makes sexuality palatable in popular mythology.

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    The mythology of the New Testament, also, is not to be questioned with respect to the content of its objectifying representations but with respect to the understanding of existence that expresses itself in them.

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    There is a sort of mythology that grows up about what happened, which is different from what really did happen.

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    Research is always the best part. As we dug deeper into the history and mythology behind each of the hallows, we discovered more and more stories - some of them deserving of novels in themselves.

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    We cannot resort to simplistic or extreme solutions which substitute myths for common sense.

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    The thing about playing gods, whether you're playing Thor and Loki or Greco Roman gods or Indian gods or characters in any mythology, the reason that gods were invented was because they were basically larger versions of ourselves.

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    The thing about tourism is that the reality of a place is quite different from the mythology of it.

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    Writers cannot let themselves be servants of the official mythology. They have to, whatever the cost, say what truth they have to say.

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    When your mind is simply trapped by the image out there so that you never make the reference to yourself, you have misread the image.

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    A book is the only shuttle service that carries one safely to another dimension and back

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    With this particular series [The Cursed Wheel] I'm going farther in that direction than I've tried before in terms of the elasticity of the mythology.

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    A digital wall of masks stared back at him. His finger rolled the mouse in a slow downward scroll. "Okay, you bastard. Where are you?

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    Aerric’s skill as a fighter, along with the fact that he could not be killed, made him the ultimate weapon. Morrigan and Brighid had used the hide of a phoenix and a bit of Pandra’s dragon blood to create him.

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    Aeneas' mother is a star?" "No; a goddess." I said cautiously, "Venus is the power that we invoke in spring, in the garden, when things begin growing. And we call the evening star Venus." He thought it over. Perhaps having grown up in the country, among pagans like me, helped him understand my bewilderment. "So do we, he said. "But Venus also became more...With the help of the Greeks. They call her Aphrodite...There was a great poet who praised her in Latin. Delight of men and gods, he called her, dear nurturer. Under the sliding star signs she fills the ship-laden sea and the fruitful earth with her being; through her the generations are conceived and rise up to see the sun; from her the storm clouds flee; to her the earth, the skillful maker, offers flowers. The wide levels of the sea smile at her, and all the quiet sky shines and streams with light..." It was the Venus I had prayed to, it was my prayer, though I had no such words. They filled my eyes with tears and my heart with inexpressible joy.

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    Ahhh." Anubis narrows his eyes at me. “I’ve given you inspiration. Now you’re thinking about bringing the lightbulb to ancient Egypt. It would be a hit––all those dark tombs.” You. I was thinking about you. His eyebrows rise. “Huh? Me?” Fluorine uranium carbon potassium. I said that out loud. "I mean," I stutter, "I was thinking about…unimolecular reactions.

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    — A kígyó emberek nem isznak tejet – közölte vele Kekropsz. – Mi laktózérzékeny hüllők vagyunk.

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    Akheronin sisuksissa on kyyneliä, hammasten kiristystä, utua, tulta, sietämätöntä poltetta, jäätävää kylmyyttä, koiria, karhuja, leijonia ja käärmeitä. Tässä legendassa helvetti on eläin, jonka sisällä on muita eläimiä.

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    A knight will give a lady a ring from his hand and take a kiss from her lips, when he wishes to love her and serve her all his days," she recited, as she had when he was small. She pulled the ring from the chain and held it out to him. "This ring is the knight's who swore to serve me. Take it. One day you may find a lady to wear it.

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    Alles wird man ja satt, des schlafes sogar, und der liebe, Auch des süßen gesangs, und bewunderten reigentanzes: Welche doch mehr anreizen die sehnsuchtsvolle begierde, Als der krieg; doch die Troer sind niemals satt des gefechts! (Ilias; 13. Gesang V. 636-640)

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    All of the great mythologies and much of the mythic story-telling of the world are from the male point of view. When I was writing The Hero with a Thousand Faces and wanted to bring female heroes in, I had to go to the fairy tales. These were told by women to children, you know, and you get a different perspective. It was the men who got involved in spinning most of the great myths. The women were too busy; they had too damn much to do to sit around thinking about stories. [...] In the Odyssey, you'll see three journeys. One is that of Telemachus, the son, going in quest of his father. The second is that of the father, Odysseus, becoming reconciled and related to the female principle in the sense of male-female relationship, rather than the male mastery of the female that was at the center of the Iliad. And the third is of Penelope herself, whose journey is [...] endurance. Out in Nantucket, you see all those cottages with the widow's walk up on the roof: when my husband comes back from the sea. Two journeys through space and one through time.

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    A lot of things have changed and will change, I can only wish you the best as it happens. Malice

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    A milli-Helen is enough beauty to launch exactly one ship

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    A crushed spark never ignites,” I tell him. “That’s not how you fan the flame.

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    And though the dead forget the dead in the house of Hades, even there I shall still remember my beloved companion.

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    And whose heart do you want me to steal?” The words escape me in a whisper. A small smile pricks Aten’s lips. “King Tutankhamen.

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    ..and why the winter suns so rush to bathe themselves in the sea and what slows down the nights to a long lingering crawl...

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    An Ego Mind is a destructive mind and a rational mind is a peaceful mind.

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    An evil brute grows strong and now is on the verge of crossing over from the island to the world you know. His name is Hubal, and his strength grows as your world’s lightness folds.

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    A new age dawns, Uttara. The Wheel of Time has turned. Not too long from now – hopefully in our lifetime – Aryavarta will be a janapada, a realm ruled by its people, the largest such in the world! – Abhimanyu Karshni

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    An interesting contrast between the geology of the present day and that of half a century ago, is presented by the complete emancipation of the modern geologist from the controlling and perverting influence of theology, all-powerful at the earlier date. As the geologist of my young days wrote, he had one eye upon fact, and the other on Genesis; at present, he wisely keeps both eyes on fact, and ignores the pentateuchal mythology altogether. The publication of the 'Principles of Geology' brought upon its illustrious author a period of social ostracism; the instruction given to our children is based upon those principles. Whewell had the courage to attack Lyell's fundamental assumption (which surely is a dictate of common sense) that we ought to exhaust known causes before seeking for the explanation of geological phenomena in causes of which we have no experience.

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    Anytime one tries to take fragments of one's personal mythology and make them understandable to the whole world, one reaches back to the past. It must be dreamed again.

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    A ritual is the enactment of a myth. And, by participating in the ritual, you are participating in the myth. And since myth is a projection of the depth wisdom of the psyche, by participating in a ritual, participating in the myth, you are being, as it were, put in accord with that wisdom, which is the wisdom that is inherent within you anyhow. Your consciousness is being re-minded of the wisdom of your own life. I think ritual is terribly important.

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    A possession considered of little value up to now suddenly becomes precious to a person if another person desires it, don't you think?

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    Alte Männer sind eine rachsüchtige Brut. Sie beneiden junge Männer um ihre Kraft und verübeln jungen Frauen ihre Verführungsmacht.

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    As for the Economy, this new embodiment as I called it of Fate or the Gods, this global power that governs the lives of Chinese workers in village factories, Brazilian miners, children working cocoa plantations in West Africa, sex workers in Mumbai, real estate salesmen in Connecticut, sheep-farmers in Scotland or on the Darling Downs, disembodied voices in call centres in Bangalore, workers in the hospitality industry in Cancun or Venice or Fiji, keeping them fatefully interconnected, in its mysterious way, by laws that do exist, the experts assure us, though they cannot agree on what they are- it is too impersonal, too implacable for us to live comfortably with, or even to catch hold of and defy. When we were in the hands of the Gods, we had stories that made these distant beings human and brought them close. They got angry, they took our part or turned violently against us. They fell in love with us and behaved badly. They had their own problems and fought with one another, and like us were sometimes foolish. But their interest in us was personal. They watched over us and were concerned though in moments of willfulness or boredom they might also torment us as “wanton boys” do flies. We had our ways of obtaining their help as intermediaries. We could deal with them. The Economy is impersonal. It lacks manageable dimensions. We have discovered no mythology to account for its moods. Our only source of information about it, the Media and their swarm of commentators, bring us “reports,” but these do not help: a possible breakdown in the system, a new crisis, the descent of Greece, or Ireland or Portugal, like Jove’s eagle, of the IMF. We are kept in a state of permanent low-level anxiety broken only by outbreaks of alarm.

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    Aside from the encounter with the Sphinx, there is little in Oedipus to connect him to the common run of Greek heroic figures. He strikes us today as a modern tragic hero and political animal; it is hard to picture him shaking hands with Heracles or joining the crew of the Argo. many scholars and thinkers, most notably Friedrich Nietzsche in his book The Birth of Tragedy, have seen in Oedipus a character who works out on stage the tension in Athenians (and all of us) between the reasoning, mathematically literate citizen and the transgressive blood criminal; between the thinking and the instinctual being; between the superego and the id; between the Apollonian and the Dionysian impulses that contend within us. Oedipus is a detective who employs all the fields of enquiry of which the Athenians were so proud -- logic, numbers, rhetoric, order and discovery -- only to reveal a truth that is disordered, shameful, transgressive and bestial.

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    As Mr. R. U. Sayee has well said: 'It should be clear a priori that fairy lore must have developed as a result of modifications and accretions received in different countries and at many periods, though we must not overlook the part played by tradition in providing a mould that to some extent determines the nature of later additions.' It must also be self-evident that a great deal of confusion has been caused by the assumption that some spirit-types were fairies which in a more definite sense are certainly not of elfin provenance. In some epochs, indeed, Faerie appears to have been regarded as a species of limbo to which all 'pagan' spirits - to say nothing of defeated gods, monsters, and demons - could be banished, along with the personnel of Olympus and the rout of witchcraft. Such types, however, are usually fairly easy of detection.

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    As often as we made love I remembered what my poet told me, that this man was born of a goddess, the force that moves the stars and the waves of the sea and couples the animals in the fields in spring, the power of passion, the light of the evening star.

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    As she left the cold arena Angel had to laugh, Beaten by that of a wisp girl and her subliming cunning craft. —Jove lay silent in his orbit; brooding, deep, dreamless forweep, And faithful dog Sirius rising tracked behind on dusk’s purpling adeep. Scratched he his chin; counted the cold and early evening stars, He had miles to go that night, they being so very far. Only the music of the wint’ring span, Vanished he away in the shimmering land. . . . . . .

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    As the red-haired female watched, it was obvious she could not process what was happening. It was as though she had never seen anything magical; her fear had her locked in place, unable to move. In her reality, humans didn’t “feed” off of other humans, but the Sluagh were not human. They were demons and ghosts that haunt and invade. They were your darkest fears. The nightmarish creatures were a part of folklore passed down from generation to generation. The Sluagh were in essence rejected by heaven and hell, existing in the human realm only to consume souls. Humans were blinded by the magic that existed in the world. They assumed fairytales were just someone’s wild imagination, creative tales told to delight and frighten children. It was this lack of acknowledgement that made humans the perfect prey for these outcasts.

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    At its heart, dance is an extension of your soul braided into the music; it’s not a bunch of steps to be memorized. Everyone can dance.

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    Atlas said, 'Must my future be so heavy?' Hera said, 'That is your present, Atlas. Your future hardens every day, but it is not fixed.' 'How can I escape my fate?' 'You must choose your destiny.

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    A totally nondenominational prayer: Insofar as I may be heard by anything, which may or may not care what I say, I ask, if it matters, that I be forgiven for anything I may have done or failed to do which requires forgiveness.  Conversely, if not forgiveness but something else may be required to insure any possible benefit for which I may be eligible after the destruction of my body, I ask that this, whatever it may be, be granted or withheld, as the case may be, in such a manner as to insure said benefit. I ask this in my capacity as your elected intermediary between yourself and that which may not be yourself, but which may have an interest in the matter of your receiving as much as it is possible for you to receive of this thing, and which may in some way be influenced by this ceremony. Amen.

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    At the last minute, he broke the rule and he looked. He was so rapt in his view of the light at the end of the tunnel, he got excited, tuned up, he got crazy nervous and for a second he wavered in his confidence and he looked! To confirm or affirm or just firm up,’ students laughing ‘his manly love for her and in that motion of divine stupidity, he killed her dead forever with a glance. Hades ripped her back into his den and that was, proverbially, that.’ A girl across from me says bitterly, ‘No second, second chance for Orpheus.’ ‘He was fucked,’ D continues, nodding. ‘Not because the gods were heartless, but because he fucked up. The guilt of that. Can you imagine? Spent the rest of his pathetic days wallowing, lamenting, composing (or was it decomposing?) heartbreaking tunes upon his lyre, dissolving in grief and music and art, never being the least bit happy or lovable. The saddest sap of all. How do we tell a story like that without being sappy? Oh woe! How do we shape into lines our most harrowing mistakes and losses without drenching them in sticky poetic sap?

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    At the quantum level our universe can be seen as an indeterminate place, predictable in a statistical way only when you employ large enough numbers. Between that universe and a relatively predictable one where the passage of a single planet can be timed to a picosecond, other forces come into play. For the in-between universe where we find our daily lives, that which you believe is a dominant force. Your beliefs order the unfolding of daily events. If enough of us believe, a new thing can be made to exist. Belief structure creates a filter through which chaos is sifted into order.

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    A woman has her Juno, just as a man has his Genius; they are names for the sacred power, the divine spark we each of us have in us. My Juno can't "get into" me, it is already my deepest self. The poet was speaking of Juno as if it were a person, a woman, with likes and dislikes: a jealous woman. The world is sacred, of course, it is full of gods, numina, great powers and presences. We give some of them names--Mars of the fields and the war, Vesta the fire, Ceres the grain, Mother Tellus the earth, the Penates of the storehouse. The rivers, the springs. And in the storm cloud and the light is the great power called the father god. But they aren't people. They don't love and hate, they aren't for or against. They accept the worship due them, which augments their power, through which we live.

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    A world without fairy tales and myths would be as drab as life without music

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    Battles like that ... They look like they come down to one person or one action in one big, flashy moment, but they don’t. Major victories come in inches. Each action, each sacrifice, every small act of defiance adds up..

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    Bah, he still saw the same stupidity. The image of the hanged man in the farming community of Yondern flashed through his mind. Now there was a war brewing between the Steelwielders and some foreign religion. More mindless loss over beliefs and mythology. But.. he could not deny the noble features in his companions. Although Perfidian was too blithe and Elaina too didactic, they had risked their life to do what was right. He did owe them his life. He could not deny the nobility he saw in many different people, bits and pieces of nobility that shined through under pressure. The guards who risked their lives to protect the villagers, Markham who flew at the dangerous dwarf, swords flashing; even an Eruthian merchant who stopped in his journey to share tales with complete strangers'.