Best 4670 quotes in «earth quotes» category

There is an apparent need to save the earth and the means God chose to do this is not by sending POWER but by sending his Son

There is a subtle magic in the falling of old leaves.

There is earth below your earth, a deep room where gas and oil, rock and stone, circulate like slow blood through a body.

There is more for us to gain through love than hate.

There is no Hell Hell is Earth itself And the busy, innocently fraud beings They are my demons themselves

There is no ownership. There is only stewardship.

There is no one on earth that values his time and remains poor

There is nothing particularly special about that location of the centre of mass. If you were to find yourself at the precise spot that is the centre of mass of the earth-moon system, the only thing unusual that you would notice is that there would be one thousand miles of rock on top of your head. Pluto is only about twice the size of Charon, so if you put Pluto and Charon on the cosmic seesaw you would find that the balance point is a little bit outside Pluto, rather than inside it. Again, there is nothing particularly special going on there. If you were to find yourself at that precise spot, you would only notice that you were very, very cold and could no longer breathe.

There is nothing more precarious than an environment whose smallest inhabitants have been completely removed.

There is nothing ideal in Nature, because it was not created by some sort of ideal Almighty Being with perfect peerless craftsmanship. Nature as it is, has evolved through millions of years out of the biological drive for survival.

There is one family : Mankind There is one religion : Humanity There is one home : Earth

There just seemed to be so many evolutionary layers to each individual person, some more than others, that they were able to blend their differences into a living mural the way a planet like Hessdalen never could. And never would, seeing as how it had ceased to exist entirely. It had missed it's chance.

The remotest place on Earth can sometimes be the most attractive place on Earth especially in times when our belief in humanity is lost!

There's a marble bed completely different from what the dust and reflection saids, reserving and resurrecting all the genuine moments that collided without a second to spear in all the overwhelming despair casted out like a net of dead dreams. You are somewhere in-between your eyes and off the brim of our solar system. Going into a pulse from another worldy mind, feeling the involuntary serpents tongue; agonizing the astounding words left unsaid on that marble bed made of reflection beyond any idea or soul; encapsulated by ivy bridges and weightless exotic phrases, escaping out of a strange world I never had a hand in making.

There’s nothing wrong in dreaming when you are awake Reality is brimming with hunger, love and ache The sky is unsure why the arid moor feels bleak Quaking of earth to lure the narrowness of creek From the poem- Sprinkled

There was no hesitation as he placed the barrel against his Temple and terminated his stay on this Earth

These wheels within wheels These leaves folded in leaves These wheeling winds and winding leaves Those sprockets from those seeds This spiral shooting from that rainfall- What does a turning earth say to its axis? How should a melon say thanks Or a squash utter blessings?

There were natural electrical currents running through the surface of the Earth until electrical utilities short circuited them with electrical ground rods.

The rocket was beautiful. In conception it had been shaped by an artist to break a chain that had bound the human race ever since we first gained consciousness of earth's gravity and all it's analogs in suffering, failure and pain. It was at once a prayer sent heavenward and the answer to that prayer: Bear me away from this awful place.

The scene is most beautiful without people in it. People just screw things up. Forget the whole thing, the world, all the living people, I tell myself, and it has a ring of truth to it. The dead are better, aren't they? The dead don't betray or harm. They've already done all they can do. I can't figure out what people mean or who they are or whether they can be trusted, so, forget them. Don't even try anymore. For now at least, forget the living.

The scripture talks about man managing, ruling the earth, as the sole duty of man.

The sense of respiration is an example of our natural sense relationship with the atmospheric matrix. Remember, respiration means to re-spire, to re-spirit ourselves by breathing. It, too, is a consensus of many senses. We may always bring the natural relationships of our senses and the matrix into consciousness by becoming aware of our tensions and relaxations while breathing. The respiration process is guided by our natural attraction to connect with fresh air and by our attraction to nurture nature by feeding it carbon dioxide and water, the foods for Earth that we grow within us during respiration. When we hold our breath, our story to do so makes our senses feel the suffocation discomfort of being separated from Earth's atmosphere. It draws our attention to follow our attraction to air, so we inspire and gain comfort. Then the attraction to feed Earth comes into play so we exhale food for it to eat and we again gain comfort. This process feels good, it is inspiring. Together, we and Earth conspire (breathe together) so that neither of us will expire. The vital nature of this process is brought to consciousness when we recognize that the word for air, spire, also means spirit and that psyche is another name for air/spirit/soul.

The serious people have gone, I build my team again and again I just the un-sirious people if this is sirious let's see a bus which can be handled in the air by the weakest person on the Earth.

The smell of cars' smoke as I wade through traffic overshadows the fresh fragrance of Mother Earth drenched in rain. There can be no greater testimony to man's progress

The smell of sewage flooded into the car and I saw rotting vegetables and chunks of garbage floating in the clogged water on the streets. The city's very own soup of decay, served cold, and each one of us was sipping it bit by bit.

The soul, in its loneliness, hopes only for "salvation." And yet what is the burden of the Bible if not a sense of the mutuality of influence, rising out of an essential unity, among soul and body and community and world? These are all the works of God, and it is therefore the work of virtue to make or restore harmony among them. The world is certainly thought of as a place of spiritual trial, but it is also the confluence of soul and body, word and flesh, where thoughts must become deeds, where goodness must be enacted. This is the great meeting place, the narrow passage where spirit and flesh, word and world, pass into each other. The Bible's aim, as I read it, is not the freeing of the spirit from the world. It is the handbook of their interaction. It says that they cannot be divided; that their mutuality, their unity, is inescapable; that they are not reconciled in division, but in harmony. What else can be meant by the resurrection of the body? The body should be "filled with light," perfected in understanding. And so everywhere there is the sense of consequence, fear and desire, grief and joy. What is desirable is repeatedly defined in the tensions of the sense of consequence.

The Sun was smiling hundred years ago and the sun is laughing today.

The scent of rain on a sultry spring evening is always an indulgence.

The seeds of life inside my womb were present at my birth; a gift from mother's mother, on back to Mother Earth.

The sense of alienation that inspires wonder, awe and fear in us is enough of a proof that life does not belong to the planet Earth.

The sky is white. It smells of the earth, and it is not there. The sky is white like the earth, and it smells of yesterday. All this was tomorrow. All this was a hundred years from now.

The sky mingled with the Earth infinitely in the tenderness of rain drops.

The sooner we wake up and realise that we have a moral duty to guide and protect this planet, the sooner things will improve for every form of life on this planet.

The summer I turned eleven, I found out that ghosts are real. Guess it's hard to rest nice and easy in your coffin if you got stuff on your mind. Your soul stays chained to earth instead of zipping up to heaven to sing in one of the angel choirs. Sometimes ghosts show up in the msot peculiar places. Sometimes ghosts fool you. Then you are those ghosts that hang around because we have unfinished business. Business that sinks like old crawfish left in a bucket for a week. That's some nasty smell let me tell you. But the most important thing I learned is that ghosts can help you spill your guts before guilt eats you up and leaves a hole that can't ever be fixed no matter how many patches you try to steam iron across it.

The super-rich are obsessed with creating more wealth and amassing money but in the process they are destroying our planet Earth. Stephen Hawking had made it clear that Earth has about 100 more years before it becomes a dead planet.

The syrup of lilies hangs thick and sweet in the air, its cloying scent the traditional mask of death and rebirth: ashes and incense, rain and dirt, and something like rosin. It's the scent Hector associates with God. The scent of heavenly things.

The thought of that kid pulling a knife on the other, for something as trivial as a stereo, was unconscionable to a simple, peace-loving man like Nathan, who grew up in a time when people still talked to each other . . . when there was still a dialogue going on. Sure, there had always been violence, he didn't deny that, but it was the exception when he was growing up, compared to the new 'normal' of today: this constant threat, all the time, everywhere . . . around every corner. The world was seething now, bubbling over in a cauldron of rage.

The trees are born, they develop their leaves and fruits, they grow and die. I can't ever understand why a tree is a "what" and not a "who".

The trees and the nature are friendlier in today’s earth than commercial sick mass population.

The USA claims to be the greatest nation on earth, but routinely engages in dirty tricks with the poor, sick and elderly to deny them their benefits.

The unique fingerprint of every individual defines our unique purpose and mission on earth.

The universe blew god a stranger's kiss. Earth landed softly upon infinity's lips. He's been dying to know her better ever since.

The universe is your home, the world is just your backyard.

The way it feels to me,' he said, 'is that there were certain ideas that I was put on this earth to think. And now I can think them.

The world has a mind, the sky has a heart, and the universe has a soul.

The wisdom teachings that permeate this book revolve around the truth that radically honest, compassionate self-exploration leads to self-awareness, and that true self-awareness is always healing. It opens us to the naturalness of love, peace, joy, and our own boundless creativity. Love, and especially self-love and acceptance, is the greatest healing force that I have gleaned thus far.

The world is a clock winding down. I hear it in the wind’s icy fingers scratching against the window. I smell it in the mildewed carpeting and the rotting wallpaper of the old hotel. And I feel it in Teacup’s chest as she sleeps. The hammering of her heart, the rhythm of her breath, warm in the freezing air, the clock winding down.

The world is a beautiful place A beautiful energy space to exist within as a visitor It is a joyous experience But when you get tied up in it and locked in it can become a beautiful prison It is important to realise that you do not really own anything here You borrow it from the Earth Mother You are grateful for it Always remember you are a visitor

The world is directed towards the perceiver, it celebrates the ultimate perceiver. He who is established in the Self is in no way interested in theologies and cosmologies.

The wind and the grass and something in the sky, sun, or moon, shining on our backs as we run: They are gifts that humans toss away like socks on Christmas morning, because we see them every day and don't think of them as gifts anymore. But new socks are always better than old socks. And the wind and grass and sky, I think, are better seen with new eyes than jaded ones. I hope my eyes will never grow old.